River.

The heat of the desert caused the site of the road in the distance to blur.  Heat waves radiated upward off the sun scorched pavement.  I had just finished a tour at the Laughlin River Run.  A few years back this gathering of motorcycle enthusiasts made national news when two outlaw biker gangs began to riot in one of the riverbank casinos.  Since then, it’s been relatively peaceful, as biker gatherings go.

I had been invited to gather with these folks that many in culture would consider outcast.  I think it is where Jesus would be. My friend Rich has a ministry that frequents nearly every large biker gathering on the West Coast.  At times he will even head to Sturgis, South Dakota, the grand daddy of them all.

His ministry, much like X3 at the porn conventions, attends these gatherings and hangs amongst the people available to talk, pass out bibles and engage the culture to draw in that which has been cast out on to the cultural fringe.  Outlaw Bikers, One Percent’ers, gather around his table and chat it up.  The term “1%” is reserved for the biker who would be considered an ‘outlaw.’   Of 100 people who ride Harley’s, only one percent, are part of Outlaw Biker Club.  Outlaws are hard, ruthless, and are in some cases, easily angered.  Others are just people looking for community who don’t want to be bothered by the rules and regulations of society.  Most won’t bother you if you don’t bother them.

At the Laughlin Run, an Outlaw Biker Club had the booth next to us.  They said very little to us. Occasionally the guy in the booth next to us would walk by and look at one of Rich’s custom bikes on display.  His booth was selling t-shirts illustrating a middle-finger printed on the front.  The word “you” was printed in bold black ink beneath the hand.  When the Biker, turned t-shirt seller set-up his booth, he made sure the shirt hung directly facing our booth.  His message was crystal clear.  He was directing it at us.  In this environment, we were the outcast and so was our message.  The angered and edged man occasionally glared at us when we glanced up.  He definitely did not want a bible.  We didn’t offer him one.

Looking back, it was a tense situation.  But Rich is used to these encounters.  At 6’5”, he is a reformed meth junky who stumbled into my church years ago having just tried to kill himself.  At 2AM, hopped up on meth, he stumbled into a darkened sanctuary and sat there until the sun came up.  He later described to me how he couldn’t eave because he was so alone.   The drugs, the violence, the anger, the rage, had all consumed him and still wanted more.  He had nothing to give.  That’s when God showed up and loved him.

Now, years later, he and I stood at Laughlin.  In a moment of reflection, we were trying to figure out if the guy in the booth next to us was going to kill us or just make us think that.  Rich recognized the stare and glare.  It’s what he used to do.   The glare from the outcast was a non-verbal way of saying, “I am hurting on the inside.”   The biker did not want to kill us, he just hated the fact that we had hope.  He didn’t.  I asked Rich how he reached the angry outlaw biker.  He said, “I show a consistent love and respect despite their rage.”  He did it well. 

A few minutes passed but it felt like an hour.  The wind of the desert began to stir.  The flyers on our table scattered as our volunteers gave chase.  The tent covering over each booth swirled.  The t-shirts from the booth next door also swirled and scattered.  Rich quickly ran over to help secure the merchandise of the biker.  The middle finger shirt fell to the ground and lay at Rich’s feet.  As Rich bent to pick it up, the biker rushed over.  Rather than hanging the middle finger back up facing away from us.  Rich hung it up exactly the way it was…facing us.  I would have never thought to do this.  I would not have run over to help.  I would have ran after our materials that had blown away. Not Rich.  He reached the outcast.

He later told me that the literature explained who Jesus was.  He said picking up the shirt showed the biker who Jesus was.  As Rich hung the shirt back up, the biker quickly tore it down and through it in the box.  He said, “That shirt should not be facing your booth.”  Only minutes before the wind storm, he glared at us.  Love works.

What act of kindness could you show today toward someone who doesn’t look, act, think, or believe like you? 

How could you invest in them?  How could you show them God’s love in a practical way?

Rich can’t wait to get his hands on the book.  He has always been a great supporter of what we write.  I can’t wait to see a hardened biker sitting at one of these biker events reading a copy of Jesus Loves You This I Know.  When I get the picture, you will see it.

Much hope and more love,

Jason Harper

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