Biker Church

We went to this biker church here in Albuquerque once, there were people there wearing thier cuts. If you're not familiar with that term it means the vests with the logo and name of the motorcycle gang the rider was affiliated with. Once you got your cut you were sure never to ride without displaying it. It was a tradition, a law in this circle.
There was a varied selection represented, but they were all intermingled here.

There was a cross on the wall made of motorcycle tail pipes. There were tatoos, ponytails, leather, blue jeans and beards.

The faces clearly showed a story behind each one but upon making eye contact you could also see a brokenness, and quiet unexpected joy set deep in the spirit if the bearer.

Someone called everyone to their seat, and a tangible sense of reverence blanketed the room. 

This would be the moment, in any other church, when a few beautiful people would head up to the front with instruments and begin singing and playing familiar tunes to create an atmosphere of worship towards God.

At least that would be the intention. 

In those traditional or charismatic churches there would be smiling faces who clapped and enjoyed this warm up exercise for the service.

There may also be those distracted, playing with their phones, talking to their neighbor but still part of that warm up atmosphere. 

This moment in the biker church was unlike any other service I had ever attended. It had so little in common with all of those services.

There was no stage here, there were no instruments, there was no leader no band. 

There was a projection of the lyrics for the song directed to the front from a laptop. The song was familiar, current, beautiful and incredibly meaningful.

Images of water and the ocean layered behind the lyrics to flow with the song.

The most stunning moment was as the music began to play the quietness that settled so heavily on the room - then the lyrics started showing and the voices that came out of these bodies to form a collective whole; attention paid directly to a God that they were in awe of.  It was just completely amazing.

When I say amazing that word is sometimes misused overused and misunderstood, but this was the absolute definition of amazing.

The sound of these voices was angelic because it was so pure and so sincere.

There were no distracted people, there was no fidgeting, there was just this intensely warm and loving melody originating deeply from within a group of people in awe of the realization that they had the opportunity to know the one true almighty God. 

These rough riders who had seen thier share of violence, pain, and suffering, they were now standing in a place if healing, forgiveness, mercy and grace.

They sang as if there was nothing that could force them to hold it in. They were exuberant with peace and submission.

This settled sense seemed to create an eruption of joy and tears of freedom that rolled down their faces, faces which held no shame.

When was the last time you actually saw in another person or you yourself ever felt absolutely no shame.

The facial expression is hard to put in words there's no definitions that do it justice.

I know though that I will never forget those faces, that sound, and that sensation of thickness and heaviness that was so comforting yet brought me to my knees before this God whom I am thrilled to know is most definitely real indeed.