He walked in on a Sunday morning. Right down the center aisle. He wore black leathers, a huge knife on his side and chains. Big chains. We all looked, no, we gaped at him as he walked in. He was all alone. Thankfully. We could take him if we had to, honestly, that thought crossed my mind as the motorcycle man walked into our conservative little church that morning.
He went right up front and sat in the center row. Right smack in the middle of the front of the church! I don't think anyone was more shocked than our pastor. And what he did next has impacted my life ever since. He looked right at this man and with the kindest eyes I've ever seen, and asked him--what's your name sir? Motorcycle man replied in a very snarly sounding voice (hey, it sounded snarly to me) it's Dave, just Dave. Our pastor then said--well, hello Just Dave. And then proceeded to talk the rest of the sermon to Just Dave. That morning as far as our pastor was concerned, Just Dave was the only person in the room.
Yes, it was an interesting morning, to be sure. I spent more time looking at motorcycle man than listening to our pastor preach. I was fascinated by the fact that motorcycle man had the guts to walk right into our little church and sit right down just as if he belonged. Just as if he belonged. And then it hit me, he did belong. He had just as much a right to be there as I did. Even more so really, you see, I was already a follower of Christ--a believer, and he was coming in to meet Him for the very first time. As I sat there putting these puzzling facts together in my simple-minded way, I had an epiphany. This was what church was supposed to be about. Exactly this!
As our pastor was preaching that morning I envisioned Jesus sitting there beckoning the unbeliever to come to Him, to hear Him out, to learn what this God thing was all about. To experience forgiveness and love and acceptance. And then I wondered--could I be like that? Could I love, accept, and forgive someone like Just Dave? Did I think I was better than him? I needed God to tell me, to show me how I could be more like Jesus because at that very moment I realized--I was nothing like Him. Nothing like the very Jesus I claimed to love and serve.
I got my answers that morning. As I sat there with tears flowing down my face I began to pray for Just Dave. I prayed that he would come to know God like I know God. That he would see Him as his father, his savior, his friend. I prayed that he would realize that his very life depended on it. Yes, that morning I prayed for a biker, whom I had never met before. I prayed for him as if he were my very own brother. I guess because, in reality, he was.
And if you are wondering whatever happened to our motorcycle man, well, he did over time become a Christian. He came back to church every Sunday morning, and with him came his friends. I type this with a smile because talk about shaking up a stiff-necked church full of watered down believers! Just Dave didn't know it at the time, but God had great plans for him. He would eventually begin a ministry to bikers just like him. And every so often Just Dave would stop by our little church and give us updates on all that God was doing in and amongst others just like him. It was awesome to hear him talk and share about the miracles and changes that were going on in the lives of his friends. He touched our hearts in a way no other biker could.
I never realized at the time just how brave he was. To walk into a church full of hypocrites, myself included, was a daring thing to do. I learned that day that church wasn't just for me--it really was for people like "Just Dave". That my friend is what church really is all about.
Thank you, Just Dave, for teaching me that life lesson early on in my walk with God and for changing my perspective on people who are a little bit different from me. I still pray for you Just Dave, and I pray for the lives of others that you touch for God. And I hope that you can forgive me for prejudging you the way I did all those many years ago.
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