What Would Jesus Ride?

Got to thinking that most of my heroes are not people I particularly aspire to be like. They are heroes for who they are (or were), not for what I want to be. Except maybe in some particular way that is just a part of them. That’s not the idea that got me to sit down at the keyboard just now, but I was thinking about Dawson Trotman, founder of the Navigators organization. I am not a bit like him. And, though I admire him greatly, I think if I had actually known him, he probably would have irritated me. But something that attracted me to him was the fact that he hated the idea of the image of a Christian man being a quiet, sissified, limp-wrist, wussy weakling. He wanted to represent Christ as a virile, broad chested he-man. He rode a motorcycle and the image was an important part of it.

I’ve been in love with the idea of powered two-wheelers as long as I can remember. Way before I got my first grade school chance to sit on a mini-bike, twist the handgrip, and feel that mighty three horsepower Briggs and Stratton propel me into 25 mile per hour bliss, my imagination had me cruising along, wind on my face. Decades later I still feel it every time I fire up and pull out onto a road. There’s magic in it.

A few years ago after dining out with my wife, we were walking out of a restaurant in a trendy area downtown. Across the street there were a group of guys in white shirts and ties, standing in a circle on the sidewalk. They all had Bibles in their hands and one was waving his around, preaching very loudly about hell and damnation. Everything he said was true and I agreed with all the content with all my heart. It was terribly important information that everyone in that district desperately needed to hear, process, and accept. But the method being used was at absolute cross purposes to the desired outcome of the effort. Over across the other street, on a third corner of this intersection, was a gas station and parked about was a bevy of crotch rocket motorcycles. Their owners, seven or eight burly black guys, were sitting on them talking, occasionally glancing over at the wacko street preachers. They were basically out of earshot so no content was possibly reaching them. And in all likelihood, most of them had heard these truths in some little black church in their past, perhaps even last Sunday, being this was in the heart of the Bible belt. I was actually angry at the white-shirted sincere young men, even though I felt sorry for the youngest of them, especially, as you could read in their faces that they were uncomfortable but were doing what they believed was the right thing and rising to the challenge of their spiritual leader’s urging. I was thinking that if they wanted to have a ministry in this district, they ought to go buy some crotch rockets, learn to ride, cruise the area, and come hang out at the gas station. The dudes on the other side of the street (which that night might as well have been a literal ocean and a figurative one of language and cultural great divide) were beyond any conceivable hope of connecting with the street preachers. I was angry because it was obvious with one look that the event was actually driving them away from the Gospel. It was making Jesus onerous. I know the cross as offense can be a concept that can’t and shouldn’t be denied in one sense, but driving someone away from Jesus and making faith in him to be culturally exclusive is inexcusable.

If street preacher had exchanged his white shirt for a leather jacket and pulled into the gas station with a ridiculously overpowered motorcycle, there might well have been an actual conversation with tough looking, but nevertheless very human beings inside leather clothing. It could have predictably started with, “Nice bike, dude!” and soon moved to an invitation to ride together, and with a bit of time, compassion and intentionality, could have ended up about some reality of their lives, and maybe even about Jesus.

I’m pretty sure that if Jesus were bodily here among us today, he would ride a motorcycle. It might be a crotch rocket sportbike, but they are so flashy and overtly powerful, he might not go for that. They can be intimidating even to seasoned riders. I think traditional “bikers,” with their classic association as people of ill repute would be a crowd Jesus would go straight for. I mean, if Harleys had existed in Bible times, there is no doubt we would be reading about Jesus being slammed by the establishment for hanging out in biker bars. He would have loved these people. He would have seen through the leather and tattoos and toughness to the tender hurting souls underneath. So maybe Jesus would have ridden a Harley. But then there is that Harley pride thing. (“If you have to ask, you wouldn’t understand,” says the T-shirt.) And there’s the whole “Live to Ride” thing that can be more accurately translated, “Live to Own,” according to my riding buddy. So the pride thing may have put Jesus off Harleys, as much as he would have loved Harley people.

Jesus’ motorcycle would have to have been big and heavy enough to take a man to ride. It would have been loud enough to be obnoxious, but not loud enough to stand out and attract unusual attention among other bikes. It wouldn’t have been a shiny show bike. It would have been old and beat up, maybe a dent in the tank, and lots of miles on the odometer. It certainly would have been laid down a time or two in the past. It would be solid enough to be respected when he rode up on it, no wimpy trail bike or scooter. It could have been a big motocross machine. That would have been appropriate for the desert around Galilee. And the lack of lights would have made him not street legal and unwelcome on the roads around Jerusalem. Yes, maybe a big ugly dirt bike.

Or maybe an old Honda cruiser. The runt of the litter on group rides. Nobody would have “oooed!” and “aahhed!” over it during pit stops, but they would have known of the precision engineering inside the motor and transmission and wouldn’t be able to not respect the quality and dependability. Metric cruisers are all about the quality and value of what’s inside way more than the image outside. Jesus would have liked that. I can’t help include this (please forgive me); Jesus would be quick to give a Harley rider a lift back to town when his shiny expensive mount broke down way out in the hills east of the Jordan river. And he wouldn’t rub it in. (I probably would.) So, would Jesus ride an old Honda? It does have the cross-cultural component going there. And he said the last shall be first. The cheapest bike will do that if it has the stuff to keep running after all the others have quit. I think it might have been his pick. I’d like to think so. That’s what I ride.