Last Saturday I went to “church.”The parking lot was packed (though attendants guided the faithful to the few open spots). The building was a megastructure that covered a whole city block. As I walked up to the front doors, the band was cranking out a bluesy rock song that clearly got your attention. Once inside, I was greeted by smiling faces and friendly “welcomes.” I have to admit that I felt accepted despite the huge crowd that flooded the building.
Clear signage answered any lingering questions. The room was rich with icons and images to remind even the most apathetic individual that this was no ordinary place. It was sacred. Special. A sanctuary for all. As I looked around, it was clear that message was ringing true. From bikers with tattoos to businessmen with ties, there was no single demographic. Young children and their parents. Teenagers. Married and single. African-American and Hispanic, Caucasian and Asian.
Outside in the 98 degree Idaho heat there were tents and booths, selling the faithful everything from t-shirts to tater tots. I sat down briefly to listen to the band. I watched as a few danced in wild abandon and raised their hands and clapped. A woman sat down next to me, caught my eye and smiled. We exchanged a few pleasant words. The man on my left chipped in some thoughts and I felt a clear sense of peace and belonging.
The message was much different than normal. No preaching…just a continual barrage of insight, information and inspiration to essentially “Live to Ride. Ride to Live.”
That’s right, you heard me.
Live to Ride. Ride to Live.
It was the “Church of Harley-Davidson” and it’s services were doing great business. The 105 year-old company operates a men’s ministry that’s enviable and it’s ability to attract long-term commitment is unmatched. Once you ride a Harley, you don’t settle for anything else. Young boys dream about them and their dads drop every penny in the black and red offering plate to wrap their legs around this coveted piece of iron.
Harley knows motorcycles.
Harley-Davidson learned years ago that it doesn’t sell bikes. Rather, they sell experiences. They hawk an image. WWHG. Where would a hog go? The Harley-Davidson center (shop, offices, garage) isn’t what it’s all about. The open road and the experience of riding an iron horse unfettered and free is what Harley sells. The H-D center is merely the place where the faithful gather to swap road stories, learn riding tips, improve and customize their bikes and find common friends.
Okay, so it’s not a “real” church. So let’s talk about the rest of the weekend.
I went to a real “mega” church later that Saturday night (and attended still another one the next morning). Both were what I considered “Boomer Confederate” experiences: everyone there had hair that had either gone south or gray. Despite the worship leader’s plea to “stand and worship,” most just stood with somber stares. Few sang along. Sunday morning was a bit better, but only because the songs were slightly more familiar.
The funny thing? The only person to shake my hand and welcome me was the preacher. Nobody else seemed interested that I was parked in a chair near them. Don’t get me wrong, there were plenty of good things, too. The message was 35 minutes of solid Bible exposition. It was nice to see women (and even children) involved. The bands were all right, by church standards.
But I left both those real churches with emptiness.
What I really wanted to do was go back to the Harley-Davidson party. At least there I knew what they were selling and even if I wasn’t buying it was okay. At church if you don’t want what’s being sold, a healthy load of guilt is heaped upon you. Christians have a difficult time with rejection. In fact, for some there’s even a sinister joy when someone walks away from the faith or bristles at salvation.
NBC Nightly News is currently investigating “Faith in America” and the July 24 edition lamented the exodus of men from church. The suggested reason was men viewed church as something for “women, the weak or the wimpy.” Another reasoned that men aren’t big on relationships (like women) and many contemporary churches focus on relationships these days. But don’t I buy either of those rationalizations. Many men, including myself, simply find church boring and irrelevant. Few churches really deal with men’s issues. When was the last time a pastor battled pornography on Sunday morning (and I’m not talking a G-rated, lets-all-be-better-men-and-faithful-fathers stuff)? You know why it doesn’t happen? Because a large segment of pastors are hooked on porn. They’re looking for help, too.
Still, I must wonder.
What if the Church looked more like a Harley-Davidson shop?
A bike rally is all about relationship and experience. Men love those things, and it looks like women do, too. What if we could package the message of the cross in a manner that doesn’t need a 35-minute monologue (with deathly boring PowerPoint shows) to make it happen? What if we had more food and louder music and less “congregational singing” (unless that was your thing and, if it is, feel free to sing and dance all you want)? What if experiential rituals like baptism and communion were expanded and explained? What if we could brand our message (“Live to Die. Die to Live”) on the hearts of every person? What if we finally got “real” and authentic and transparent with our faith? What if it was okay to live through a crash or close call without being condemned for riding too close to life’s edges? What if Sundays were more about improving and customizing faith rather than selling a one-size-fits-all generic Christianity?
I think you know what it would be.
It would be revolutionary.
It would be attractive.
It would be an unforgettable experience.
It would be an irrepressible image.
It would be an unimaginable relationship.
It would be real. True. Life-changing.
It would change the world.
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