a motorcycle-Bible study education

It was bound to happen.  Before Kuya Bert plopped his rear behind me on the motorcycle I communicated my uncertainty with a bewildered facial expression and reminded everyone that I wasn’t an avid rider.  Heck, I could barely truck Josiah around on the little pedicap of a bike that Tom left behind for us.  So when Bert finally got situated with a guitar strapped to his back and both arms thoroughly occupied with Bible Study materials, my butt cheeks perked up in fear of what was probably going to happen to the both of us.

“Lord help us!” he laughed.  And off I went, almost sending Bert flying backwards with my unexpectedly quick and not necessarily under-control start.  We sped down the gravel dirt road as I tried my best to keep up with the other two motorcycles.  For the most part, my novice ability on that little Honda bike wasn’t very obvious…until it started raining.  And I mean monsoon rain.  Rain so hard that I couldn’t keep my eyelids open.  The other teammates stopped to put on raincoats.  When they realized I didn’t have one they suggested we stop and hang out under someone’s porch or a tree.  But we were out in the middle of rice fields so I stubbornly decided to press forward just as long as Bert didn’t mind.

And of course he didn’t.  He was a leather-necked, industrious worker who spent much of his life in those fields.  His brown, tough skin somehow masked his age.  Quite backwards however because he looked younger, rather than older (a usual side effect of too much sun exposure), appearing middle aged as opposed to well past retirement, his true stage of life.  “Forward march!” he yelled, so I continued, splashing through mud holes and stumbling on large stones.

The rain fell harder and the road more unmanageable for a beginner like me.  Trickles of water turned into streams as the land snaked its way upward into the hilly terrain and then quickly down again flattening out into wide open spaces fit for crops of rice.  A jungle roller coaster.  Suddenly, our trail shot up and curved to the left.  I was having trouble downshifting because I’m just not that coordinated and quick yet.  The bike couldn’t handle going up that hill on 3^rd gear…I couldn’t find 2^nd…somehow I skipped and went straight to 1^st…and the bike went flying from underneath me…my hand idiotically still revving on the gas.  Bert managed to literally jump off of the out-of-control bike as if he were playing a game of Leap Frog.  He stayed on his feet, wet as a dog, guitar still strapped and Bible study materials still firmly grasped.  The sudden lightened load helped a ton and instead of flying off the 20-foot drop off and into a flooded plain of crops, I miraculously found my balance and kept my butt on the seat.  The locals were watching the whole event…embarrassing.

Bert ran to where I stopped, jumped back on the bike and yelled, “Forward!” as if what just happened was as normal as the caribou poking its head into one of the houses to the right of us.  I wish I could say that was the last near-death experience, but several times the motorcycle slipped in mud sending the rear wheel out of control and almost fishtailing erratically enough to knock us to the ground.  One time I came within inches of slipping off of the trail and down one of the high drop offs.  And each time, the only sound that Bert made was, “Whoooops!”

But we made it to the little gathering place, a multipurpose shack with a tin roof overlooking the valley.  Bert went from house to house inviting whomever he could.  The other guy tuned his guitar, while another one texted would-be attenders (quite odd to see people texting in such a rural area).  Finally, a group of youth arrived and God took over.

These rough, truly manly men led prayer, worship and then the Bible study itself.  The teens discovered new attributes of Jesus Christ on their own through the Scripture they were reading.  I’m quite used to elders preaching up a storm, but not today.  These men taught the youth how to discover truths in the Bible for themselves…no preaching.

Watching a 3 year old sit on a hard wooden bench and engage with 7 year olds, 18 year olds and 60 year olds is a remarkable sight.  That’s what these guys were taught to do and it’s why so many people have now heard the hope of the Gospel.  These men first heard the Gospel themselves almost a decade before from some World Team missionaries.  Now, here I was, learning from those early converts about planting house churches that multiplied into other house churches all over the region.

Amy and I are on an unofficial internship for the next 3 months learning from the missionaries and the local Filipino believers.  Everyday is a brand new learning experience out here, in ministry and in motorcycle riding.