Ray Bell… such an interesting, amazing man. He’s certainly one of a kind that I won’t soon forget.

I’m at this semi formal fundraising dinner near the Perimeter mall area in Atlanta, Ga. So I’m standing around making small talk and getting pretty bored. Then this guy with a cowboy shirt on and handlebar mustache moseys up to me (and yes moseys). He introduces himself as Ray Bell. And no, you can’t call him Ray… it’s Ray Bell. He’s some sort of mix of biker meets cowboy (it kinda works, both are equally leather clad). As we talk, he proceeds to show me about five bullet holes in the back of his jacket. Then he pulls up his shirt. He’s got the scars to match.

You don’t meet people like Ray Bell everyday – or at least I don’t meet people like Ray Bell everyday. We talk for a while, enjoying each others company. He looks rough, but strikes me as such a warm, personable, friendly guy. Soon, dinner begins and we go our separate ways.

Dinner finishes and I’m walking out to my car. Guess who flags me down? Ray Bell. We talk a bit more and he invites me to his church. It’s called God’s Holy Rollers. It’s a church for bikers (and I’m not talking Schwinn) that meets in a bar on Sunday mornings. I’m intrigued and I agree. And when I agree and Ray Bell gets excited. So excited that he lets me in on his little secret. The jacket he’s wearing isn’t he one he was actually shot in. That one wore out years ago. So every time he gets a new jacket, Ray Bell takes it out back behind his house and shoots it with a shotgun. Like I said… one of a kind.

Sunday morning rolls around and I show up at the church. I’m excited, but don’t know what to expect. Now, I’ve done my best to blend, but there’s really no way I’m going to blend. I don’t do biker very well.

I go inside and I’ll tell you, it was an experience. I’ve been so many different churches. New and old. Liturgical and charismatic. Mainline and evangelical. I’ve never been so embraced and loved by a group of people. I was greeted with open arms and made apart of the family. They were raw, and rough around the edges, but they were honest and real.

I’ve never worshiped with folks who smoke while they sing. But what I saw before me was probably a decent snapshot of what the early church looked like. It wasn’t clean and pretty, it was dirty and messy. Folks showing up with no pretense or no agenda. Their lives weren’t perfect, but they were real. They just loved God and wanted to be around their friends. It’s amazing that something so simple is so easily lost or pushed out by programs and rituals. I walk away from that morning smelling like cigarettes and beer, but I don’t mind because I know in some way that’s what church should smell like.