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There are three kinds of motorcycle enthusiasts, according to Mike Gillikin. Weekend riders – “the guys who have the $500 jackets that have never been creased, never been in the rain” – he calls RUBs (Rich Urban Bikers). There are people who ride motorcycles for transportation. Then there are bikers, including outlaws.
In the 1940s, the American Motorcycle Association coined the term “one percenters” to describe the outlaw bikers who emerged after World War II. Just as one percent of society were considered lawbreakers, so were one percent of bikers.
“That’s why, whenever you see Pagans or Hell’s Angels or whatever, they’ve got a one percent patch on. They are the one percent. They’re the extreme, they’re the fringe element,” Gillikin said.
They are also his mission field.
“My ministry is to bikers and outlaws, primarily outlaws,” said Gillikin, owner of Somerset Cycles, a shop in the countryside near Princess Anne. Interviewed during Delmarva Bike Week, as all kinds of motorcyclists converged on the Ocean City area, he said many Delmarva residents would be surprised to learn that not all bikers come here from metropolitan areas. Well-known and even outlaw motorcycle clubs have chapters on the Eastern Shore.
“I ride with the Pagans. I see them all the time,” said Gillikin. But he does not live their lifestyle. He conducts an outreach called The Servants, which he and his late wife, Deborah, pioneered. Now remarried, Gillikin continues it as a one-man mnistry.
“These people are looking for someplace to belong. We all are. They haven’t found it in church. They haven’t found it in Jesus. They haven’t found it, many times, in their own families. So they seek the brotherhood [of bikers]. So I go tell them, ‘Hey, there’s a new place for you to belong. There’s Somebody who really wants you to be part of the family. And it’s important.’”
UNLIKELY MINISTRY
Gillikin’s past makes him somewhat unlikely as a minister to outlaw bikers.
“I was a national technical rep for Michelin Tire. I wore suits and flew to work,” he said of his career before moving to Delmarva in 1993. “I’ve always been associated with cars and motorcycles and things like that.”
After several jobs with area media outlets, he took a chance and opened his motorcycle shop. He had previously helped establish the Christian Motorcyclists Association on the shore. He started The Servants in 2001 after sensing God was calling him to carry out Psalm 2:8—
“Ask of Me, and I will make the nations your inheritance, the ends of the earth your possession.”
At first he resisted, thinking he could not carry out such a huge responsibility. Then he realized he could ask for the biker nation, and responded, “That’s cool. I can do that.”
A tall, friendly man with a firm handshake and a ready smile, Gillikin is serious about his ministry. He sees it as a full-time calling, a lifestyle. He avoids being what he calls a “restaurant rider.”
“They ride to the restaurants, have a meeting, get together and ride to the church,” he described. “There’s no ministry. There’s no involvement with the community. There’s no tracts to the waitress or anything like that.”
Gillikin gets respect from the people who come to his shop. Where bikers are concerned, respect is what it’s all about. “You can command obedience but you have to earn respect,” he said.
“Outlaw bikers – bikers in general – respect somebody with conviction. If you know who you are and what you’re all about, they respect that, even if you’re not like them.” That’s how Gillikin has been accepted.
He quoted the old maxim, “If you want to have a friend, first you’ve got to be a friend.” The key to being a friend, he explained, is to be honest with yourself and with others, don’t try to be something you’re not, and don’t expect anything.
OPEN DOORS
“Pretty soon, the conversation will come around: ‘What about this Jesus thing that you do?’ And surprisingly, a great percentage of them have a very, very strict church oriented background, a religious oriented background.
“They were not necessarily raised with the Gospel,” Gillikin noted, differentiating between going to church and being a Christian. “They know the shell but they don’t know the meat inside the nut.”
Most bikers tell him they don’t like church. “I know what you mean because Jesus hates religion. God hates religion,” Gillikin responds. “They’ll stop in their tracks and look at me and say, ‘What do you mean by that?’”
For Gillikin, it’s an open door to explain that religion is a system of man’s rules and customs. It doesn’t necessarily produce a relationship with God. Gillikin says, “I’m all about the relationship” which comes through Jesus – something most bikers don’t know about.
“They know about Jesus as a taskmaster, somebody who took attendance when they went to church, somebody who punishes them, but not somebody who really cares. My job is just to be there and tell people that He cares.”
Because of how bikers act and dress, most of them are not comfortable in church. They especially object to what they consider hypocrisy. But for Gillikin, that opens another door.
“I say, ‘Look, guys. There are hypocrites who work in the supermarket. You haven’t stopped eating. There are hypocrites who work at the gas station. You haven’t quit buying gas, have you?’” When it comes to people in church, he continues, “you’re not there for them. You’re there for Jesus. Jesus isn’t a hypocrite.” They get the point.
Gillikin uses every opening to present the Gospel. He doesn’t push. He cultivates relationships which invite confidence and candor, then he waits for questions. His business and ministry cards have the steps to salvation printed on the back. Of the thousands he has passed out, only a couple were returned to him. Even outlaw bikers read both sides, then put them in their wallets as something of value.
CARING FOR SOULS
Gillikin is comfortable with people who live the biker lifestyle because he doesn’t judge them. He cares about their souls. “I deal with the guys with the grease on their jeans,” he said. This regard for their well-being creates a bond trust.
“I do weddings, funerals and other services for the chapters,” he said of the outlaw clubs organized on the shore.
Within the biker nation are subcultures, lesser known motorcycle clubs associated with the larger ones. The Blitzkrieg, for instance, is a subchapter of the Pagans.
“This is Pagan territory,” he noted. “There was a club called the Phantoms here. That’s since pulled out.” Hell’s Angels have tried to recruit in this area, “but because this is Pagan country, they don’t have a chapter here.”
He recalled one funeral in particular. A week after he felt the urge to visit a club member in another county, the biker was killed on his motorcycle. Gillikin was surprised when he was asked to handle the service. “I never knew they even thought of me as a preacher. But they said, ‘You were the only preacher he would ever talk to.’”
The tables were turned when Deborah passed away. Out of respect, about 200 bikers attended her funeral. “There were no motorcycle riders. There were bikers and outlaws there. Outlaws don’t honor females. It’s a male dominated society. That’s why bikers’ girlfriends wear property patches which say, ‘Property of…’”
At the funeral, the bikers didn’t sit by themselves. They mingled with “straight society,” as Gillikin put it.
“Bikers are very, very family oriented. If they have a child, the son or the daughter is the apple of their eye because they love them unconditionally,” he said. They came to honor Deborah because of her convictions and her part of the ministry. Gillikin called it “unheard of.”
This unusual relationship has developed because Gillikin sees himself as a farmer. He is prepared to be a seed planter, a cultivator or a harvester – whatever the situation calls for.
STRAIGHT UP
“Occasionally when I’m dropping those seeds, there’s going to be a weed there that I can pull. Occasionally when I’m planting those seeds, somebody’s going to want me to tell them how the plant grows.
“One time… I’m going to be watering that garden if it needs watering, and I’m going to pick a flower. There’ll be some fruit. So I’ve got to be flexible enough to do it all, but I consider myself a seed planter and a waterer,” he said.
The way he keeps that in perspective is to remember, “All I am is a servant. All I am is the message. My job is to get the message out.”
To do that, he functions as an emissary, sent on a mission by the Ruler of another kingdom. He doesn’t force his own agenda; he accurately represents the One who sent him. He regards his shop as an embassy – technically the province of the kingdom he serves. “This is Heaven, this is not Maryland,” he said, seated among torn down bikes and piles of parts. “People know when they come in here, I’m an ambassador.”
Joy! 102.5 WOLC can be heard all over the shop. An occasional customer makes a statement by switching stations, but Gillikin nonchalantly changes back to Christian radio.
“Look a man in the eye and say, ‘Jesus loves me. And you know what? He loves you, too.’ Eyes are the windows of the soul. They’ll look at you and they’ll see, ‘This guy really is straight up,” Gillikin believes.