The road was long—literally and metaphorically. Prospecting for the motorcycle ministry was no walk in the park, though, to be fair, I never expected it to be. This wasn’t some casual Sunday biker’s club with pancake breakfasts and polite waves to each passerby. No, this was a Christian ministry with the heart and grit of a 1% MC. There were rules, rites, and a whole lot of sacrifices, all of which taught me lessons that would stick with me long after the patch was sewn onto my vest.

Nineteen months. That’s how long I prospected. For nineteen months, I was in this strange in-between world. I was close enough to taste the life but far enough that it didn’t quite belong to me yet. It’s like looking through a window into a warm room on a cold night, knowing you’re welcome to knock but only after you’ve proven yourself worthy of stepping inside.

Being a prospect meant one thing above all else: earning it. Every ride, every errand, every seemingly insignificant task was a test of loyalty, endurance, and character. From filling water buckets in the rain, being the last man standing watch over night during bike week, to walking around picking up cigarette butts. You learned to swallow your pride and just do what needed to be done or you wouldn’t and that would be the end of it sooner or later. Blood, sweat, and tears were more than just clichés; they were currencies, and I spent plenty of each.

But let me tell you—when that day finally came, when I got my Full Patch when I got my Cut as we so lovingly called it, was one of the greatest feelings of my life. Standing there, surrounded by the brothers I had grown to respect and love, I felt something shift deep inside me. The patch wasn’t just a piece of fabric; it was a symbol of acceptance, of belonging to something much larger than myself. It was the mark that set me apart in the MC world, a world that demanded respect and gave it only to those who earned it.

Thinking about that moment reminds me of the Israelites in the wilderness, standing at the threshold of something sacred. When they were circumcised, they bore the physical pain of a rite of passage, but more importantly, they carried the mark of being God’s chosen people. It wasn’t just about the act itself; it was about what it represented. It was a covenant, a line in the sand that declared, “These are mine.”

In a way, that’s exactly what the patch felt like. I could still feel the pain of the road, the miles, the sacrifices, the moments where I wondered if I’d ever measure up. But when that patch was handed to me, when it was finally stitched onto my vest, it all made sense. The pain wasn’t for nothing. It was the mark that set me apart, the culmination of every moment I had given to the ministry.

From that day forward, I wasn’t just a guy who rode with the ministry. I was part of the ministry, part of its mission and its brotherhood. And that’s a feeling no one can take away from you.

Yeah, prospecting was tough, and the road wasn’t always smooth.  That moment…the moment I got my patch—was worth every mile. Even though I don’t wear the Patch on my back anymore I am still referred to as Brother by many and that Patch will forever be on my heart.

Let’s crack open Joshua 5, we see Joushua give the Israelites a completely different kind of cut. We find a scene that probably won’t show up in your “Top 10 Hospitality Tips,” but trust me, there’s some serious wisdom on the table. It’s all about preparing for the Promised Land with a healthy dose of divine hospitality—just with a twist you might not see coming. Spoiler alert: there’s some, uh, cutting-edge preparation involved; but stick with me—it’s worth being unbonneted.

Alright, let’s snip….I mean rip the band-aid off and talk about circumcision. Yep, not your usual warm-and-fuzzy hospitality topic, but stay with me. In Joshua 5:2-9, God tells Joshua to circumcise the new generation of Israelites born during the wilderness years. Now, this isn’t just some ancient ritual for kicks—this is God’s way of saying, “Welcome to the family! Let’s make it official.” It’s the ultimate covenant handshake, except… well, no hands are involved.

So, what’s really going on here? This wasn’t about pain for pain’s sake. It was about identity and belonging—giving the next generation their “VIP badge” to the covenant community. Think of it like God saying, “You’re in! Now let’s get you ready for the main event.”

By going through this, the Israelites were recommitting to the promise God made to Abraham. God had said He’d give them the land, but they’d need to set themselves apart. One way they did that? A little snip-snip to symbolize their special role. Now, you might be wondering, “How on earth does this connect to hospitality?” Well, here’s the deal: God was reminding them of the dress code for His table. And let’s just say most of them were a tad overdressed for the occasion. (Sorry, last snip joke—I promise…probably.)

This moment wasn’t just about following rules; it was about getting everyone on the same page—united in purpose and ready to embrace the blessings waiting for them. Divine hospitality isn’t always about warm bread and butter. Sometimes it’s about the hard work of preparing ourselves to step into what God’s laid out for us. So next time you think about hospitality, remember this: sometimes, before the feast, there’s a bit of prep work. And if God’s in charge? You better believe it’s worth it.

Now, who’s ready to take a bite out of the Promised Land?

Fast forward to Joshua 5:10-12, and we find the Israelites setting up camp at Gilgal, ready to throw down for Passover—a celebration so big it’s basically the Super Bowl of freedom parties. This annual bash is all about commemorating God’s epic plan to have Moses do his best Snake Plissken impression and Escape from Egypt. (What I would give to see Kurt Russell star in that movie) Think of it as the ultimate 4^th of July bash for liberty from Pharoah, complete with a side of unleavened bread and bitter herbs to keep the vibes real. It’s their way of saying, “Thanks, God, for the divine rescue and catering service in the wilderness!”

Now, here’s where it gets spicy: right after the Passover feast, the Israelites sink their teeth into the fresh produce of the Promised Land for the very first time (Joshua 5:11-12). And just like that, the manna Door Dash is canceled. No more daily delivery of heavenly bread—it’s all about that local farm-to-table goodness now.

This isn’t just a dietary shift; it’s a divine mic drop. God’s showing them that they’ve graduated from wilderness survival mode to Promised Land living. It’s like trading in a fast-food combo meal for a reservation at a Michelin-starred restaurant. He’s rolling out the red carpet of abundance, saying, “Welcome home! Hope you’re hungry.”

So, whether it’s manna in the desert or the bounty of Canaan, God’s hospitality game is strong. He doesn’t just meet needs, He lays out a feast that reminds His people of where they’ve been and gives them a taste of where they’re going. Now that’s a banquet worth crashing!

The Encounter with the Commander of the Lord’s Army

Things get downright intense when Joshua stumbles upon a mysterious man calling himself the commander of the Lord’s army (Joshua 5:13-15). Picture this: Joshua, fresh off Passover and probably feeling pretty confident, steps up and asks, “You with us or against us?” And the guy drops the ultimate plot twist: “Neither.” Wait, what? This Guy is packing some serious divine authority.

Then comes the moment that flips the script. The commander tells Joshua to ditch his sandals because he’s standing on holy ground. Boom—mic drop. Forget dim lighting and candles; this was like walking into a Mexican cookout uninvited and being handed the best taco of your life, fresh off the grill, before you even realized you were starving.

When an angel tells you to take off your shoes because you’re on holy ground, you take them off—no questions asked. Same rules apply at a Latin cookout: when you’re handed a taco fresh off the grill, you eat it. Don’t think. Just eat. In both cases, you’ll walk away changed, and trust me, you’ll never regret it.

This might not be your typical hospitality playbook, but Joshua 5 serves up a powerful reminder: real hospitality starts with honoring people’s presence and even more so, God’s. It’s not just about setting the table—it’s about setting the tone. So, when we open our doors to welcome others, let’s not forget the ultimate guest who’s already in the room.

Just like God brought the new generation into the covenant community, we’re called to roll out the welcome mat for newcomers in our churches, homes, and communities. It’s about nurturing their faith and making them feel like VIPs—like giving them the best seat at the table and that coveted first slice of cake.

The Passover celebration? It’s a crash course in remembering and sharing stories of God’s faithfulness. By telling others about those times God came through—big or small—we create an atmosphere of hospitality that invites everyone to the feast of His goodness. It’s basically a storytelling session with snacks, and who doesn’t love a good story with a side of carbs?

Why is storytelling such a big deal in hospitality? Simple: because building relationships is the secret sauce. Without a relationship, you’re like a blindfolded cook tossing random spices into a dish and hoping it works out. Spoiler alert: it usually doesn’t. That’s why so many attempts at hospitality—especially in church—fall flatter than my grandma’s first attempt at soufflé. We skip the relationship and wonder why our one-size-fits-all approach doesn’t fit anyone.

So, what’s one of the best ways to build a relationship? Sharing a story. Not just any story, though—your story. Specifically, your testimony. And here’s the kicker: the Bible makes it abundantly clear that sharing your testimony isn’t just a good idea; it’s part of the job description.

Check out these verses:

John 8:17-18: “In your own Law it is written that the testimony of two witnesses is true.” Translation? Back in the day, two people agreeing made it gospel. Imagine how that would fly in modern meetings.

2 Timothy 1:8: “So do not be ashamed of the testimony about our Lord or of me his prisoner.” Paul’s basically saying, “Don’t leave me hanging—share your story!”

1 John 5:10: “Whoever believes in the Son of God accepts this testimony.” Accept it, people! No takebacks.

Acts 5:27-32: Sharing your testimony isn’t optional, it’s a divine directive. Consider it the ultimate “God said so.”

And the mic drop: Revelation 12:11: “They triumphed over him by the blood of the Lamb and by the word of their testimony.” Yep, your story is part of the victory plan. Who knew you were in this epic?

Sharing your testimony is one of the greatest forms of hospitality because it shows you’re willing to go there. You’re not just saying, “Here’s a casserole; good luck with life.” You’re saying, “Here’s my story. Here’s how far God has carried me, sometimes dragging me kicking and screaming, and here’s why I know He’ll show up for you too.”

It’s vulnerable, it’s personal, and yeah, it can feel a little awkward, kind of like sharing your embarrassing middle school pictures of you with bright red hair and Janco jeans…. But it’s also incredibly powerful. Sharing your story isn’t just a way to build relationships; it’s a way to point people to the ultimate host, the One who sets the table and invites us all. And when you do that? Well, my friend, that’s when hospitality stops being a casserole and starts being a calling.

Then there’s Joshua’s holy ground moment with the commander. It’s a wake-up call to stay aware of God’s presence in our everyday lives. When we create spaces that honor and worship Him, we foster an environment where others can feel His love and grace. Think of it as turning your home into a holy hangout—where the vibe is sacred, but the door’s always open.

Joshua 5 serves up a hospitality recipe that’s equal parts covenant renewal, remembrance, and reverence. It’s a masterclass in inclusion, celebration, and keeping our spiritual ears tuned to God’s voice. Now, let’s be real—this chapter starts with a rather sharp lesson in commitment, talk about making the ultimate cut for the team (Sorry I could make Gibeath sized mountain of jokes but that’s just the tip…see what I did there…I promise that’s the last one) Once that’s handled, it’s all about reconnecting with God and creating a community that’s warm, welcoming, and downright joyful.

So, as we bring these lessons into our own lives, let’s aim for more than just a good time. When we open our hearts and homes to others, we’re not just hosting a party, we are setting the table for a little slice (ok that’s the last one) of heaven right here on earth. Honestly, who wouldn’t RSVP to that?

Stay Salty and Get Lit my friends