Leave your gift at the alter...First be Reconciled

I don't think we preach enough about Jesus these days, at least not on how He instructed us to live.  But He doesn't mince words when it comes to conflict resolution.  Most Christians are quick to cite the passage on forgiveness "Lord how many times should we forgive?  Seven times?  Christ said, no, seventy times seven."

Commanded to forgive and move on, right?

But this only deals with half of the problem.  This doesn't address sin on the other side of the equation.  For that, we need to accept the passage on reconciliation as a commandment as well.  To do any less, would be a sin.  Christ says "if you bring a gift to the altar, and there remember that your brother has something against you, leave your gift there before the altar, and go your way.  First be reconciled to your brother, and then come and offer your gift."  Sometimes this takes a close examination of our hearts to know if we have hurt someone, and then there are times we know it, we've been told, and maybe the other person has done everything they can do, including forgiveness, to provide an environment for reconciliation.

Several years ago, a church I attended was trying to find its way after the senior pastor left.  There was some division in how to move forward, but unity was the "message".  Of course, it should be.  But I mentioned to the interim pastor that without the hard work of reconciliation, there can be no unity.  He must've contemplated on that because a few weeks later, he made that statement from the pulpit.

I try to live this, but more often than not, I find myself in the forgiving commandment and praying for some lifeline of reconciliation.  I don't want to come across as an expert on reconciliation, but I do think that I know what it looks like, and when it is being withheld.  And when that happens, it leaves those affected in a world of darkness, under the weight of hurt.  This is something that our family has had to cope with, after 10 years of extending forgiveness, time and again, the last cut was the deepest.  I said to one person, after an long conversation, that I wasn't going to beg for reconciliation.  But essentially, I was.  I was deeply wanting to be reconciled to my brothers.  An officially approved letter followed, after some time, and it appeared in our mailbox on a Saturday.  And it only deepened the wound.

So, for my own spiritual health, in the middle of one of hundreds of sleepless nights over those 10 years, I typed out a letter to my wife and myself, framing what I thought reconciliation would look like.  It brought some balm to the wound, and I sent it to two of the leaders whom I had considered my best friends at one time.  In return, several days later, I received an email back that they were going to process it.  And there it ended, 8 months ago.

Friend, whether you are a Christ follower or not, and you've found yourself in a similar situation, I get it.  I hurt for you.  Self-help books and counsel can only go so far.  It isn't about a lack of forgiveness on your part, and it can't be about forgetting.  God made you to be made whole, and if someone is withholding reconciliation, it is going against His design for your life.  In your waiting, which may go on until eternity calls, take that pain and use it in understanding others, in your interactions with others, use it to be Jesus to those around you who may also be hurting.  Sadly, there are probably a lot of us.  And if you are the one taking your gift to the altar, think carefully, ask God to search your heart, either in your corporate actions or individual relationships.  First....first.  First be reconciled.

9/11: Winning the fight, losing the War

So much has changed since that fateful day 17 years ago.  A new generation has no memory of it, the war unleashed on our enemies continues to this day, and as a country, culturally, we've changed.  For those who can remember, in the days, the weeks and months following September 11th, we were absorbed in a kind of unity I don't know that we had ever experienced, certainly in my lifetime, as a people.  We experienced a compassion, courage, sacrifice, that erased the walls of race, mostly, and certainly of party and status.

But those months turned into years.  I recall co-hosting a local radio program at the one-year anniversary of 9/11.  On that, I wondered how long we would experience the unity, the understanding among ourselves. I wondered if we had already forgotten hearts standing united. I remember a caller regretted that could ever happen.

Several years after, I remember listening to a sociologist talk about what drives people together, and what drives them apart.  While not talking about 9/11 specifically, I couldn't help but make the parallel.  He said that the greater the trauma, the closer a society is driven together, but in that same high level experience of trauma, the society, after some time, is driven further apart.  The more frequent and/or greater the trauma, the more dramatic the chasm apart society is driven.  Think about what we've experienced since 9/11 with multiple mass shootings, protests, police shootings-both sides, natural disasters, and uprisings that would only exacerbate the trauma already weighing on our collective psyche.

Does this all sound like gobbledygook?
Have you seen an America more divided than it is right now?

I was born in 1968.  I didn't experience the racial divide of the 1960s, nor would I have been aware of the political unrest caused by the Vietnam War into the 1970s.  I've often thanked God I didn't experience those times, so please, correct me if I am wrong, but this seems unlike those times, even though I have heard it described as the "country coming apart at the seams".  This seems like rage.  A spirit of rage, unchecked, unnamed, excused, and even fanned to higher emotions from people behind keyboards, tweets and posts.

The war began at 9:37 a.m. on September 11, 2001.  We took that battle to their bunkers, thousands of miles away.  And we won the battle, as much as it could be won in a battle stemming from ideology.  However, if the terrorists' goal was to unleash unrest, to defeat a country because of principle, we should all stop and ask ourselves if a divided country is the same thing as a defeated country. We should ask ourselves if we are on a trajectory of losing the war because a nation divided cannot stand.

This I admit to you.  When I stand for the anthem, I am in quiet prayer for healing for this country.  When I place my hand over my heart, I am pledging my life to fulfill the spirit, the dream, the purpose of America.  To see her rise to her full potential, for everyone.  I don't have it in me to hate.  I have no idea what it would be like to be a woman, a black man, an immigrant, or a gay man, and I'm not going to spotlight positions they take to further divide.  I also don't know what it is like to be a Southerner, a soldier, athlete or a police officer.  For some reason, God saw fit to drop this soul into a shell that would have probably the easiest path one could hope for:  a white, evangelical, Republican man from Indiana.  I am called to love every last one of those I am not like, and for me, that means understanding and sometimes extending a lot of grace, just as I hope they extend to me.

We are one people.  We discovered that at 9:38 a.m. on 9/11.  We need to find that again.

What's in a name: Garro

I laid awake last night, pondering some political unrest in my own plight.  And through a string of half-related issues, landed on one that has kept Plymouth people puzzled for decades, and longer.

Where did the name Garro Street come from?

This street was part of the original plat of the town from 1836, though no names were on the plat except for the main street it was platted around, Michigan Street.  The furthest south (east/west) became South Street (later renamed LaPorte for its connection to the Plymouth-LaPorte Trail), the furthest north, North Street, and all those in between were named for the contemporary presidents beginning with Washington and ending with Harrison.  So, who was this guy "Garro" that a street so prominent in the downtown, between South and Washington, would be so-named?  The north/south streets were Water, Michigan, Center, Walnut and Plum(b-sometimes a "b" appeared on maps).

Back to Garro.  This street's importance escalated in the downtown as the Nickel Plate Depot, post office and library were built along it, and then as it crossed the river to the east, it was crowned with Lincoln High School in the 1920s, like the great city halls and churches of East Coast cities.  And now, it traverses one of the finest small city urban parks in the state, River Park Square.

As I understand it, no other name was associated with the street as far back as records show.  At one time, it was misprinted "Gano" on a city map, but that was post-Garro.  And at one time, East Garro was known as Taylor Street, but that was changed by the 1910s.

So, I did a little on-line research on the name Garro.  I could find only one family of Garros in Indiana during the 19th century, located in Posey County.  The name was confused with Gano as it was written in records, and it appears that the family used the Gano spelling by the second half of the 19th century.  Gano.....ok, let's look at that.  So, a research on the Gano name in Plymouth revealed the family of Jerry Gano living in the city in 1880.  He and his wife were from Ireland, he was day laborer and lived on South (LaPorte) Street.  Didn't appear to have much status in the city.  I have a hard time believing the street was named for him, particularly since he lived a block away, in case you were thinking his land was used for an extension of the street.

So, were there any famous Garros in ancient history that the town founders may have been honoring?  Well, indeed there is a pre-19th century famous Garro, Jose' de Garro, nicknamed El Santo (the Saint) was a Spanish military leader of the late 1600s and became the governor of Chile.  His religious piety earned him the nickname El Santo.  Were our founding fathers enamored with El Santo's exploits?  Interest in Latin America grew during the middle part of the 1800s.

Now, I'm not a Star Wars fanatic, but evidently there is another famous, 21st century Garro.  Nathaniel Garro, who was captain of the 7th great company of the Death Guard Space Marine Legion.

It would be interesting to know the true origin of this street name.  I don't think that there are any others without a clear explanation.  Or could we just adopt one of the more famous Garros above?  There's an accomplished artist named Mark Garro, and a Mexican author named Elena Garro.  If we can't find the true origin, maybe its time to embrace them all.  Maybe what this street needs is a Mexican-Irish Bar called the Garro-Gano, just to cover all our bases.

Enough

This is me.

Born in a small town in Indiana.  Raised in a home with a mom and dad who taught me to love Jesus.  Worked through high school and college.  Fortunate to find a job in my hometown.  Christ continued to pursue me time and again.  Met my wife and bought a home.  Two kids followed.  Surrounded by friends.  I wouldn't call life easy, but it was, I never had to worry about food or shelter.

This is my brother.

Born in Haiti.  Found Jesus because someone cared enough to share.  Roamed streets to look for work to buy food.  Loves his family.  Surrounded by love.  He wouldn't call his life easy, but would never complain and still finds joy.


The difference is in the color of our skin, in where we were born.  I chose neither of those.  God's overwhelming love for those He created, who follow Him, join us in a brotherhood experienced throughout the earth.  God does not see color, He does not see country or state.  He sees His creation, a broken people needing a Savior.  Only people who do not know God would see things differently.  Only those with the darkest of hearts would have contempt for His creation.  And of all people, God's people should be those who defend the defenseless, love those who need love, and stand for those who cannot stand for themselves.  If He gave His life to love them, so should I.

I have been so deeply convicted over the events and comments of last week. I am waiting for God's church to drive out any hint of this wrong in our four walls, to ask for forgiveness because we failed to stand in the past, to not be complicit with our silence.  I am waiting for His church to say, enough.

Renewing my faith in people of faith

"The every day kindness of the back roads more than makes up for the greed in the headlines."  - Charles Kuralt

Professors and pastors alike get time off for self-reflection, personal growth and refreshment.  I feel a bit cheated in this because if I could get a sabbatical, this is what it would look like:  me, going Charles Kuralt, and driving the countryside visiting church and parish, large and small, urban and rural to interview people about their faith walks.  Because, I've realized, somewhere along the way I've lost my faith in people of faith.

Now, before you fire back that we are not to look to people to sustain our faith, stop and ask yourself where exactly it says that we are to be islands in the development of our faith.  Of course we're not, that's why we plant ourselves in pews each Sunday.

I will admit to being saddened, maybe sickened, certainly dismayed by what has become the mainstream face of people of faith-the "headline" demonstration of our faith.  The movement toward civil religion will ultimately make the gospel of no effect in America.  Unless we come back to the heart of God and demonstrate the love of His Son, we will surely lose a generation.  Already our evangelical leaders' voices sufficiently clang with hypocrisy as they vie for political favor.

I believe, somewhere out there on the back roads, in the food pantries, coffee shops, orphanages, alleys, and migrant camps are those who understand the "call" that prods them out of the pews and away from the "show" on Sundays to live out the gospel in a way that it was intended.  I believe these people exist.  And I'd love to get to know them.  I need to have my faith renewed in people of faith.

These are the questions I'd ask:  What are the times you feel closest to God?  Is there a passion you feel for His creation?  How do you feel part of the brotherhood of man?  What do you sense in your quietest times?

I've really only ever known two churches my entire life.  I was about 4 when our country church of a couple hundred went through a split separating families and friends.  I don't remember much, other than the hurt it caused.  But the church I grew up in, well beyond my college years, was closer to a couple thousand.  It operated big, and there were big ideas, and we worshiped a big God.  But in the end, after I had left, it collapsed-in a big way.  I wouldn't give up the 25 years that I was there-it was solid teaching, but it also taught me what a church is not.

After my wife and I were married, and we settled into our hometown, we also settled into a new home church.  It became very personal, intimate, and as our family grew, so did our church family.  They become those we could count on, laugh and grow with.  Fellowship.  Our kids were dedicated, baptized, and mentored by friends until they, themselves, became mentors.  And now, 20 years later, I look back and understand these roles as part of a church family.  But, once again, I'm beginning to understand what that means, and doesn't mean, and how God can use adversity in those roles to make us seek Him in others.

People, particularly leaders, can and will fail us.  I'm not immune to that myself.  However, in those failures, are we learning and growing together?  Are we seeking unity through the hard work of reconciliation?  Are we becoming a stumbling block to the spiritual growth of others?  Are we being encouraged by the true demonstration of faith, of Christ, or are we just protecting the show?

I'd love to be on the road for a year to visit a mission in LA, a reservation in South Dakota, a church on the plains of Texas, a mighty cathedral in Boston, and a home church in Indiana.  I'd love to site down with my Catholic and Episcopal brothers, fellowship with Methodists and Baptists, worship with my Latino and AME family, have a conversation with Muslims and Jews.  God isn't in four walls, and his family is much bigger than the few hundred white people we sit with on Sundays.  If engaging others can restore what has been compromised and carved away for years, then we need to stop, ask, listen and learn.

When was the last time you stopped long enough to have your faith encouraged by someone you don't even know?