A few days ago, I received a text message from a long time
friend asking me to give him a call when I had a moment. I responded as quickly
as I could—this friend wouldn’t make a request like that unless he had
something really important to share. When I called, he told me that Joseph Crow
Neale, a one-time very close friend of ours, and the principle chief of my
tribe, had passed away from a heart problem earlier in the week. He was under sixty years of age, and from
what I gather, his health had been in decline, but no one thought his light
would be extinguished so soon.
I was beside myself as I took in this news, and unsure how
to respond. For years, I had prayed that somehow our friendship would be reconciled
and restored, and that we would be able to pick up where we left off, but this
news took away any hope of that future outcome on this side of eternity.
Over the last few days as I have had space to reflect and
grieve, I’ve given a lot of thought to the important role he had in my life and
in the lives of many other people. He wasn’t perfect, and as much as we
ourselves are able to see our shortcomings, he would have been ready to admit
them.
He was generous with his time, and would spend hours with young
men and women in our tribal community, and he would patiently teach them as
much of our tribal traditions as they were willing to learn. He always wanted
to make sure the younger generation could feel proud of their Shawnee heritage,
and that they could hold onto some memories of our ceremonial ways and
traditions. I had a conversation recently with a member of our tribe
reminiscing over how much he cared for her youngest daughter when she was
brought to our tribal grounds as an infant. He said, “These young children are
the next generations of our people.”
I remember when my best friend in the whole world, Willie, had his daughter and son on our tribal grounds for the first time. Crow went out of his way to always make sure these
children were included. On one occasion, Crow took paints with Emalee, Willie’s
daughter, and had her “help” him decorate a coconut shell rattle. I believe making gestures like this to
include young people like Emalee, likely positively shaped her own memories of
what it was like to grow up in a tribal community.
Crow and his late father were always willing to share
responsibilities and give our people opportunities to learn by doing. In
allowing others to gather materials for ceremonies or take care of various
aspects of preparation, he would allow people to make mistakes, and then use
these mistakes as an opportunity to educate. He valued giving people an
opportunity to at least attempt to figure things out on their own before
intervening.
Crow would work tirelessly for our tribal community. Every
year he set a goal of making some type of improvement to the land, and he
sought to involve whoever was willing to help make those improvements. He
launched into the construction of our tribal council house (designed by his
uncle, Flying Duck), and he also led work parties in the construction of an
arbor, the transit and assembly of a supply shed granted from Fort Necessity,
as well as the creation of an earthen oven.
Crow encouraged our people to explore and visit the sites of
some of our ancestral villages. In fact, I remember one occasion where the
owner of a piece of property that was once the site of one of our villages
allowed us to take a few stones back to our ceremonial grounds as a gesture to
symbolically reconnect us with those lands. We took road trips all over West
Virginia, Maryland, Pennsylvania, and Ohio to help ourselves and other Shawnees
to connect with their past.
Crow and his father were two of the first people I ever saw
pursue servant leadership actively. By tradition, chiefs usually would eat
first during feasts, but for Crow and his late father, they chose to eat
last—they believed that it was a more important principal to ensure that
everyone in the tribe had eaten—and that elders would eat first. They taught by
example that we take care of our elders, and that we seek the good of others
before we seek our own welfare. This concept is in line with our common
Christian heritage as well as much of Native tradition.
He and his father allowed me to spend a summer living with
them and learning the old ways back when I was in college, and during the
months after graduating and before I started my first “grown-up” job, they
invited me back into their home where I continued to learn from their
leadership and mentorship. Thankfully I was offered an opportunity to give back
(and learn additional skills) by helping put a roof on their house and repair
parts of the home that had fallen into disrepair. Toward the end of my time
with them that fall, they handed me $200 for “helping out.” That same day, my
mom called to tell me that my first student loan payment form came in the
mail—I owed $200. They had providentially helped me address that financial
need.
Crow and his dad helped me grow in my relationship with
Christ from some of the earliest moments of my walking with Christ. I witnessed
their examples of generosity with time and resources (along with similar
examples from friends in Morgantown), and sought to emulate their rich faith,
and learn as much as I could about Jesus and the Bible. Crow used to listen to
the Bible on cassette everywhere he went, and, as a result, he was incredibly
familiar with the scriptures. He often had a timely verse for various
situations.
The last time I remember speaking to Chief Crow was in the
fall of 2004. I had just heard a sermon about recognizing people who had been a
positive influence in your life, and when possible letting them know the
valuable role they had in helping you become a better person. I was driving
home to visit my parents in Parkersburg, West Virginia, and I thought, “I’m
going to call Crow and thank him for the positive influence he had been in my
life.” And so I called out of the blue, and told him just that. I thanked him
for the lessons he had shared with me, and for the important role he had played
in helping me become the person I had become, and for taking the time to pour
into myself and many others. He thanked me and let me know he appreciated the
gesture and the words, and then we said goodbye for what ended up being the
last time.
Looking back from this present vantage point, I would have
never imagined that this conversation would be the closest he and I would come
to reconciliation on this side of eternity. I can only imagine there are many
others who have had similar relationships with people with whom they never get
to experience the full reconciliation that they hope would happen on this side
of eternity. Crow’s untimely demise is a very compelling and sobering reminder
of the importance of keeping short accounts with others, and striving, so far
as it depends on you, to be at peace with others. Not everyone has an opportunity for those
types of conversations, but when we do, we should take them. There is healing
and reconciliation that can take place for all.
And now, as I think about Chief Crow’s legacy, it is my
heartfelt prayer that our people will continue to move forward even more
strongly, and that we will collectively embody all of these wonderful
attributes of this leader who has gone to be with Jesus. To me, I feel like
that is the greatest way we can honor those who no longer walk this earth, and
it is a gesture of reconciliation and healing that can carry forward into
future generations for the good of all people.
So during the few days leading up to my talk I had opportunities galore to really screw up a lot. I had opportunities to sin (don't we all?), and I had opportunities to hurt my relationships with people who I cared about (Yuck!).
And in the middle of these times, I had some valuable lessons about confession and reconciliation driven home to me. We can be pretty ugly people--I can be extremely ugly. My choices, my words, my attitudes, can often show more of my own sinfulness then my new life in Christ.
And yet, in the middle of those situations, in the middle of those blow-ups, in the middle of that sin, God gives us an opportunity for intense healing. You know, most protestants get a little weirded out by the whole confession thing or the idea of asking for forgiveness. There is an intellectual understanding that we have been forgiven for our sins once and for all so that there is no longer any need to ask for forgiveness again or to confess our sins to others. And so we have a general understanding of some positional truth in our new life in Christ, but often times, as a result, we wear masks.
And yet, when we humble ourselves and take off our masks, God is able to do something tremendous in our lives. You see, when we humble ourselves, and admit our faults to another--particularly if it is another that we have wronged, God does something both psychologically and physiologically within us. The burdens that we carry are now no longer ours alone to lug around. It isn't that God hasn't already forgiven us--that happened at calvary, it's really that something happens to our character when we make ourselves humble and seek to make things right with others.
When we are willing to reconcile, we take off our masks, and the beauty of Christ in us shines forth. Of course we are forgiven, but what kind of people would we be if when we have wronged others, we didn't seek to take steps toward reconciliation. We would like flowers that never quite came to bloom. But as we open our lives to one another in humility, healing and reconciliation take place.
As I spoke to this group of high school students, I couldn't help but imagine what might take place in their lives as they left intent on making things right with friends and family members.
Maybe God has been prompting you to be reconciled. Maybe other people will never be reconciled to you, but that's not your responsibility. In as much as it depends on you, be at peace with all men--that's what the Bible says. As you read this, and as the LORD leads, may you find the courage to seek reconciliation and humble confession to a close friend. In the process, may you find your burden's lifted and your love for Christ becoming more radiant for all the world to see!