I met Art Garcia on June 15, 2009, when I knocked on the door of the tiny trailer he had called home since Hurricane Ike ignored the warnings and messed with Texas the previous September.
Actually, it took a couple of knocks to coax him to the door. He cracked it just enough to see me. I introduced myself, told him I was from a church in Virginia, and that we were there to do some repair work on his house.
He didn’t say much before closing the door and our crew went to work.
We arrived at Art’s place in San Leon, Texas, knowing the two things you always know when serving in disaster recovery ministry – He had qualified for assistance through the United Methodist Committee on Relief (UMCOR) case management process and, most importantly, Art was a child of God. We knew one more thing as well – He was a member of the Bandidos Motorcycle Club.
Over the course of our first two work days, Art came out of the trailer to check on us every now and then and to chat just a little. My two older children were with me, along with a handful of other high school youth and a mom who doubled as a mission team leader. He was testing us.
We found out more about his life, in shattered bits and pieces.
Art Garcia served in Vietnam. Nineteen months. Six days.
He suffered from post-traumatic stress disorder.
He was the lone care provider for an adult child who had attempted suicide.
By Wednesday, some of Art’s Bandidos buddies were working alongside us. On Thursday, we didn’t need to pack a lunch. Art fired up his grill and cooked some Texas barbecue for us, over mesquite coals and pecan wood. On Friday, our last work day, he insisted on taking us to lunch at the local biker bar.
As the shadows grew longer and our time with Art grew short that Friday afternoon, he summoned me for a ride in his old pickup truck. Soon I was cruising down 517, windows down amid the summer heat, not knowing where I was going.
We pulled over at a roadside stand. All week long, Art had heard me talk about the Texas flag and about how I’d never been in a state where the folks took such pride in flying their flag. We got out of the truck. I followed Art over to the vendor and he bought me a Texas flag to take home.
It hangs in my office now at First United Methodist Church, faded from years of flying it in my office window back in Virginia, its symbolic presence as vivid as ever.
My work crew and I passed Art’s test.
He was testing us to see if we were there to love him or to judge him.
The Book of Acts tells us of Jesus’ final moments before ascending to heaven and the parting words he left behind, for the first disciples and for us:
“You will receive power when the Holy Spirit comes on you; and you will be my witnesses in Jerusalem, and in all Judea and Samaria, and to the ends of the earth.”
Jesus doesn’t call us to be judges, to show up and make assumptions about people based only on limited evidence from partial glimpses into their lives.
Jesus calls us to be his witnesses, to offer Christ-like love to a hurting world, already knowing the only thing we need to know about each person we encounter on our road through life – they are a child of God, just like my friend Art Garcia.
For information on opportunities listed within this newsletter
,
unless otherwise noted please contact Forrest White, Director of Mission Ministries (
email here
or 863-686-3163). If you’re planning to participate, please confirm with Forrest so he may contact you if plans change.
