Five hundred years ago, not too far from my current home, a small-framed Spaniard led an expedition through the New World. Along the way, he met many Native American tribes, often employing a brutal tactic in his interactions with them. Holding their leader hostage, he demanded that the tribe provide men for porters and women for his soldiers. Since the natives were no match for Spanish weapons, armor, and horses, they either complied or died.

One day, a regional Chief, perhaps the greatest of them all, sent a special envoy to invite the Spaniards to his village. Due to the important nature of the mission, the Chief sent his own son with a message. He offered the explorer “his friendship, person, and state, to be made use of at his pleasure.” The Chief’s son delivered the invitation and led the Spaniard to his father’s village.

When the Spaniards arrived, the Chief was sitting on a small mound, surrounded by dozens of his nobles. He greeted the Spaniards graciously. Although cordial at first, the Spanish plan remained unchanged. They soon forced the Chief to accompany them until he provided the human chattel they demanded. The Spanish didn’t know it yet, but they had chosen the wrong chief to kidnap.

The Chief’s name was an indication of his status. It derived from a native word that symbolized “death.” Not just a fierce warrior, he was a chief among chiefs. His reign extended for hundreds of miles and thousands of people. More accustomed to being served than serving others, the Chief didn’t take kindly to his treatment. He quickly led the Spanish into an ambush.

After hours of fighting, the Spanish slaughtered the entire Indian village. The explorers lost dozens, but the native death toll numbered in the thousands. Among the casualties was the Chief’s son. He perished in his mission to unite the Spaniards with his father.

There, in this history lesson, is the Gospel in a nutshell. God graciously sent His Son to reconcile mankind to Himself. He offered us His friendship and His person. Many, however, have responded with treachery. “He came to his own people, and even they rejected him. But to all who believed him and accepted him, he gave the right to become children of God.” (John 1:11,12) Thankfully, His invitation remains.

I often wonder how history would read if the Spaniard had accepted the Chief’s peaceful welcome. Instead, he returned the offer with treachery and bore the consequences of his decision. The Spaniard, injured in the battle, never fully recovered. He died less than two years later, on the banks of the Mississippi River. His body was buried somewhere beneath its muddy waters.

Out of the 620 men in the Spanish expedition, only 311 survived the journey. The native Chief was lost to history, presumed to have been killed in battle. However, his name became legendary. Five hundred years later, we still remember it. He was Tushkalusa, the “Black Warrior.” Our City, our County, and the river that runs through it, still bear his name.