May 12 was my last text exchange with Kyle.
K - "Hey bud! You crossed my mind. Checkin on ya. Don't take the new bridge!"That's what we did. Little doses of snark we'd throw at each other in loving fun. It's the kind of repartee you have with someone you've work alongside, fought together, fought with, yelled at, hugged, always respected, understood, loved.
J - "To take the new bridge would mean I'd have to want to go to Arkansas. 😜! "
To him, I was "Boss."
To me, he was a force.
He was also a pain in my ass.
He was and remains the most gifted person I've ever worked with who was able to pull from people more than they ever thought they could give.
He was a brother I chose. We each had family of origin brothers near the age of the other.
News of his death has me revisiting once again that feeling of disbelief. My chest is constricted because to open up and take the deepest of cleansing breaths seems impossible. In this moment, I don't want to.
I emailed the pastor of First UMC, Little Rock, yesterday to confer and share my sympathies. Twice I was Kyle's reference for that job. The first time, in 2009, they went with someone who had a degree he didn't. Several years later, when the job was open again, I told him they should have listened to me the first time. That was his dream gig. He got it. In my exchange with David, I reflected that he and I had something in common, we were among a very small club of people who understood the bandwidth necessary to work with him. In David's response to me he laughed and wrote "...you really did work with him!"
In the last day I've reflected on my time with Kyle doing the work we did together. In my 33 years of appointed ministry, my season with him, together with Lora Jean, with all of us at St. John's, was the most fruitful and dynamic time of any I served. And God bless LJ for the staff meetings she had to referee when Kyle and I had a "creative differences" discussion. You can't believe the number of times I "fired" him!
On the occasions when Scott came across the street to grace us with his presence long enough to tell us what we were doing wrong, and before he'd take his leave, I'd see Kyle and LJ huddled together waiting with baited breath to see if punches were about to be thrown.
They never were.
Probably should have been.
I know people would have bailed me out of jail.
But even at that I credit Scott for working creatively with me to find a way to keep Kyle with us. That most fruitful season almost didn't happen at all, and had we not been able to collaborate with CHC, it wouldn't have.
In those days the choir Kyle had built was among the best in the Conference. Full stop.
There was a dynamic energy "on the corner" of Peabody and Bellevue. Kyle hated "From the Corner" as the name of our newsletter. He thought it sounded like we were hookers soliciting a date.
Well....
Kyle's list of accomplishments at St. J. are many and all are worthy of celebration and reflection.
For a season, we were in the fullest sense...fabulous.
Using the columns of the sanctuary as Advent candles...
The huge red Pentecost thing that hung down from the ceiling....
Butterflies coming from every light in the ceiling...
Broadway shows in the fellowship hall...
Magnificent seasonal music...
Recording CDs...
Carnegie Hall...
Freakin Fabulous all.
The highlight for me was the year our choir had a concert at annual conference when it was held at Christ UMC. It was a moment ripe with meaning. Long sequestered to its Midtown island (and some of that we self imposed), St. J. was once again in the middle of the room, at the beginning of making a renewed witness about who we are and why we are. And to stand there in that sanctuary as a choir made up of people whom that congregation would not accept and some of whom had been turned away from that very church and its clergy and sing, sing, sing. It was a justice moment I've never forgotten.
He wasn't perfect. He could manipulate with the best of 'em. And there was a cumulative toll exacted on the folks he worked with and the people who sang for him. He left St. John's later than he should have. In fact, before I moved in 2009, I was representing him to move to Little Rock where he would ultimately end up. I always hoped for him that he learned how to treat people better sometimes...that he grew up.
He and I understood the power of music in that sanctuary. In those days the room was far more alive acoustically. Before The Way, the room was tuned for spoken and choral music. As evangelism was part of Kyle's job for us, we struggled to get connected to visitors who often came through the front door and got out before anyone could say anything to them.
The choir had grown to the point that we had this great idea, at the end of the closing hymn, the choir would recess from the loft and surround the nave for the benediction. The choir most often sang Lutkin's "The Lord Bless You and Keep You” a capella. I'd give the spoken benediction, the choir would sing from the nave, and and oh how it reverberated in that space. At the Amen we'd have people positioned to welcome a wayward visitor and make sure they knew that we knew they were there. It made an impact.
A cynical person might call that a Liturgical Dragnet.
I'll accept that.
And...it was so effective and exemplified a spirit in the room. Over time, the whole congregation would share in the singing. It was the most uplifting, spiritual "going forth" that I've encountered.
Years later when I came back to St. J., I tried to recapture the spirit of that time albeit with new people in leadership roles. We never did, and in retrospect it was unfair to expect that we could.
I'm going to miss the occasional "ding" on my phone with a "Hey Boss, checking in, I miss seeing your face."
I loved Kyle
And I know he loved me.
Among my greatest fears for him and all that he endured during his last months was that he knew how much he was loved. I pray he did. I pray he died knowing love.
And if he didn't, I know he does now.
And as for the choirs of angels? Look out. It’s about to get fabulous up in there!
