The Backhanded Sermon

Yesterday at First Austin, Rev. Dr. Roger Paynter preached on Leviticus 19 and Matthew 5... the turn the other cheek story. He said that while being told to turn the other cheek is often used by Christians to "baptize our masochism," it can also be a chance for us to allow for a "courageous assertion of ourselves."

I preached on this very text eleven years ago. It's a sermon on one of the best things I learned in seminary (I think). And since apparently University Baptist Waco has been on my mind lately (I threw on an old UBC shirt to run errands in on Saturday and then low and behold, Kyle Lake, visited me in a dream that night right before I headed to church to hear a text I once preached. So I got out the old scrapbooks, and I got out my old book of sermons (those files don't exist electronically anymore). And on my little iPad last night, I smiled and cringed and smiled some more and typed out that sermon to share with y'all. 

And of course I've included pictures. Because this text is tricky, and it required a full on demonstration from the stage that morning. Pre-blog apologies to Big Phil and Lance. And Kyle, it was nice to see you the other night. Thanks for visiting...

And now, we welcome to the blog 25-year-old Ann Pittman 
from UBC Waco 2003...

A First and a Second

I spent a long weekend (Thurs-Sat) in one of my four "hometowns," Waco, TX. And surprise surprise, it was a great visit.

I drove up in the rain, then the hail and finally the snow to attend George W. Truett Seminary's Winter Pastor's School. And for the first time in my life, I attended every part of the conference. From the Truett Alumni Dinner on Thursday to the final session on Saturday morning, I participated 100% of the conference. Wasn't even tardy once - not even to the morning activities!

This is unusual because usually at conferences the point is two-fold: to receive inspiration through the teaching or seminars or whatever but also to relax - take time for yourself, chill in a hotel, check out a local museum, take a break from church. In this way the conferences are restorative. Education and vacation all in one.

But this conference was in Waco. It's not an exciting destination. There's no aquarium to see, no national gallery to visit, no real sight-seeing opportunities. And even if there were... been there, done that. On top of that, while I had old friends to catch up with, I had been to Truett two weeks before to preach and had already caught up with many of them.

Not to mention that the real reason I had come to this conference was because my favorite Old Testament scholar, Walter Brueggemann was speaking on Prophetic Preaching. Squeal!

And that's where my second comes in. Two years ago in 08, I was invited to participate in a Round Table Discussion with Walt in Atlanta. That gathering was so small that I SAT NEXT to this amazing scholar. So this was my second time to hear him and I was excited. So excited in fact that I printed off a picture of him and me from the conference two years ago and re-introduced myself to Dr. Brueggemann and asked him to sign the picture.



He wrote, "We look good together!" and then handed it to me and laughed.

I almost died.

It was an amazing conference. He spoke about the dominant narrative we live in, namely one of therapeutic, militant, technological, consumerism. He charged us as pastors to preach God's alternative narrative of hope and possibility. He charged us to help our congregations penetrate the denial, name the fear and muster the courage and freedom of the reality over which God governs. He charged us to relinquish and receive; to deconstruct the given world and help people relinquish it (as Walt's therapist says, "Do you wanna keep livin' that way or let it go?"; to construct another world and help people receive what is given. Why? Because God brings to nothing the things that are, and calls into existence things that do not exist. God is a god of the impossible. And what exactly must we relinquish in our modern context? We must relinquish the western, white, male, straight world of domination and invite into the story the poor, women, non-whites, gays and lesbians. But just like ancient Israel, we struggle to receive the new world God is giving us of new people and new economics. And in light of our upcoming Christian liturgical season, we must take the Friday stuff and the Sunday stuff and be a map for what's happening in the world.

Of course he took two days to exegete texts and explain his thesis, but there's a little to whet your appetite.

And if being reminded of our faith and called to God's new narrative of hope and possibility, of building up and planting weren't enough, I got to see the Eades.

The Eades are the family I lived with during most of my years in Waco. Wes (the dad) once called me his boomerang child (the one who just kept coming back). The youngest daughter, Olivia, was six when I moved into the house apartment... and is now 14. Yikes. And she's 5'7. I can't believe I used to hold her on my lap. And it was just like old times. All five of them were living there (before the oldest transfers to Tx State and the middle son moves to Missouri to start college) perhaps for the last time in a long time, or ever. We sat around in the living room just like they always have (it was too cold to sit on the porch) and drank wine and watched Glee and talked therapy and discussed what it means to be a neighbor. And of course we laughed at each other. It was so fun.

Tomorrow I'm back to work for an almost 12 hour day straight thru. College Bible study is Monday and I begin directing You Can't Take It With You on Tuesday. Life will be crazy from here on out. So it was nice to have a preemptive replenishing before I inevitably will be depleted.

And first and a second. And now on to my third...

Has everyone prepared their Halloween costume? I have hung my orange and purple spooky Halloween lights, bought a cute but scary door hanging, and little cans with cats and pumpkins on them to put candles in and set along my sidewalk leading up to my door. I cannot wait to give out candy to kids. In Waco, poorer people would drive to the "rich" neighborhoods and get candy: kids, teenagers, adults even, all with bags asking for candy. Sometimes the parents would have two bags, one for their candy and one for the infant hanging on their hip. That was Waco culture. I'm curious to see what tomorrow night holds in East Austin...

The world is always changing, it's true. At some times more quickly than at others.

But sometimes, the world stays just the same too.

The same gold, 1980's BMW still pulls slowly out of the driveway next to 2825 where I sit on the porchswing and watch. Around me the chairs are still fixed in a circle from the night before where yet again a community gathered to drink and speak to life and to each other.

Another chair is broken because of my friends on that porch who are all bigger than me, and have all managed to break something of the Eades over the years due their the largeness of their lives.

I cried another hard cry last night because 2825 is a safe place to cry. I was put to bed by the same little girl who greeted me four years ago with welcoming arms balancing books and a little black kitten, who now at 10 years old knew to bring me jammies, turn on the sounds of rushing water, and put allergy medicine and water on the bedside table. I fell alseep in a safe bed with the same cat crawling over my tired body all night long.

I held another black baby in my arms today at the Eades as Holly has taken another child with a child under her wing. I sat cradling another frail bird as her mother mends her broken wings and cleans the house for money Holly doesn't have.

Everything changes and nothing changes. We thank and question God.

Everything changes and nothing ever changes.

And that's why I needed to come home.

This is what I "preached" at Beresheth last Thursday (the Sloth sermon was from a couple weeks before that)...

This past weekend, I went to my ex-boyfriend’s wedding. I know, that sounds a little sketchy, like I might be “crazed” as the saying goes or obsessive or wanting a death wish, but hear me out on this. First of all, I was invited. And it wasn’t just a courtesy invite. It was a small wedding. So I went. I went to my ex-boyfriend’s wedding and he was glad I was there. I think his new wife was comfortable with me being there and even I was comfortable, happy to watch their union.

It’s a little different, I know. My first major boyfriend promptly got another woman pregnant after he and I broke up and we never spoke again. My last boyfriend kind of wigs me out. But with my ex-boyfriend who invited me to his wedding and gave me a huge hug afterwards, things were different, and I think it all has to do with community.

When I moved to Waco, Texas in January of 2001, I was in complete culture shock. I knew no one in Waco, let alone in Texas, had no family, no friends, just a scholarship to go to school. I moved in with three people I didn’t know and I began a new phase in my life. Does this sound similar to yours? Have you ever started school unsure about your classes, moved into an apartment or dorm unsure about your roommates, moved to a new town unsure about its culture?

Needless to say, I love Waco. Now. I repeat, now. Not then. Then it was full of obnoxious republicans and sexist classmates. Then everyone was a Texas lover and I had to cut through the pride just to get into the doors of the classrooms. Everyone who heard I was from out of state promptly informed me of Texas’ right to succeed from the Union (as if that were an intelligent decision). Doormats and potato chips were carefully crafted in the shape of the state of Texas. But there were other oddities too. Someone invited me to go eat dinner at the place where all the branch dividians died. A basketball player shot and killed his roommate. The water tasted horrible and you weren’t supposed to swim in the river. There were horrible fire ants in Texas that made blisters on my feet and legs. Baylor in all its wealth and glory sat smack dab in the middle of a poverty-stricken ghetto. Then Waco was scary, foreign, peculiar. But now it is beautiful, stable, and I miss it.

And the change in attitude is all because of community.

Because in Waco I found community and it changed my whole perspective on life.

In Waco, I made friends who I know I will remain close to until it’s all I can do to pull myself out of a rocking chair to go to the bathroom let alone get out of a pew to preach. They will be forever with me because of the community we created living together.

Together in community, my friends and I learned what it meant to truly love one another. We saw each other fully, with our faults and our unique blessings. My friends recognized my gifts and quirky personality, but also my downfalls and weaknesses and they loved me anyway. There was no pretension, no judgment. Everyone was always welcome, the door always open and the beer always in the fridge. When I found a cockroach in my bed at 12 am one night, I called my friend Big Phil and announced that I was in the car and on my way over to sleep on his couch. When he was devastated with a broken heart one night, he called me to come take care of him cause he’d had too much to drink. When I was hungry and didn’t know how to cook anything but cereal, my friend Lance would come over and cook me mac ‘n cheese and together we’d eat dinner and talk theology. When I was depressed over men, my roommate Cat and I would go get a pizza and watch Bridget Jones’ Diary, because laughter and grease always help heartache. When I obsessed unnecessarily over an issue, Josie would sit me down and tell me to stop. To stop right there because I was over-reacting. When sorrow was necessary, Julie would let me cry for hours in her bed. When I was in a play, Chris was always there on the front row.

We all provided this for each other. I had a list a mile long of people I could call, even people I didn’t know very well, who I knew would drop everything to help me out if I was ever in danger or in need. They understood community.

Community means sharing meals, talking long hours, goofing off, wrestling with hard issues, supporting each other, sharing jokes, taking each other lightly and taking each other seriously. It means you let your guard down and let someone else in. It means you get new members to your family, even if they aren’t blood related.

Communities are everywhere. We have communities at school, at work, at church, from High School, in our neighborhood. But the important thing to remember is that whoever we choose to embrace into our community deserves our very best. They deserve us: ourselves, our full selves – not the image we want to portray, not what we think they might like in another person, not another acquaintance full of quaint hi’s and how are you’s who don’t listen for an answer.

And we begin to live in union. In America we live in a Union, in a union where the majority is supposed to rule and the minority agrees to continue to live in community regardless. That’s not how we always behave though. And we live going to church, learning about God, talking to our friends and going home to eat with our family. But there’s so much more to church than that. We live 40 hours a week at work or in school interacting with the same people every day, some of whom we don’t even know their name, some of whom we’d just as soon not know at all.

Who is your community? How do you define it? And are you allowing yourself to live fully by choosing to invest in the lives of people around you and choosing to let them into yours?

It’s a risk. I don’t want people to know about my eating disorder, we may say. I don’t want people to know I love Star Wars. I don’t want people to know I like to read classic literature. I don’t want people to know I drink. I don’t want people to know I don’t drink. I don’t want to be back-stabbed again. I don’t want to be lied to again. I don’t want to be overlooked again. I don’t want to hurt again.

It’s a risk.

But it’s a rainbow too, a promise, of a true communion available only through our triune God. True community: three in one.

“May they live in unity,” Jesus prayed. “Just like you and I are one, let them be one.”

Don’t just go in and out of the doors of the church. Don’t just go in and out of the classrooms, the cubicles. Open your eyes and open your heart. Let people love you and love others. Create family out of friends and work hard at healthy relationships and trust and vulnerability. Learn to know when to shut your friends down in love and learn to listen to them too. Encourage one another. Laugh with one another. Challenge one another. Support one another. Take care of one another. Cook organic mac ‘n cheese for one another.

And you may find yourself celebrating the wedding of your life to the lives of those around you.

And that will be a beautiful marriage indeed.

I'm in Waco. I know that I should be enjoying my new house in Austin, but via the doctor's request, I'm taking some time off and am officially on vacation for two days.

In Waco.

Not where most people would choose to go, but this is the closest I can get to family in Texas, so I'm in Waco with the Eades.

Dinner with Julie tonight at Buzzard Billy's.
Conversation with Wes who stayed up way past his bedtime.
And church tomorrow...

Well, the suggestion was 3-4 days of vacation and one of those needs to be a Sunday. But I guess if I'm not the one working...

"Will you be coming to UBC?" Jeremy asked.
"I hadn't actually thought about that," I replied after telling him I have his Christmas present in my car if he wants it. And I hadn't thought about it. I'd thought, "Dayspring with the Eades: good preaching, no pressure, close friends and family." Or I'd been thinking, "No church, sleep in, read."

I hadn't honestly thought UBC until the words came out of his mouth.

UBC means remembering Kyle. It probably means tears and trauma. The UBC community gets to mourn and grow and move on every week a little bit more (at least that's how they describe it). For those of us who live far away, we don't have that luxery. So we put our friend's death in the back of our minds and try to move on. Do they call that denial? Downplaying? Helpful? But there's others things about UBC too. It means reliving what once was, and nevermore will be, and pretending that feels okay. It means old friends and explainations and fatigue and probaby more tears. "I wish you'd preach here again!" Me too. "It's so good to see you!" You too. "We should keep in better touch!" We won't.

At Dayspring I can sit quietly in the back and just observe. I can say hi to fewer friends who I do love (but also don't keep in good contact with), and who know me well enough to know that right now I'm on vacation and I need renewal. I can think and cry and love and not be noticed. I probably wouldn't be much noticed at UBC anymore either but at least I'd cry less at Dayspring.

I have so much to be thankful for, but driving into Waco brought back such a rush of emotion as well.

I wish this post was more positive. Grandma will probably say I should count my blessings, and I do! I really love my life right now, but that doesn't mean it isn't hard to process at times too.

I saw a grown man cry tonight over his teenager daughter. He's just two years older than the last man I went out on a date with, who I never saw cry but I did see mourn. And on the drive up, I thought of another man, much younger than myself who mourns for his children in Uganda who will be displaced orphans again when he returns to America. Over dinner, I was confronted by a friend who wonders about my need to be heard and whether that stems from my upbringing. And I took the back roads when driving into town tonight to avoid seeing the church that another friend and influence in my life was killed in.

So that's what I've got on the brain and that's what I'm blogging about.

Tomorrow, when it's Sunday and beautiful and not 1:28am, I will blog again about my cute new house and the artsy doormats I bought for my side and back door. And I will tell you about installing the mailbox that is a tasteful cedar and black metal, crookedly poking out over my curb. I will tell you about the $130 I spent having the last of my theatre posters framed to hang on my walls in the living room that has no chairs or couches but by god, houses beautiful art.

Finally. I always thought I needed a man and a marriage to get me a house to hang my posters in. I was wrong. I just needed a job.

But I'll write about all those exciting things tomorrow.

Tonight, I mourn quietly in a 9 year old's bed, and I praise God for being alive and for feeling and for caring so much about people and life and beauty and evil that it hurts deep, deep down inside.

And I'll say a prayer for Kyle and Paul and Radley and Lily and remind them to laugh and dance and snuggle and run and to wait for me until I see them again...

Amen.

Burt Burleson preached for the first day of our holy week noonday services at FBC. (I preach Thursday).

His sermon was beautiful of course, but even more vivid were the memories I found when I encountered him, hugged him and listened to him preach.

There are Holly and Wes and my three surrogate siblings. How old is Olivia now? Does she have to grow while I am gone? Can she please, please keep her witty childhood young? And Ben who used to sit on my lap and cling to me in the swimming pool when it got too deep, he probaby has girlfriends now and long cute hair. And I wish he'd stay innocent too, and behave nicely toward his little sister. And Abby, the closest in age and the most troubled in spirit. So beautiful, yet so confused. I pray for clarity and love. I loved that house. Loved that family. Loved their spirit, honesty and accepting nature. I loved sitting on the porch, drinking white wine (yep, sometimes out of the box) and loving life.

There are the Carrons, Paul and Jen. Paul I knew before Jen, when he, Jessy and I used to go to Common Grounds five years ago and study, them Hebrew, me Schleirmacher or something. And Jessy. So many memories of music, long discussions, climbing, tears and guffaws. Of midnight runs to see weird Spider movies (what was that film called you guys?) and trips to Austin when cars broke down. That was the old crew. Remember Big Phil, Robert, Rocky, Eric, Rebecca, Lance and that guy, that sweet, smart pre-med guy who totaled two cars in two days. What was his name?

And Julie. My beloved Julie who came towards the end and helped me survive Hebrew through giggles and dirty play on words. Julie who calmed my spirit and let me join her on cuddle-island transformed. Julie who understood the drugs and the memory loss and the sadness and joy. Julie who knew both worlds, Jewell and Texas, and forgave me for changing.

And Jeremy and Phil and Lance who are all gone now. They feel gone at least. They're in Minnesota or Beaumont or in married-land and sometimes I'm afraid I'll never get them back. Jeremy once said, there is (was) no community like ours whether on Phil's porch by Baylor, Phil's porch by the hospital or the Eades porch late at night hiding cigarette butts in the chiminay and promising to give it up soon.

Oh God, I miss these people. And there are more... Billy and Renee, Robert and Hun, Rebecca, Cat, Kyle, Kris, Wags, Josie,Lynette...

But Kyle is gone now and will not be communicated with again except in dreams. So let's communicate while we have the chance. This is my shout out. I love you Wes, Holly, Abby, Ben and Olivia Eades. I love you Jessy, Phil, Lance, Jeremy, Julie, Josie. I love you Paul and Jen.

I miss Lance cooking me mac and cheese.
I miss Jessy eating all the contents of my fridge.
I miss Paul playing the guitar.
I miss the theology discussions on Phil's old porch across from Rebecca's place where Phil would introduce everyone as "my wicked smart friend."
I miss Lynette's eye rolls and making subversive tee-shirts.
I miss eating a whole pizza with Julie and doing CM.
I miss Bridget Jones' Diary and wine coolers with Cat.

I miss it all. I miss you all. And I love you. Let's stay in better touch...

Love,
ann

okay, i'm late.

not that kind of late.

just blog late.

There's just been so much to process over the past week and a half.

I drove up Sunday the day of the dreadful event and attended the immediate service that evening. It was mainly designed for the college students. Baylor's former president, and interim president and chaplain spoke. The good part was that the chaplain is the former community pastor at UBC and so he knew Kyle well. He said if he'd flip Kyle the bird for leaving everyone in this position if he didn't know Kyle was standing next to the Great I Am. But that service was hard. I kept seeing people I knew from the past and present . . . Kris Freeman, Dorisanne Cooper, Jen Alexander, the band wives. To start the "service" Crowder's All I Can Say song came on and I broke into tears. That was Kyle's favorite song. Every time Crowder came out with a new album Kyle would say, "You know a band is good when you're still in love with songs from two CD's ago..." When I walked up to Ben after the service to offer my condolences and my services, he looked at me with tears in his eyes and said, "It's so good to see someone who's not 18."

"As soon as I get my shit together, I'd be happy to help."

The next night wasn't much easier. Fortunately, I was staying with the Eades and Wes was in a reading group with Kyle and other local pastors, so he went with me to everything. Monday night was the viewing. Everyone waited in a 30 minute or longer line only to round the corner and be confronted with a table full of pictures. Cue tears. Then Kyle's brothers and then his parents.

"I'm Ann Pittman, I used to preach for Kyle." My eyes welled up. I tried to remain calm, as calm as Kyle's parents, but it was hard. "Oh honey, we know. He spoke so highly of you."

"Thank you. I'm so sorry," was all I could get out. "You're so gracious."

Then you entered a room floor to ceiling with flowers and a coffin. I stood behind the Wilibanks in line (another blast from the past - and she's pregnant with her fourth!) I walked up to the coffin and burst into tears anew. It was so wrong to see him there. I could hardly see him through my tears, but it was him and yet it wasn't. Kristi grabbed me around the shoulders in a hug. "We can't do this alone," she said.

Jen was not with the family, but in a room off to the side. I wanted to see her, hug her, let her know I cared. When I found her, she grasped me in a hug and then stood looking at her hands which nervously folded and unfolded a Kleenex.

"Keep praying for me Ann," she said. "What if in a few days when this becomes real, my hearts breaks?" My heart broke. "And the children. That they remember. I know the boys won't, but Avery, that she remembers."

"I love you," was all I could say.

Her heart will break, said Holly later that night as I laid in her bed crying. And it will be a long several years.

But Jen has such loving parents and a great family on both her and Kyle's side. And I believe she has the strength to make it through this. It will just be miserable for a long time.

The funeral brought some relief, and more friends. Jason Jenkins, Mars and Jason Mueller, Robert Pilgram, Kristi Sikes, Bushwar, Monte, Phil, Lynnette . . . For the first time, I felt good. Thanks to Crowder.

It started off painful. The family processed in, the organ played; it seemed very wrong and very un-Kyle. Then the speaker led us into the hymn, but David stopped the music and opened his mouth.

"I shouldn't be speaking. They told me not to, but they gave me a mic, so I just gotta." Then he relayed a story about Kyle always poking and hugging him (despite Crowder's distaste for physical affection or even contact) and it spoke volumes about Kyle's attitude toward life and reminded us of Kyle's playfulness. "Death has not won," David spoke into the mic. "It thinks it has, but it has not."

Finally, a step toward healing. Laughter. Theology. Familiarity.

And the road goes on.

I stayed in Waco until Wednesday night. I tried to work Thursday and Friday, but only managed a few hours. The rest of the day was spent in bed. Saturday brought funeral number two, the death of a beloved deacon of First Baptist and influential civil rights leader in Austin. He deserves a blog entry of his own. Sunday FBC celebrated All Saints Day and called out the name of every congregation member and loved one who died this year. After each name the congregation spoke in unison, "Thanks be to God." I think Roger called out "Kyle Lake" because he knew I couldn't. I stood next to Leigh Jackson and cried with her arm around me. I knew Leigh in seminary and never pictured us in that setting together, but God provides.

From Monday on, I've been better. I feel a little guilty because I know Jen, Craig, Ben, David and others are not better. But I know I can't stay sad either.

Yesterday I had lunch with Shanna Beth and we laughed at some of Kyle's sermon illustrations that were sometimes so funny, so creative, or even so bad. He was such a lively, beautiful pastor and father.

We will miss him.

As we approach this week may we love God, embrace beauty and live life to the fullest.

We will miss you Kyle. Amen.

I've finally stopped crying. For now at least.

My pastor, colleague, and friend, Kyle Lake, died yesterday.

It's so wrong, so sad, so surreal. Friends from the past stare at each other in shock as our eyes well up with tears. Those who have to provide structure for the chaos are in denial. So many traumatized teenagers. So many grieving friends and family.

I cannot process it all. I cannot believe it. And I'm still waiting for someone to say it was another stupid stunt.

I can't even think of what to say because . . .

because . . .

it is just stupid. As Wes Eades told me last night, the world is just stupid sometimes.

But that's not much help.

As with Katrina and so many other tragedies, the laws of nature intersected with humanity, and humanity lost.

Jen, Avery, Jude, Sutton, Craig, David, Toni, TK, Ben, Jamie, Blair, Jordan . . . I am so sorry. I know I only feel an ounce of the loss you feel. I love you.

Good-bye Kyle. Thank you. I'll write more later. And I love you too...