Cross-posted from Facebook

[mrkelley23]

Because a few of you are still not my friends over there, and because I want to share this with people I care about:

This is both difficult, and personal, so feel free to not read it if you are not a close friend. At the same time, I want people to read it for what they can take from it.

When I was 12 (or maybe 13, it’s a little hazy), I went to church. I was still going at the behest of my mother, whom I adore, so my feelings were mixed, at best. I hated what I saw as the hypocrisy of the church, but I wanted what I saw my mother having, which was a kind of serenity. Church was her refuge – from an abusive husband, from a life she never imagined, from the loneliness she must have felt in her situation. But this is not about my mother, it’s about me.

One summer I went to a different kind of church class. It might have been Confirmation, or it might have been the summer after I was confirmed (I was raised in the United Methodist Church, in case you’re wondering). In any case, it was a truly transformative experience. For thirteen weeks, I was under the guidance of a man the likes of whom I had never seen before. He didn’t just open the Bible, read verses, and then tell us what we were supposed to think. Instead, he would deliberately look up the most challenging verses, and then ask us what we thought about them. He treated us as equals, and as thinking adults, which was a brand new experience for me, especially in church.

I remember one week in particular. We had been talking about the musical Jesus Christ Superstar. The soundtrack to the movie had recently come out, and we had been discussing the lyrics and the story behind the show for a week or two. He brought a friend of his, named Tyrone, who had played the part of Judas somewhere. To my tweenie self, he had been on Broadway, but for all I know now, he had just wrapped up a three week run at a community theatre somewhere. I thought he was the most talented guy I had ever seen. And then he played and sang for us. I’ll never forget it. Do you know what he sang? “I Don’t Know How to Love Him.”

For those of you who don’t know the show, it’s a retelling of the events leading up to the crucifixion of Christ, only it attempts to tell the story with a sympathetic eye to Judas. This appealed to me right off the bat. I’ve never been a fan of cardboard villains, and the usual telling of the crucifixion just didn’t make sense to me without magical thinking. JCSS makes sense to me. But the song “I Don’t know how to Love him” is sung by Mary Magdalene. It’s a song of exquisite, painful yearning, where Mary laments the fact that she is in love with a being who can’t love her back, and she doesn’t know how to express her love. If you don’t know the song, look up the lyrics before you read any further. Trust me. Now, pretend you’re a just-pubescent boy who knows the show, loves the show, and understands the lyrics from Mary’s point of view. Now pretend you’re in the basement of a church with your class taught by a teacher you have come to admire, and his friend, who has played Judas, sings that song. Without changing a word. “He’s a man. He’s just a man. And I’ve had so many men before, in very many ways, he’s just one more.”

To say my mind was blown would be not just an understatement, but a disservice. My first thought, I’m ashamed to say, was “Is he gay, or something?” Tyrone, and the teacher, didn’t say anything after the performance, which was met with polite applause. I went home and got out the lyrics to the show and looked at them again, and I was mortified. Those of my friends who have a relationship with Jesus will know exactly what I mean. It was then that I learned the difference between the different kinds of love. I thought I knew before then, but I didn’t. To this day, I can’t remember a more powerful lesson.

Obviously, this experience was an important and formative part of my life. There’s a lot more I could say about religion, and Jesus, and beliefs, and organized religion. I won’t, because my purpose in writing this whole long speech is to thank the teacher. As a teacher, I know there is no greater compliment than to know you had a hand in changing someone’s life. And the teacher of this class changed my life. And now he’s dying.

Steve Small is an actor, a comedian, a father, a grandfather, a polymath, and a teacher. Now cancer is about to take him, and he’s teaching me another life-changing lesson – how to die with grace. Grace is a powerful word, and it should not be lightly used. But for those of my friends who don’t know Steve, I beg you to check out his public page, and his wife’s, Vicki Small. They, along with the rest of his family, represent to me what is best about the human race. I’m so glad he got to meet and spend time with his grandson, but I’m sorry that his grandson will not get to spend more of his life with Steve.

I love you, Steve. In the same way that Tyrone loved Jesus. And even though I’m typing this through tears (no, seriously, I'm actually sobbing out loud as I type this), I hope Vicki or someone will let you know how very, very much you have meant to me and, by connection, thousands of other young people.








None of you will know Steve Small, but I bet you've known people like him. Please join me in wishing him and his family the best as he crosses over. It won't be long now.

[Ritterskoop]

Thank you for this post.

In the limited way I understand grace, you have it also.

[franktangredi]

Thank you.

[BackInTex]

Very well put. A great story.

I'm sorry for your loss, his family's loss, and the loss for the community he served.

But I'm sure he will soon hear "Well done, good and faithful servant."

[K.P.]

Thank you for posting this. Steve, his family and friends, and you, are in my thoughts and prayers.

[flockofseagulls104]

Sending prayers to you and your friend/mentor.

[Vandal]

Great post, Mike.

[T_Bone0806]

Touched me here as much as it did reading it on Facebook. Extremely well expressed.

[jaybee]

I have always chosen to believe that when people like you choose to remember and honor those like your friend Steven, then it gives their life so much more meaning that they can never really die.

I'm sorry you have lost your friend and mentor, but you have honored him well.

[mrkelley23]

You all are so good at saying the right things at the right time.

Skoop and BiT, your posts in particular helped me grieve in the right way.

It's a little odd to still be able to communicate in the flesh with the person I"m grieving for, but I think that can be a good thing.

Thank you all.