Remembering Charlie
The first time I met Charlie was at Thomas’ 45th birthday party. I had just been hired as Redeemer’s youth pastor and got an invite to Thomas’ party. I remember walking up to the front door with more than a little trepidation. Not only was I at my new boss’ birthday party before I really even knew him, but I was going to meet his two kids who would be in my youth group. New youth pastors always feel pressure to make a good first impression on students but particularly when the student’s parent is also your boss.
Charlie was aware of the precarious nature of a new youth pastor and was determined to put me through the ringer. Within five minutes of meeting, they were telling me about various hobbies that included a casual reference to writing online smut. If I had known Charlie better, I may have guessed that it was a test and not a serious hobby. As it was, though, my response would best be described as “deer in headlights.”
This summer at a church cook out I reminded Charlie of that story. “Do you remember what you told me the first time we met?”
“No! Was I awful?” Charlie laughed and I laughed, too. Then we laughed more when I recounted the story.
Usually when I meet with a student, we get coffee or burgers. For Charlie, they wanted to meet at Grimey’s, a local record store. Whatever respect I had managed to earn in their estimation was surely squandered as I revealed the depths of my ignorance about music in general and “good music” in particular. Grimey’s, though, was the perfect meeting place because it fit Charlie’s personality.
I’ve rarely met a young person with a sharper mind or a stronger no-B.S. attitude. Anything less than complete honesty and intelligent engagement was not worth Charlie’s time or respect. It was simultaneously refreshing and intimidating. I may not have had good taste in music, but I hope that my honesty about my musical ignorance was still appreciated!
Charlie not only enjoyed music and the arts, Charlie created their own art. I remember being impressed when they shared with me their first album. I could not appreciate it fully (see poor taste in music above) but I could tell there was something incredible about it none-the-less. Not only had Charlie created an album at such a young age, but it was an album of unflinching authenticity. Sometimes my interactions with Charlie were similar to my experience visiting the Art Institute in Chicago: I knew I was in the presence of something great even as I knew I needed a guide to understand. Once I got it, though, it blew my mind.
I never had to guess what Charlie was thinking or feeling. They were unrelentingly honest about their thoughts. For me, both as a person and as a pastor, their honesty was a gift that I’m not sure if Charlie ever truly recognized as a gift. Occasionally, they would apologize for their blunt comments and, to be fair, sometimes an apology was merited. Yet, as someone who detests the veneer of kindness far more than the pain of conflict, it was a cherished gift to me. I would rather know—even if it’s bad--then be left to wonder and guess. With Charlie, I always knew.
I think it would be wrong to say Charlie “had potential” since that would imply they had not already done things that mattered and had made an impact. At a Nashville Sounds baseball game, I watched Charlie take a younger student under their care and spend time with them. I watched Charlie support and care for families in our parish, especially through loving their children. I watched Charlie build friendships with people who did not fall into normal social circles. I watched Charlie create and participate in local culture and art. Charlie’s contributions mattered and continue to matter. The world and lives were changed because of Charlie. The tragedy of Charlie’s death is not that they had potential that was never realized, but that Charlie’s amazing contributions to our world were cut far too short.
Charlie, I already miss your enthusiasm, humor, creativity, intelligence, and raw honesty. Thank you for keeping me on my toes, challenging me, and helping me to see a bigger world than I had before.