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Good
Morning,
The other day I had a random thought about my
friend Mike Mitchell. Mike was an assistant
conductor, chorus master, lecturer and
musicologist for The Seattle Opera Company. I
first met him when, as a very young singer, was
making my professional debut with the Company
and he was assigned as my “vocal coach”; leading
me in the method of singing the small role that
I had. We became fast friends. He was a
brilliant man with a quick wit and energy that
makes me look like a sick cat. When he learned
that I was getting my degree in Music
Composition he insisted on hearing every piece I
wrote and came to each performance of my new
works at the college I attended. He would
analyze each piece and ask questions about my
choices of key changes, repetitive motives and
themes…all without ever SEEING the music on
paper…just from what he had heard, once. He
introduced me to his musical love, Wagner. He
knew more about the composer, Wagner, than
anyone I had ever met, and was writing a book on
his favorite composer…a commissioned work (a
publisher was actually paying him to write
it…that’s how good he was).
Mike
and I would get together regularly, maybe once
or twice a month, to talk about music…his and
mine. He would always have his calendar so that
he could write down when my next concert was.
We continued to work together at the Opera Co.
And when Seattle Opera commissioned ME to
compose a small touring opera for their company,
I dedicated it to him…and he accompanied the
opera on one of the three Pacific Northwest
tours.
Then
one day I called and left a message for him. He
never returned the call. I called a couple more
times over the next few weeks…until at last a
female voice answered. It was a mutual theatre
friend of ours. As I was obviously startled at
her voice on his phone, in his apartment, she
said, “Rick, didn’t you hear? Michael is very
sick, you know…SICK. He’s been in the hospital
for the past three weeks.”
The
way she emphasized the word, “sick” was the code
back in the ‘80’s for someone who had AIDS. I
was stunned. Frankly, I didn’t even think about
the fact that he was gay. I guess I might have
known, but it wasn’t something we talked about
or something that I needed to know. What
stunned me was that he didn’t share his illness
with me, and we were friends.
When
I talked face-to-face with Paula (the voice
on the phone) she said that he was
embarrassed. He didn’t want me, his one and
only Christian friend, to know that he was
“sick”. He was afraid that I would judge, that
I would condemn…and that I would leave. Ironic,
since he’s the one that did the leaving.
I
attended his funeral a few weeks later. It was
a doubly-sad affair, for me, at least. To this
day I feel like I had no closure. And I was
angry. Not at him, but at the notion that he
believed any Christian would be filled with
judgment and hate for him: one of the nicest,
kindest people I had ever met.
I’m
older now…maybe not wiser, because in many ways
I am more cynical and bitter. I understand that
the world will “hate” us, God promises that.
But I cannot believe that the world should hate
us because we ourselves are filled with hate.
That’s not what Jesus teaches us to do…on the
contrary: we are to love our “brothers and
sisters” (fellow followers) AND our
enemies…I’m pretty sure that covers everyone.
So how could Michael think that I, whom he knew
well, would judge him? Not because of anything
I did, but because of what some other
“Christian” did in the name of God. Perhaps
that is why I am sometimes NOT anti-Christian
but anti-CHRISTIANS…we are (and I
will lump myself into this) our own worst
enemies.
I
think about what would’ve happened with Mike had
the reputation of Christians, in the 1980’s, had
been as the most caring and loving, the
most compassionate and least-judgmental
of all humanity. I try to bring closure to his
death by imagining him telling me everything and
me just hugging him in response…because he was
my friend.
Wouldn’t it be nice if we, at Central Christian
Church, could be known as the ones who love as
no other, accepting those with whom we agree and
share our life-goals…and those we don’t?
Couldn’t WE be the ones who others look at and
say, “If being a CHRISTIAN means being like
those people at Central, then count me in…when I
was hungry, they fed me, when I was thirsty they
gave me something to drink…when I had AIDS and
was dying, they cared and loved me without
judgment or superiority.”
I
think we could be that kind of people.
Why
did I think of Michael, so suddenly and so
out-of-the-blue the other day? All I know is
that when I looked up his obituary, which I have
kept, I saw that he passed away 19 years ago
last week…perhaps my heart remembered when my
head forgot…and maybe God wanted me to think
about him again and write this down for you.
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