The Cussing Pastor

In my first semester of seminary, I quickly realized how small the seminary actually was. Within the first few weeks, I thought I had met everyone. One day I was walking through the courtyard and I run into a friend of mine and she was sitting at a table with a man whose knuckles were covered in tattoos and I noticed he cussed like a sailor. They invited me to sit down. I was intrigued by this guy. He wasn’t who you would expect to be hanging around a seminary. I came to soon find out he was in his last year as a student, and if I am remembering correctly, at the time, working on a sermon.

A few days later I ran into him at a local coffee shop called Common Grounds. He was sitting by himself, so I joined him and asked him to tell me his story. I was surprised that he looked at me in the eye for about forty five minutes sharing intricate details about his life and how he became who he was that day. At the end of our conversation, a girl walked up and asked if he wanted to get lunch with her and that was that.

I saw Kelly a lot throughout my years in Waco. Anytime I saw him, he always had some sort of crass or sarcastic thing to say with a smirk on his face, especially in front of students I was meeting with; of course we loved him for that. Eventually we ended up at the same church. I found out he and his wife, Kaitlyn, led a Mi Casa (which is sort of our terminology of a small group, but it is much more than that). Our church was already labeled by the wider Waco area as the “hipster” church or the “outcast” church. Our Mi Casa was the outcasts of the outcasts. A group of the most random people from all places of life, all who weren’t afraid to generously sprinkle our conversations with profanity.

Each week we would meet, people would trickle in here and there. Most of our time was spent discussing events or gushing over the next marvel movie and comparing it to the comics. Eventually we would get down to each person and what was going on in their lives. My first time to this Mi Casa, I was confused that most people in the group were very similar to Kelly. One second we would be making fun at each other and the next, someone would express something so intimate, everyone was silenced. But…it wasn’t awkward silence that you might think of in situations like this. It was almost a sacred silence. A mourning together. An expressed understanding among all of us. We breathed one breath.

Needless to say this was a unique group and I was drawn back week after week. Kelly was ordained by our church and I don’t know if there were any more proud of our fearless leader, other than his beloved wife. Up until my last days in Waco, I was never surprised to see either Kelly family around town. Collectively, I believe, they have connections with everyone in that city.

It wasn’t until leaving Waco that I recognized how much this type of relationship meant to me. I 100% blame Kelly for that. I constantly find myself questioning, “where are all the real people?” These that I have come to know and do life with were those desperately in love with Christ, but honest enough to straight forward with who they were: take it or leave it. If you took it, then you were automatically embraced with the most unconditional love you could experience outside Christ’s.

I am still in a group message with our Mi Casa, even though I am across the country. I can always count on Kelly to tie me into the conversation, somehow, even with new members, support me in my endeavors and encourage me in the dark times. This group, that half the members have never even met me in person, now, I feel so much love from.

Until Thursday,

Cheers!

Sam Jo.