Pittsfield-up: farewell to the World's Best Cute & Cuddly Usher

This past Sunday we at our church said goodbye to my good friend, Kurt (who comments on this very blog under his Roman name, Kurtius). Kurt graduated from Harvard Law, took (and hopefully passed) the bar and has been assigned by the state to a different part of the state as a public defender (I suppose I'll leave out the actual town name, just in case someone is after Kurt and he's really not a lawyer but in the witness protection program). The Commonwealth of Massachusetts (or, as I prefer, the People's Republic of Massachusetts) has seen fit to use his services far enough away that he can't continue to attend our church. It's our loss.

I first met Kurt a few years back when he was the faithgroup on Harvard's campus. Make sure you read that correctly, he was the faithgroup (for those who don't know, "faithgroups" are what we call "small groups" or "cell groups"). I didn't really know Kurt very well back then, I just knew he was wicked funny. That aspect hasn't changed, but I've gotten to know him a lot better.

I think we became better friends in September '05. We were part of a three man team sent to Mississippi to help with relief efforts after Hurricane Katrina (with our friend Bruce, who also makes appearances in the comment section). I learned a couple things about Kurt: he grows a surprisingly good beard for a baby-faced kid, he has far more stamina than I do, and he is capable of growing quite a bit in a short period of time (not physically, of course). Instead of explaining myself, please read his post about it before you go on: check it out here. Rereading it brings back the memory of how blessed I was for Kurt to be open to the Lord's leading and conviction. If you float around his blog during that general time frame you'll get an idea of what we did. There may even be a rare photo of me in there somewhere.

Back on the homefront, I was coleading a faithgroup with another guy and Kurt was one of our faithful members. This group became known as Man Club, although not officially since the church leadership, though they thought it was funny, didn't really want to put that on our church website. Pansies. Anyway, Man Club soon multiplied (we never use the word "split", in case you were wondering) into two separate groups: Kurt and I led the group that continued to meet on the same night (which became known as Man Club: Original Recipe, a name inspired by Kurt himself) and the other met on a different night (this group became known as Man Club: Variety Bucket, which coincidentally was also the more racially diverse group of the two, that wasn't intended).

Kurt and I would get together every Thursday before faithgroup to talk and pray. We went through a book together, which I talked about here, prayed, laughed, never cried and ate a lot of pizza. We avoided confessing sins, but ultimately got around to most of them anyway. Kurt was always fun and honest, two words that I think characterize him perfectly.

The title of this post comes from one particular Thursday get together that didn't end up quite as well as we had hoped. Shortly before we met up he had gotten word that he was not getting the assignment near the city like he had hoped, instead would be sent 2 hours away. As we ate our food two words became the refrain for the evening: "this sucks." Not poetic, but it does accurately portray our feelings. But as we discussed (I think it was that same night), we remembered the teaching of a pastor in Texas. He likes to mention that we need to adopt a "hell-up" mentality, meaning that we deserve hell, yet God is gracious to us, so we ought to be thankful for anything more than hell, or "hell-up."

Pittsfield, I guess, would be the equivalent of hell in the law system of Massachusetts. Allegedly it has a poor court system, it's in the middle of nowhere, and it is much closer to New York than it is to Boston. In other words, a bit like hell. Kurt didn't get Pittsfield, he got "Pittsfield-up." It could have been worse, it could have been Pittsfield.

Again, I've seen Kurt grow over this time. He has come to embrace the idea of moving away. Instead of attempting to make the trek every Sunday back to Boston for church he (rightly) has decided that since God has placed him in a different community, he will attend church there and plant himself right in the middle of things. He has even thought that maybe he'll stay there longer than the 1-year appointment (I hope he changes his mind and can be reassigned, but we'll worry about that later). This attitude shows a tremendous amount of maturity. I would be whining and considering changing careers. Kurt has a Pittsfield-up mentality. He has been blessed, and he will make the most of it.

At any rate, I know it's not like he's dying or anything. Truth be told, I'm a fairly sentimental guy, when things are going well, I don't want them to change. And good friends can be hard to find. I can think of two instances off the top of my head within the last 6 months where I was going through a rough point and Kurt was there to encourage. He didn't have to write a long e-mail of make an hour-long phone call, in fact, the second time he wrote an e-mail of about 4 words. Kurt understands the art of being there without smothering a person with encouragement, to the point they want to strangle you.

There are plenty of others things to note, like the fact that he is cute and cuddly (ah, that never gets old). He is also the World's Best Usher, or so says the shirt he wears when passing out visitor's cards. And when my roommate and I were planning our move and coming up with our short list of possible roommates, Kurt was the short list. Alas, it wasn't meant to be. But remember- Pittsfield-up.

For those who know Kurt, feel free to share any thoughts or stories. Again, this isn't a eulogy or anything, so remember he'll be reading these. This post doesn't really contain everything, of course, and I wish I were a better writer to get the point across. Like maybe make you cry or something. At any rate, Kurt, we'll see you around, hopefully sooner rather than later.

Now, somebody cue up the old Michael W Smith tape and let's sing Friends.