Reflection
Two days prior to this day, marked the thirteenth anniversary of a very sad moment in my life.
I was in the middle of the Blue Ridge Mountains, somewhere in Virginia, homeward bound from a business trip.
My phone rang.
I answered.
I listened.
My heart dropped.
My eyes became blinded by tears.
I pulled off on the next exit to allow my spirit to cry uncontrollably as it adjusted from the blow it had just received.
My closest childhood buddy had taken his life.
We became close because we spent thousands of hours together on the asphalt basketball court in Covington, practicing a game we dearly loved.
Mental illness convinced him that death was his only option to crushing the demons that had taken residence in his mind.
The days after Joe’s death reminded me of what it must have been like for Jesus’s followers over 2000 years ago on Holy Saturday when the world had “conquered” their Savior.
I was messed up.
I was in a fog.
I couldn’t understand how and why it happened.
Then I remembered a conversation I had with Joe a couple of years prior. I witnessed to him the power of prayer and the gift of God’s grace through the death and resurrection of Jesus Christ.
Joe would periodically give me updates on his prayer life and how it was calming his mind.
In my opinion, Joe had battled mental demons since childhood as he endured the roller coaster ride of having a drunk for a dad.
Ironically, that “drunk for a dad” had been born again when I was in college. I found this out on a Friday evening when I was heading home from ONU to visit with mom and dad. My car broke down about sixty miles north of Covington, and Joe’s dad drove the wrecker that towed my car home.
He doused me with Jesus for a solid hour because he knew I needed a good dousing.
We are all saints and sinners, but Joe’s dad knew my “sainthood” was significantly less than my “sinnerhood” at that point in my life.
The last time I saw Joe alive was seven months before his passing.
We, a couple of former hellions, were representing the hands and feet of Jesus.
We were serving food to the less fortunate at my church.
We laughed.
We reminisced.
We agreed we should never have lost to Fort Loramie in our senior year’s basketball regional semi-finals–a conversation we had dozens of times prior with the same conclusion.
It was a great moment.
A moment I will always cherish.
Because all of us Jesus followers know what took place on Easter Sunday a couple of thousand years ago, we can better manage the Holy Saturdays of our lives.
…those days when life isn’t making sense
…those days we can’t see through the fog
…those days we or a friend or loved one gets a not-so-good medical diagnosis
…those days we unexpectedly lose a loved one
…those days we question Jesus’ existence
Back to the opening quote…
We can find peace in our “Holy Saturdays” because we know God is there.
” For this is where God meets us. God is in our loss. God is in our fear. God is in our pain.
Despite the action Joe took during an awful “Holy Saturday” time in his life. God was there to meet him and deliver him from his loss, fear, and pain.
Joe not only got to see God on what would become his final “Holy Saturday,” but he was reunited with his born-again sober dad.
Demons thought they had crushed Joe.
Demons thought they had crushed Joe’s dad.
Yes, indeed, the grace of God surpasses ALL understanding.
Thank you, Jesus, for giving us Easter Sunday to hold onto as we battle the “Holy Saturdays” of our lives.
Amen.
Revelation 21:4, “He will wipe away every tear from their eyes, and death shall be no more, neither shall there be mourning, nor crying, nor pain anymore, for the former things have passed away.â€
P.E.A.C.E.
Jay@EagleLaunch.com
