Finally, The Phone Call That Never Came

It has been about five months since one of my soldiers, SPC Serpa, lost his life by his own hand. Five months since he wrote me on Facebook, saying he would like to talk and asking for my number. I gave him my number and told him I would love to talk. The call never came.

In the past few days, an unknown friend reached out of the darkness for me on Facebook. He told me that he was a friend of Matt Serpa, read my blog posts, and wanted to talk. As with Matt, I gave him my number and waited. This young man did indeed call.

We talked for the better part of an hour last night. He was Serpa's fraternity brother at Columbia, and has wrestled with the darkness that took his friend's life ever since his tragic passing. I think there were three primary things that were affecting him:

1) Regret. He said it wasn't so much a feeling of guilt that perplexed, but just the haunting "What if?" questions. What if he had been more attentive or proactive with regard to Serpa's psychological deterioration? What if he had picked up the phone a few more times toward the end? Perhaps all of this wouldn't have happened.

We spoke a bit about God's mysterious providence. I don't know why the Lord gave Serpa so few years, but I know that those were years we couldn't prolong or diminish--as much as we would like to take credit or blame. Also, considering the fact that God had appointed this lifespan for Serpa, we can certainly be thankful that we got to enjoy a piece of it, and perhaps add something to it.

2) Shallow Answers. The worst of these being "Remember the good times you had with him," or even "Remember him for who he was--before all this happened." But this young man could not find it within himself to euphemize death, as is so common in our culture. The fact is that this brokenness was a part of Serpa, and eventually led to his death.

There were several things we talked about concerning these shallow answers. First, we need to take death seriously. It is not something to be dismissed lightly--it is a horrendous rending of the fabric of God's beautiful creation. It screams with the blood of Abel (Gen. 4--whose name means "chaos," by the way) and evoked a heart-rending cry from the very Son of God (John 11). It deserves more than petty cliches and dismissal--it deserves an emphatic answer.

Second, we talked about the complexity of human nature. My new friend was right not to blot out Serpa's brokenness--it was as much a part of his (fallen) being as was his inherent dignity. To deny a part of Matt is to deny Matt entirely and reduce him to a cardboard cutout. We honor his memory by remembering the whole person.

Third, because humans are complex beings--both dignified and fallen--my new friend has to resist the temptation to react against the culture by only dwelling on Serpa's steady descent into death. Serpa was not just broken, but dignified--his unique, God-given personality and gifts were eventually wasted by him, but they should not be wasted by us. We must remember those precious things as God's gift to us and rejoice that we could offer him gifts in his brief life as well.

3) The Rock is Gone. This young collegiate greatly admired Serpa, who was a few years older. A lot of the fraternity brothers recognized that he had a real-world experience in his deployment that none of them had. In a sense, Serpa had grown to mythological proportions in this man's mind. He was a rock--a man of solid fiber who could withstand the worst of the world. And bit by bit, the rock crumbled to dust and blew away, leaving a gaping void in this young man's life.

Thus becomes every earthly idol--whether it be people, education, riches, pleasure, or family. They all eventually blow away in the present wasteland of worldly existence.

This young man has slowly been succumbing to the same darkness that entombed Serpa. I told him that death requires a fight, and the fight starts with serious wrestling and serious answers. Instead of simply giving way, he needs to DO something. He needs to go to church and hear what God has to say on the matter. He needs to find a rock that won't crumble.

God-willing, he will be visiting Redeemer PCA in New York City, which is right down the road from him.

I told him to save my number in his phone. I deployed with 152 soldiers, came home with 152 soldiers, and now have a hole in my deployment roster. He will fill that hole.

May the Lord bless and guide this journey of grief to the cross. And, brother, if you are reading this, the journey is just beginning. You didn't call me out of the darkness--the Lord was calling you.