Preaching after suicide

What do you say after an inexplicable death?

The call about Bill’s death came as a surprise. A year or so after his wife died, Bill seemed to be doing well, publicly, at least. He talked a little about how quiet his house was and how much he missed his wife of more than 50 years, even though their last decade was mostly about his care for her through a series of illnesses that left her blind and nearly deaf. A model of faith and faithfulness, Bill was the Christian man we all wanted to become.

I first met him while I was a seminary student. Bill scheduled the preacher-boys to speak at the nearby nursing home. He was there every Sunday afternoon with his wife who handed out small treats she made while her eyesight lasted. He held aged hands and listened to familiar stories and always pointed people to Jesus. And he coached the seminarians through the experience of chapel in the dining room, a clattering mass of silverware and table setting and coughing and light snoring, as the brief service usually preceded supper. “If you can get their attention here, you can preach anywhere,” he would say each week.

Once you made it on Bill’s preacher list, you were on it until you graduated and moved away.

By the time of his wife’s death, I had returned to town and was Bill’s pastor. He was a gem, a beloved and supportive deacon, but he was sad. Bill’s daughter encouraged him to see a counselor. He seemed to be making progress.

Until he wasn’t.

“We found Dad in the bathroom,” she said on the phone. “Gunshot.” It was gruesome, and it was without explanation.

About two years earlier I’d had a similar phone call from someone who had found my mother dead in