It seems the only time I write anymore is in response to loss. And this is no exception.
Mark Gerger is a man who lived a long life before I ever met him. A policeman, an educator, a detective (to name just a few of his lives), a husband, a father and a solid Christian man of God.
By the time we met he was long retired from police work and was serving his church in PA. His daughter, a dear friend, excitedly introduced us on one of his visits back to the place he called home most of his life. I invited them both over for a meal and we had lively conversation sitting on my deck for hours. And thus began a short but blessed friendship.
Mark loved to tell stories and he had many many to tell. But where I found we most connected was in wrestling with God together. Somehow our conversations always seemed to end up wrestling through some theological conundrum. It was a joy to watch him wrap his head around a concept and then immediately find real life applications both past and present to the topic at hand. For him the pragmatic connections to life is what mattered. His years of service had exposed him to darkness and hardship, but also joy and growth, all of which he brought into our conversations. It gave him a gentle softness of understanding and compassion that few without his life experience grasp. His failures were ever before him, but he always tried to move forward walking in Christ a life of reconciliation.
Even though he had many health challenges in the years of our friendship his only deep worries were his wife and his daughter. He loved them both and it was his passion to find ways to stay in both of their lives. Which was difficult since he lived 600 miles away. He told me so many stories of both of them. While I don’t remember the details of many of the stories, I remember the joy he had telling me about them. He felt blessed and challenged by both of them.
No matter his struggle, I never saw his smile fade. His face always was a reflection of the joy within him. A joy that never seemed to fade. I remember visiting him sick in the hospital and he’s just smiling and talking as if we are just chilling at the coffee house. His illness meant nothing to him, only the joy of the conversation in that moment.
If you were blessed enough to spend any time with him, he made you smile. His joy for life was contagious.
During the heart of Covid isolation we decided to make the most of technology and started a weekly Bible study (him, his daughter and I). We would all read the same chapters throughout the week, we would meet via zoom to enjoy each other’s company and hash through God’s Word.
I grew a lot that year. Every week he pushed the envelope to bring us to pragmatic applications of the Word we had read. He forced me to come prepared because he wasn’t a man to back down for any reason and he had deep and difficult insight. It was a great blessing to grow in God’s Word together, especially in the heart of isolation and fear which had cast its dark shadow on our nation. In a world that had gone crazy, we found friendship, companionship, and God together.
We never would sit face to face again. Even after he moved back to KZ, he was cautious and kept his distance for health safety.
I know that today he is in the house of our Lord in the rooms prepared for him. I know he is free of pain and suffering and has answers that he and I could only debate about. I know his joy is now complete in Christ. But I already miss him. Not that we connected often, but it was always a blessing when we did.
In this life my time with him is over. May I grow to be full of joy in all I do as he was.
He was my friend, and I will miss him. Praise God that one day I will get to see him again.
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