With the recent passing of Kate Spade and Anthony Bourdain, each of whom died at their own hand, it made me think about suicide. I have lost two friends to suicide, but now is not the time to tell their stories. Instead, I’m going to tell you the story of Rodney, because unlike the stories of the people above, Rodney’s story is a story of redemption. Sometimes in the midst of loss, rather than telling more stories of loss, we need to tell stories about when the tide of loss has been reversed. 
It was a pretty busy night at the Well Bar and I was up to my armpits in drink orders. Rodney leaned in over the bar to yell his drink order to me, or at least that is what I thought he was doing. Rodney really wasn’t “one of mine.” The Well Bar was one of three bars that served the guys who were getting off second shift (4pm to midnight) from the two local factories. Rodney was usually at one of our competitor’s bars, but he came around the Well enough that I knew him. I wasn’t too disheartened that Rodney “wasn’t one of mine” either. Rodney was a problem drinker, a mean drunk. Most guys who get drunk get kind of sleepy and happy and maybe do or say things they shouldn’t. Rodney wasn’t that kind of guy, we was some other kind of guy.
So when Rodney leaned over the bar, I was surprised when he didn’t say, “Gimme a 7&7,” but “Tonight I’m going to go home and blow my [expletive] brains out.” Just like that, in a crowded bar. All I could answer with was a “what?” So he was kind enough to repeat it, and add, “You don’t believe me do you? I served in the Army, I have guns all over my house, I’m going to do it tonight.” As a campus pastor at Florida State, I am considered a “mandatory reporter” by the University, meaning that if someone says something like that to me here, I’m somewhat expected to tell someone. I was under no such expectation as a bartender, but I knew I needed help.
I knew guys that worked with Rodney, so I grabbed one and pulled him aside. Using what probably wouldn’t muster as decent pastoral language I recounted Rodney’s threat. The verbal response that came back from the guys wasn’t very pastoral either and probably wouldn’t work for a church newsletter. But the action response…well that’s a different story. Three guys took Rodney and quite literally dragged him through the back door. I heard that they beat him up back there, but knowing Rodney, that was probably more his fault than theirs. But they took him home. They sat with him, put him on their couch, and probably cleaned him up. In the morning, Rodney checked himself into someplace that could help.
I didn’t see Rodney for a while after that, which I took as good news. So when Rodney did walk back through those doors, I was a little apprehensive. “Diet Coke,” was the order, “in a can,” was the addition, “I don’t want nobody thinking I’m back to drinking,” was the explanation. For as long as I was at the Well, Rodney never relapsed to my knowledge. He never committed suicide. He started drinking diet Cokes.
I don’t have a solution to suicide. If I did, I wouldn’t revel quite as much in the redemption that happened in Rodney’s life. Of course, Rodney’s story isn’t so different from mine and yours. That’s what happened in my life. Some people dragged me through the front doors of a church, over to a Baptismal font, and they sat with me afterwards. They taught me about a God who would beat me up, who would do so with the intent of getting me out of the back door of a sinful world. They taught me about a God who paid my tab and sat with me on His pew until I was sober enough to make some of my own decisions. So let’s pray in thanks for that God, and let’s pray for the courage to drag someone out and put them on our couch when the need arises. We just might end up being a part of God’s redemption.