by Tom Reilly
This is the week every year that I think about my good friend Bill. Bill was a professional speaker, military veteran, and football coach. Not necessarily in that order. To many, his nickname was coach. To me, he was friend, peer, and an older brother by a different mother. We met in 1985 and for the next 20 years enjoyed each other’s company, insights, and humor.
In 2007, he was diagnosed with stage four kidney cancer. It soon metastasized to other organs. His treatment regimen was rigorous—dietary changes, heavy chemo, and surgery. His recovery looked promising. His attitude was always positive—the way he lived life. He was prone to say, “It is what it is.” Not quite fatalistic but a strong measure of acceptance of his fate. He lost quite a bit of weight during his recovery in what appeared to be a period of remission. Strange for his fire-plug football coach physique. We had dinner in July and it looked promising.
Toward the end, our conversations turned from the worldly to the spiritual, from the human to the divine, from business and humor to religion and God. Bill was Episcopalian and I, catholic. Our subtle differences in brand reflected our subtle differences overall. In one of our conversations, I asked him, “Have you ever read the Passion of Christ?”
He said, “No.”
I encouraged him to read the Passion and gave him John’s version, chapters 18 & 19, my preference since I studied it in college. He wanted to know why I suggested this.
I said, “Because Jesus offered us a perfect model of suffering.” His uncharacteristic silence encouraged me to elaborate.
“Bill, I’ve been scared and anxious in my life but never to the point that my sweat was like drops of blood. I’ve been lonely in my life but never had family or friends sleep through my pain and anguish. I’ve been rejected in my life but never denied by those who loved me. I’ve been weighed down by my cross but never fell under the weight of the world’s sins. I’ve been criticized in my life but never crucified because I loved too much. I’ve been tolerant of others who have hurt me but never as merciful as Jesus when they nailed Him to a dead tree. You see, Jesus had to go through all of this with courage and perseverance. He was the perfect model for suffering. He offers us a path for carrying our crosses.”
“I will read this,” he said, as seriously as he ever said anything.
About a month later, his assistant called me on the weekend—not a good sign. “Tom, I’m sad to say that Bill passed away today.” We both cried. Sixty-two short years on this earth and he was gone. I attended his memorial service in Greensboro with another friend who was equally sad. His house was packed with many of the people that Bill touched with his presence. His son sent me a video that they made of his speaking career. Eighteen years later, I still have not watched it. I have a video of Bill in my head, and that’s the one I want to remember.
Today is Palm Sunday and the gospel is Luke’s version of the Passion, a slightly leaner account and not as poetic as John’s, but just as powerful: Jesus, the perfect model for suffering. It worked for my friend, and it continues to work for me. And that’s why I think of Bill every year during this Holy Week.
Tom Reilly is the author of 17 books. Hope in The Shadows of War is the story of one Vet’s return from the Vietnam War.
