(Content warning: Contains mention of death by suicide.)
The last photo Max Ray ever posted on Facebook is good enough to be framed.
It's a photo of a tree, probably an oak, standing majestically with leaves on its branches.
The tree stands on the bank of a peaceful lake, in the middle of a meadow of the green grass of spring.
A grove of trees graces the opposite lake shore. If you go there in the fall, you will probably see the colors explode with shades of scarlet, gold, vermillion, and other fall colors.
Max Ray photographed that beautiful scene and posted it on Facebook with the words, "This is the beautiful lake where I will within a few minutes have done the deed."
I don't know if Max read any of the responses to his post.
Because right after he took that photograph, he took his life.
Max, according to the author's blurb about his book A Better Way, "considers himself a retired country preacher having ministered the gospel for better than half a century. He graduated in 1957 from Freed-Hardman University and has lived the past years in Kentucky . . . His humble demeanor has endeared him to many throughout the world. His love of truth moves him to be a champion of simple New Testament Christianity."
I did not know Max, never had the pleasure of reading his Facebook page until after his death, never listened to a sermon preached by him.
Why, then, is his death on my mind? Why is his death worthy of a blog post from someone who didn't know him and who he didn't know?
I think Patrick Mead, another Church of Christ preacher, summed it up when he said that Max was "my second friend to take his life this month."
In skimming the Facebook comments about Max, one friend of his said that he and Max suffered from the same form of depression. I mentioned that I, too, dealt with depression; he responded with, they both suffered from dysthymia, also known as "persistent depressive disorder". (I think Naomi Judd had this also.) It's almost like the chemicals in the brain that cause depression mutate, making depression harder to treat.
His family and friends are going through the craziness of grief, asking the questions, why did he do it? Didn't he know how much we loved him? Didn't he understand just how much he'd given to his fellow Christians? We need men like him. Especially now. So why did he do it? Did he just give up? Did he give in to the lies of Satan? Did he forget God? Why did you do it, Max? Why?
Only Max can answer those questions, and he isn't here to do so.
We expect so much from our men (and now women) of the cloth. I've confided in my own preacher several times and he's always graciously given me his time and wisdom. I also know that he has his own struggles caring for his church and for his own family. COVID has made things worse. It's doubled, maybe tripled, the burden so many of them carry. Between COVID and the current racial/political strife in our country, nearly every church has had major turmoil. People leave because the preacher is too "woke", or if he's "too harsh".
Where does this leave the Max Rays, who only wanted to preach the gospel of Christ and was also crippled by a disease many just don't understand? It's fine to say, "Please, get help," and if you're reading this, I encourage you to do so (you can now just dial 988 for the mental health hotline). But there's also waiting lists, counselors that are unavailable, health insurance that may or may not cover needed treatment . . . and let's face it, the way we talk about mental illness in this country is shameful. The mentally ill are shamed, villified, and too often treated like they are just weak.
My guess is that Max Ray was not a weak man. He sounds like a man who loved God . . . and who found depression to eventually be insurmountable.
If you look at the last picture he took, you can almost hear a gentle breeze blowing through the leaves of the oak tree and ruffling the surface of the lake. You can imagine the small waves lapping at the shore.
But a black illness in Max Ray's brain caused him to "do the deed."
And now, that picture, in my mind, will never be suitable for framing.
Just my .04, adjusted for inflation.
(P.S. -- If you're dealing with depression -- especially if you work with people and deal with depression yourself -- dial 988. Reach out to a friend. Or better yet, friends, reach out to them. We often don't know what our physical and spiritual families are dealing with .)
