NOPE

Matthew Serra was 28 years old when he OD'ed on a combination of prescription drugs two years ago.

My friend Walt Jones was 27 when, finally clean of drugs, he died in a car accident.  I went by Walt's grave a few years ago.  20 years later, according to the headstone, Walt is still 27.  It's an eerie place, this place where tragedy can remain forever young.  As my years approach twice Walt's, I wonder what our time would have looked like.

Matthew's father is Mark Serra; his stepmother, Laurie.  They lived through his many-years cycle of victories and defeats, rehab and relapse, jail and bail.  In the end, the drugs were stronger than Matt.  The surviving Serras are, in some sense, still consumed by the drug war.  But they're gaining ground now, not just wrestling in the no-man's land of addiction.

Mark and Laurie wanted to make a difference.  They wanted Matt's death, not just his life, to make a difference.  (Strangely, the D.A.R.E. program wasn't here, so there was a huge gap in schools.)  Working in schools isn't something that "religious" groups can do easily here.  Law enforcement people are, well, cops - part of the story, but not all.  Especially to teens and tweens.  What could a couple of grieving, pissed-off, motivated, capable people do?  Being Christians, they wanted to do something more like redemption than revenge.

They discovered the NOPE (Narcotic Overdose Prevention & Education) Task Force, an anti-drug group in Palm Beach, Florida.  That looked right - open their wounds, that others might live.  That others might choose life instead of drugs, that others might be encouraged in their struggle.  They established a Pinellas County chapter, contacted law enforcement and school board people, and went to work.  As Mark said when we met over breakfast, "We've got skin in the game."

Cyndi and I went to one of their talks at Oak Grove Middle School here in Clearwater last week.  Ever seen 200-300 quiet middle-schoolers?  No, although I've seen a few tender moments in youth ministry work we've done.  (It's easier in high school.)

Robin Wikle of the Pinellas county school board led the presentations. (Side note:  the Pinellas school system is a $1.5 billion, 100,000 student enterprise.)  She, too, has skin in the game; her 23-year old son is in jail right now on drug charges.  (Her story is in the St. Pete Times here.)  Her backdrop was poster-size photos of a dozen local people who couldn't be with us anymore:  Matt's the oldest; the youngest was in middle school.  They have plenty of additional posters for bigger stages...many more people die here of prescription drug overdoses than car accidents.

Sheriff's deputy Frazo gave the stats; the one I remember is that in 2009, someone died in this county every 35 hours from a prescription drug overdose .  He showed the kids a crime-scene picture of the body of Jared Kirstein, a case on the east coast this year.  Jared loved to surf, and made a bad, last decision one night.

Deputy Frazo's own life-staining memory is of a mother who had to identify her son at a similar scene.  She kissed the dead boy's forehead inside the partly-zipped body bag.  And the sound of that zipper closing over the still face will haunt Frazo the rest of his life.  He brought a body bag and an urn and showed them to us.

The early word is, deaths are up in 2010. 

Laurie told Matt's story.  Star athlete, star student, the student every other student wants to be.  He was injured in his teens, painkillers were prescribed, and eventually became a way of life.  The opiate (oxy-, roxy-, hydro-) drugs eventually led to sleeplessness and counter-drugging with Xanax and similar drugs, resulting in a death spiral.  Mark sat on the back row, choked up, as always.  Two years and counting.

She said that two-thirds of teens say their parents haven't talked to them about the dangers of prescription drugs.  Hence, NOPE in the schools.

Several times a week this little scene plays in our schools.  These people don't open their scars for just anyone; they open them because it's life or death.  NOPE isn't a "Christian" thing; it's just the kind of thing a Christian might happen to be called to by a God who's busy redeeming all of us, as much as we'll let him.  There are plenty of non-Christians who love their children, who have skin in the game, too.  NOPE is a classic of people who find common cause shining light into darkness, because they themselves have experienced the darkness.

Will Mark and Laurie's grief remain forever young?  I hope not.  Will their passion to change the world remain forever young?  I hope so.

Tonight is the winter solstice, the longest night of the year.  There's pain in the night, and a time to weep, in our dark seasons.  There's an opportunity to come alongside those who are weeping for their Walts and Matts.  And there's always an opportunity, in the darkest places and times, for Light to shine.  May His light shine into your darkest sorrows, this season of Immanuel, God-with-us.