One day back in March, my cell was on vibrate, and I missed a call coming from three time zones and 6,000 miles away.

An hour later, I had the phone with me and picked up. Even though nine years had passed since I left my job as prison chaplain in South America, I had kept in contact with my “sons,” rejoicing in their continued growth and joyful costly commitment.

But that early morning phone call left me struggling to find any joy in costly commitment—at least as it relates to the news I heard.

Any inmate anywhere is questioned, often scorned, for claiming to have had a come-to-Jesus moment. Not being sufficiently wise or being too trusting in externals can get you burned. However, during the nearly 14 years I knew Manuel, he walked steadfastly, both feet firmly on the Jesus way.

But there was a side of Manuel’s life he would never talk about, other than to say that he had asked God to forgive all in his past, which included a crime he committed when he was 14.

His “partners in crime” could not figure him out, and those who were once friends now sought to destroy him. But the harder they tried, using poisoned food and trying to provoke him to react violently (which could have got him killed), the more loving and gentle he became as he walked more closely with Jesus.

Whenever he was questioned about the past, he always answered that God had forgiven him and forgotten about it, so who was he, Manuel, to remember it.

On his release almost 10 years ago, he had done 12 years of a sentence reduced to eight years because he committed his crime as a minor. But rather than become bitter about the delay in his release, he continued growing and becoming involved in the life of his rural faith community, where he was loved and valued by everyone who got to know him.

Being proactive, he continually tried to leave his past in the past by being ever more present for his wife (whom he’d met and married while still in prison) and his son, who showed up when they had given up hope of having children.

Manuel and his wife founded a family business, producing and selling artisan bread. As he paid his startup debts, Manuel dreamed of buying a little farm and setting up a home for men leaving prison; he knew firsthand how hard it is to get your feet on the ground.

Then one Friday night, the family came home together and were surprised to see someone apparently waiting for them; without any attempt to hide his identity, the man walked up to Manuel and in front of his wife and 8-year-old son, shot him in the chest four times.

I received this message the next morning: Manuel was killed last night! Manuel is dead!

Manuel had joyfully lived out his commitment to Jesus. He did not betray the trust that I or others had in him.

Perhaps the best demonstration of his faith in God’s transformative power both personally and relationally occurred in a simple act in his cell about 12 years ago. He called me to his cell, told me he had something to give me he no longer needed because he now had a new heart. He then took a couple of tiny screws out of the side of a wooden chair and from the hollowed out interior removed a 12-inch homemade knife.

He was truly a man of God, a man who had so much to give, but he is gone. Manuel is dead.

And I stand before his coffin and try to read these words from Psalm 27:

You God are my light and my salvation;
whom shall I fear?
You, God, are the stronghold of my life;
of whom shall I be afraid?

I never shed more tears or wrestled harder in my search for answers, than I did in the next week.

When I begged friends for answers, a few dared to say, “Be glad. Manuel is in a better place.”

But I cried out, How can you say that? He loved his wife and child, he loved his church family and he loved Jesus. How can he be in a better place? Other friends have taken the harder road and honestly confessed that they, too, had no answers, only more questions.

Then from somewhere, or someone, came words that connected for me in my search for meaning.

The words of Welsh poet Dylan Thomas:

Do not go gentle into that good night,
Old age should burn and rage at close of day;
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

Raging against the dying of the light in today’s context is to remember that the light shines in the darkness, and the darkness has not figured it out. Or in the KJV: “And the light shineth in darkness; and the darkness comprehended it not.”

A dear friend and brother reminded me that “rage is the righteous response of love in the face of injustice. I pray that you continue to make room for it.”

I invite us to rage together; there is darkness in so many places.

Light as energy may not be destroyed, but it can be eclipsed (hidden) by other powers. Often it seems the light is dying. Let us know and walk in the Light and be bearers of that Light. When darkness seems to overpower the light, let us walk assured that the darkness will never figure it out. The darkness that tried to destroy Manuel’s light because it couldn’t figure it out will fail. We, too, will fail if we give in to the darkness, when we fail to rage against the dying light.

Psalm 27 becomes meaningful and less bitter when we read it aware of the cosmic struggle between light and darkness. Reading through those lenses, with hope and joy in the illimitable power of Light rather than shallow words promising a personal safety net, is there hope of resolution; is there courage to carry on?

You, God, are my light; whom shall I fear?
You will hide me in your shelter
in the day of trouble;
You will conceal me under the cover of your tent;
you will set me high on a rock.

May the Light facilitate our discovery of joy in costly commitment. May the Light empower our raging.

And in the midst of it all, let us remember that we are not alone; let us recall the words written to the Hebrew believers: “Seeing we are compassed about with so great a cloud of witnesses, let us run with patience the race that is set before us, looking unto Jesus the author and finisher of our faith; who for the joy that was set before him endured the cross, despising the shame, and is set down at the right hand of God.”