It has now been a little over three years since the death of my best friend and fellow law enforcement officer. On December 27, 2022, in the hour of Divine Mercy, Grzegorz “Greg” Pierzchala breathed his last breath after he was shot six times at close range in a premeditated ambush.
Though I wake up each morning longing for just one more conversation with my dear friend, it has been made evident to me that every cross is accompanied by immeasurable beauty and truth; and the three truths God has revealed to me surrounding this tragedy are simply too abundant to ignore. In this article, I will cover the first of these three truths: embracing ordinary evangelization.
Having Greg bleed out in my arms was a taste of hell. No doubt my heart will forever be etched with the marks of pain, sorrow, and the witness of true malevolence. And yet, in the totality of the Father’s divine comedy, the evil I experienced in those moments paled in comparison to the overwhelming reassurance of divine providence.
In reflection and prayer, I have come to see that God’s grace was not only present in the aftermath of Greg’s death but, in the case of this first truth, he was weaving a tapestry of mercy even before the first shot was fired.
Embrace Ordinary Evangelization
It was 3:30 a.m. during our last night shift before Christmas. As we typed away investigative reports, Greg, a fellow Catholic who was eager to learn more about the faith, turned to me and asked a question you don’t typically hear between two officers: “What are your thoughts on confession?”
At first, I thought my ears deceived me. Chuckling, I turned to Greg, “Bro, it’s 3:30 in the morning. That’s a pretty random question.” But Greg remained resolute, and upon seeing his sincerity, I didn’t hesitate; the door had been opened. I told him it was my favorite sacrament. Seeming surprised, he countered, “Not the Eucharist?”
I explained that though the Eucharist is undoubtedly the source and summit of our faith, we must be in a state of grace to receive it. In that sense, confession is the precursor—the preparation for the summit. He asked how often I went. When I told him I try to go every two weeks (which admittedly I struggle to uphold), he laughed, “Bro, how often are you sinning?”
I replied, “All the time. But it’s less about the quantity of sin and more about keeping my soul healthy to resist it.”
Knowing Greg’s commitment to physical fitness, I searched for a metaphor that would resonate. I explained that in the Act of Contrition, we pledge to “avoid the near occasion of sin.” Confession, I told him, is like “prehab” for the soul.
“It’s like stretching before and after exercise,” I said. “Maybe you can go a month or two without getting injured, but over time, the body becomes tight, aches creep in, and soon enough, you have a catastrophic injury. Confession keeps the soul flexible and strong enough to resist the weight of temptation.”
I didn’t know then how deeply that conversation had taken root. I wouldn’t understand until shortly after Greg was murdered, when I met his family at the hospital. His mother, a woman of incredible faith, with eyes pierced by pain, looked at me and said, “My heart is torn apart, and yet I am filled with joy.”
Amidst the devastation, turmoil, and the trauma of fighting to keep my friend alive to no avail was light, radiant in its victory over darkness.
Her words confused me. Hungry for the source of her joy, I asked her, “How?”
She proceeded to voice that when Greg came home for Christmas, he arrived many hours later than expected in a state of pure happiness. When asked the reason for the delay, Greg told his family he attended Mass and went to confession, enthusiastically showing his mother the Act of Contrition prayer saved on his phone. Greg, being competitive in everything, expressed to her, “Evan said he goes every two weeks,” stating it was imperative he go. Of course, he was unaware he would be killed only a few days later.
“I know my son is with God,” she told me. “And so, as a mother, what more could I ask for?”
It is difficult to describe how profoundly this penetrated the very depths of my soul.
“O death, where is your sting?”
Amidst the devastation, turmoil, and the trauma of fighting to keep my friend alive to no avail was light, radiant in its victory over darkness.
In the silence of that last night shift, I had no inkling that God was using me as a conduit for his grace to help prepare Greg for eternity. As Christians, we are all called to evangelize, but what that looks like we often wonder. In my own humble experience, and in this case, I have found that evangelization doesn’t demand a pulpit or a stage. Rather, it begins with modeling Christ in the day-to-day and requires only that we embrace any opportunity to share our love for him with the person standing in front of us.
St. Peter exhorts us, “Always be prepared to give an account for the hope that is in you” (1 Peter 3:15). This is the heart of embracing ordinary evangelization. Whether it be in a coffee shop, the workplace, or the quiet of our living rooms—regardless of our fatigue or distraction—when asked, when the door is opened, we must jump in and speak freely, truly, and with a contagious enthusiasm for the greatness of our God.
Looking back, I see a divine irony that only God could author. The enemy intended for that roadside ambush to be a scene of finality and despair, a conquest of darkness. But our good and beautiful God, in his infinite mercy—if we are willing to participate and have eyes to see—can take the jagged shards of wickedness and refine them into an eternal masterpiece.