This Fragile Life: Reflections on Liberia and the Cross

There’s a small compound on the coast of Liberia called ELWA—short for “Eternal Love Winning Africa.” Founded in the 1950s by missionaries with a vision to serve the medical and educational needs of Liberians, ELWA has become a symbol of both hope and resilience.

In 2014, ELWA Hospital found itself at the center of global attention during the Ebola outbreak. It became the primary treatment center for Ebola victims, and the stories that emerged from there were both harrowing and inspiring.

Two of those stories belonged to physician Kent Brantly and nurse Nancy Writebol. Both contracted the virus while serving in Liberia. After being airlifted to Emory University Hospital in Atlanta and receiving an experimental treatment, they miraculously recovered. Time magazine later named the Ebola fighters its 2014 Person of the Year, honoring their courage and sacrifice. Their stories remain powerful reminders of how fragile life can be.

A Day at the Beach That Changed Everything

When I lived in Liberia, we visited ELWA often. The area, surrounded by NGOs and UN officials, felt like a safe haven—a peaceful corner of a country that had seen so much pain.

One day, some friends and I were sitting on the beach near ELWA, chatting about life, family, and the future. The beach was alive with laughter—children splashing in the water, families enjoying the sun. It was an ordinary, joy-filled afternoon.

Then suddenly, something changed.

About 50 yards away, we noticed a commotion. A crowd had gathered, and as it parted, we saw a teenage boy lying on the sand. A man was kneeling beside him, performing chest compressions. But it was too late. The boy was gone.

In an instant, the beach fell silent. Playful laughter was replaced by loud wailing. The air turned heavy with grief. Within minutes, the boy’s body was placed in a UN vehicle, and I sat there in disbelief. It all happened so quickly.

One moment, joy. The next, loss. This fragile life, gone in an instant.

A Scriptural Reminder

I can still picture that moment on the beach. It echoes the words of Psalm 39:

“O Lord, make me know my end
and what is the measure of my days;
let me know how fleeting I am!
Behold, you have made my days a few handbreadths,
and my lifetime is as nothing before you.
Surely all mankind stands as a mere breath!”
(Psalm 39:4–5)

Why Good Friday Matters

As we enter Easter weekend, we’re reminded again of life’s fragility—but also of something greater.

On Good Friday, we reflect on the earthly life and death of Jesus. Though fully God, he suffered as we do. His body was pierced and prepared with spices. He was wrapped in linen and laid in a tomb as was custom in that day.

It may seem strange to focus on death during a weekend known for resurrection. But without the sorrow of Friday, we wouldn’t know the joy of Sunday. Without Jesus’ suffering, we wouldn’t have the promise of new life. The resurrection doesn’t just give us hope for Jesus’ victory—it gives us hope for our own transformation. From fragile, decaying bodies to glorious, resurrected ones.

That truth—rooted in history, sealed by love—helps us to live fully in the present, even as we wait for what's to come.

A Hope That Anchors

Maybe you’ve felt the weight of life’s fragility lately. Maybe you’ve seen it firsthand. If so, I hope the story of Jesus—his life, his death, and his resurrection—reminds you that even in the most fragile moments, there is a solid hope. A love that holds us fast.

May this truth strengthen your faith and anchor your soul this Easter weekend.