Look at the bronze serpent and live…

The story of the bronze serpent in Numbers 21 always hits me hard. Every time I read it, my mind goes straight to Brad—and to Pastor Joby. Here’s why this passage carries such personal weight for me.

Years ago, in Jensen Beach, Florida, I was helping with a youth group. One night at an event, a guest speaker shared the account from Numbers 21. That message pierced Brad’s heart. 

After Brad passed away in 2020, I wrote about that night and how profoundly it affected me. Later, I connected with Pastor Joby, who leads the church I now attend in Jacksonville. In a conversation, I learned something astonishing: he was the guest speaker that evening—the one who preached on the bronze serpent and led Brad to faith.

Moments like that stop me in my tracks. God connects people, places, and truths in ways we rarely see in real time. The bronze serpent story now holds deeper meaning for me: it’s tied to Brad’s declaration of belief, to Pastor Joby’s faithful sharing of the gospel, and to the quiet reminder that God is always at work, weaving threads we only glimpse later.

Here’s what I wrote after Brad’s death in 2020:

I’m sharing this because it weighs heavy on my heart.

This week, my friend Brad Singleton—known to many as Brad Lee Saint—took his own life. I don’t have explanations for why. What I do know is that he was deeply loved and will be deeply missed. Brad was a remarkable young man who faced hardships most of us can’t imagine. Yet the Brad I knew stayed positive, had an enormous heart, and always tried to lift others up. That’s what makes this so painful and confusing.

One truth stands firm: Brad loved Jesus. I know it because I was there the night he accepted Christ as his Lord and Savior. Last night, God replayed that entire evening in my mind like a vivid memory.

We were at a youth event—possibly at the Methodist church on Kanner Highway in Stuart or maybe Grace Place. The speaker described the Israelites dying from snakebites, terrified and desperate. Moses prayed, and God told him to fashion a bronze serpent on a pole: look at it and live.

The speaker painted the scene so clearly—some might have doubted it could really heal; others would have pleaded with loved ones, “Please, just look!” If it were his family, he’d have begged, carried, even held them up to see it. But ultimately, each person had to choose to look.

He drew the parallel: we’re all “snake-bitten” by sin, the poison coursing through us. The only cure is to look to the cross in faith—believing Jesus bore our sins and rose again. Others can urge us, but the decision is personal.

Then he asked, “Will you believe?”

Brad stood up, tears flowing, jumping with joy: “I believe!” I saw the change happen before my eyes. We both cried, then talked long into the night about Jesus and following Him.

Now I sit with hard questions: How do I hold faith and suicide in the same hands? How do we spot when someone reaches that breaking point? How do we bear the grief left behind?

I don’t have answers. I wish I did.

What I do know is that overwhelming pain often hides in places no one sees. I’ve walked through depression myself—it’s like being trapped in a dark pit, wanting help but fearing you’ll shatter if you speak. The darkness can feel inescapable.

The latest numbers from the World Health Organization are heartbreaking: more than 720,000 people die by suicide each year—one every 40 seconds or so—and many more attempt it. Suicide ranks as the third leading cause of death for those aged 15–29 globally.
These statistics are staggering, and they remind me we’re not alone in the struggle.

The only place I know to bring all of this is to the feet of Jesus.

I pray for comfort and peace for Brad’s family and everyone who loved him. I’m grateful for that night when I saw him proclaim, “I believe,” with such joy.
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And I cling to the hope that Brad is now in the presence of the Savior he trusted—the One lifted up for us, just like that bronze serpent, so that whoever believes may have eternal life.

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