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The Veil Is Thin Between Heaven and Earth: A Police Officer’s Testimony of Saints, Suffering, and Supernatural Strength
By ODMDaily Editorial Team | Spiritual Warfare · Saints · Suffering · Hope
In my last article, I explored the first of three truths God revealed to me surrounding the darkest day of my life. On December 27, 2022, in the hour of divine mercy, I held and prayed over my dear friend, Greg Pierzchala, as he breathed his last breaths after he was shot six times in a premeditated ambush.
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My words can do little to express the utter ache that struck my soul that day and many days thereafter. I pray that for those of you reading this, God will spare you from this grief. But should He not, or in the chance your life has already taken a similar path, then I pray our good and merciful God will arm you with the strength to persevere. In fact, if you ask Him, I am certain He will.
I say this with complete confidence that has been born out of this tragedy. What has been made so wonderfully evident to me is that wrapped around every cross, no matter how burdensome it may be, is beauty, hope, and the promise of redemption. And though my frail humanity is prone to discouragement, I have learned to embrace and love the crosses Christ has given me, for it is through His eternal sacrifice and delightful grace alone that our yoke is made easy, even as we walk through the valley of darkness and the shadow of death.
I will now cover the second of the three truths: The veil is thin between heaven and earth.
The Morning That Changed Everything
At 4:30 a.m. on December 27, 2022, my alarm sounded at the start of a new day. While I had no inkling what would transpire that afternoon, something about that morning was different. I woke up with a strange and unshakeable image burning fervently in my mind: St. John the apostle standing at the foot of the cross.
It was vivid, relentless, and oddly somber. It was as though John was staring at me as if to come closer, only before refocusing his gaze on the cross. While initially I shrugged it off, through the course of my day as I went about my duties, the image remained — each time with greater intensity. I saw myself standing there with John, silent and watching.
I did not know it then, but heaven was preparing me for what was about to unfold.
The Call That Shattered the Afternoon
Shortly after 2:40 p.m., the afternoon silence was shattered when dispatch crackling over the radio reported Greg had been shot.
For a brief moment, I stood in disbelief, my brain trying to comprehend what it had just heard. Then calmly I responded, “6C091 — I’m on my way.” Having come off my lunch break, I sprinted out of the station to my cruiser as I called my wife in panicked breath.
“Greg’s been shot — that’s all I know right now. I’m heading there. I love you. Please pray.”
I threw my cruiser in drive and raced toward the scene, my heart pounding in redlined rhythm with the roaring engine. But this was not the time for fear to set in. Beckoning the heavens, I cried, “Give me clarity, give me strength, O Lord. . . . I need to perform well,” as I focused on controlling my breathing while reciting the Act of Contrition in my head.
Finally approaching the scene, I prayed: “Should this be my last day, welcome me with open arms.”
And as I stepped out of my cruiser, a peace that surpasses my own understanding descended upon me.
The Hands That Only the Eyes of the Soul Could See
Running toward him, I saw Greg lying on his back, barely responsive, bleeding profusely in the middle of the road. Moving to his side after having assessed his injuries, as I placed my hands on his wounds to control the bleeding, so too, in the most tangible form, did I feel a pair of hands come to rest on me — hands that only the eyes of my soul could see. Hands that I knew with complete confidence belonged to the beloved apostle.
In that moment, the unprovoked meditation of the morning clicked into place. St. John, knowing I would be called to stand witness to the wicked death of a dear friend, had been preparing me all day. I was no longer simply a police officer performing first aid but rather a character in a cosmic drama where heaven meets earth. And so, leaning into his intercession, I begged St. John for strength — strength for me to keep working, and strength for Greg to hold on.
We moved Greg into the back of the ambulance. As the reality of his injuries became clear, my prayers shifted. I stopped asking for a miracle of the body and started asking God to welcome His faithful servant into His kingdom.
I cried: “Even to the thief You said, ‘Truly I tell you, today you will be with me in paradise.’ Let my friend see Your face, Father.”
Greg died in the back of that ambulance on our way to the hospital as I prayed unceasingly over him.
The Confirmation: December 27, the Feast of St. John
I arrived home the next morning clouded by a haze of shock and grief, walking through the front door only to collapse to the ground a few steps later, uncontrollably weeping. When I told my wife about the persistent image of St. John and the ineffably surreal feeling of his hands on my shoulders, she stopped me, her eyes wide open.
“Evan,” she said, “yesterday was December 27. It was the feast day of St. John the apostle. That was him. He was with you.”
A few days later, Greg’s family shared another detail that sent chills through me: Greg had chosen St. John the apostle as his confirmation name.
Think about the layers of divine providence:
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A police officer wakes up with a vivid, relentless image of St. John at the foot of the cross.
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That same officer is called hours later to the scene of a friend’s murder.
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As he performs first aid, he feels hands on his shoulders — hands he knows belong to St. John.
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The date is December 27 — the feast day of St. John the apostle.
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The dying man had chosen St. John as his confirmation name.
This is not coincidence. This is the communion of saints made manifest. This is the veil between heaven and earth pulled back, just for a moment, to show a grieving police officer that he was not alone.
The Communion of Saints: Not a Distant Doctrine but a Present Reality
In the darkest hour of my life, God provided a companion who knew exactly what it felt like to watch someone you love be viciously destroyed by the hands of wicked men. He showed me that the saints are not simply distant figures in stained glass ; they are in fact our brothers-in-arms, at the ready to be called upon to stand with us — I mean truly stand with us — at our own personal Calvaries.
The doctrine of the communion of saints is one of the most neglected treasures of the Christian faith. Many believers live as if the saints are dead and gone, as if heaven is sealed off from earth, as if we are alone in our struggles. But Scripture and tradition tell a different story.
The book of Hebrews describes the faithful who have gone before us as a “great cloud of witnesses” (Hebrews 12:1). They are not passive observers. They are witnesses — spectators in the ancient sense of those who cheer on the runners in a race. They see us. They pray for us. They intercede for us.
The book of Revelation depicts the saints in heaven offering the prayers of the faithful to God as incense (Revelation 5:8). That means the prayers we pray on earth are not limited to earth. They are joined by the prayers of those who have gone before us, purified and perfected in the presence of God.
The early Church understood this. The catacombs are covered with inscriptions asking the departed saints to pray for those still living. The ancient liturgies include prayers invoking the intercession of the martyrs. The idea that the saints are dead and gone is a relatively recent invention — and it is biblically and historically untenable.
As this police officer discovered in the most dramatic way possible, the veil between heaven and earth is thin. The saints are not far away. They are not asleep. They are alive in Christ, more alive than we are, and they are deeply invested in our struggles.
Evil Never Bears the Final Word
In the spirit of St. John, who bore sight to his friend’s most brutal execution, I saw that evil never bears the final word.
Greg was murdered. That is a fact. Six bullets ended his earthly life. His family will never see him again on this side of eternity. His fellow officers will never work another shift with him. The grief is real, and it is lasting.
But the cross of Christ — and the cross that Greg carried, and the cross that this police officer carried — is not the end of the story.
“Though I walk in the valley of darkness I shall not fear, for the veil between heaven and earth is thin indeed. I know that Christ and His army of angels and saints walk with me. They assure me that the cross is victory. It is the resounding and triumphant song of the Father’s glory.”
This is not escapism. This is not denial of suffering. This is the hard-won confidence of a man who has looked into the abyss and found that the abyss does not have the final word. The final word belongs to the risen Christ, who has destroyed death and who surrounds His suffering servants with the prayers and presence of the saints.
Practical Lessons for the Rest of Us
Most of us will never experience anything as dramatic as this police officer’s encounter with St. John. But that does not mean the veil is not thin for us. It does not mean the saints are not present. It does not mean we cannot call upon them.
Here are practical lessons we can draw from this testimony:
1. The saints are not dead — they are alive in Christ. Jesus said, “I am the God of Abraham, the God of Isaac, and the God of Jacob. He is not the God of the dead but of the living” (Matthew 22:32). Those who have died in Christ are more alive than we are, not less.
2. The saints care about what happens on earth. Why would the author of Hebrews call them a “cloud of witnesses” if they were oblivious to the race being run? The consistent testimony of Scripture and tradition is that the saints in heaven are aware of and intercede for the Church on earth.
3. We can ask the saints to pray for us. Just as we ask living Christians to pray for us, we can ask the saints in heaven to do the same. Their prayers are powerful because they stand in the direct presence of God.
4. God often prepares us for trials before they come. This police officer did not know why the image of St. John was burning in his mind all morning. But when the crisis came, he understood. God is not caught off guard by our suffering. He prepares us, often in ways we do not recognise until later.
5. In the darkest moments, we are not alone. Even when we feel utterly abandoned, the saints and angels are present. Even when we cannot see them, they are there. The veil is thin.
6. The cross is victory, not defeat. Greg died. That is a tragedy. But Greg died in the arms of a friend who was himself held by St. John, who was himself sustained by Christ. Death did not win. Greg is alive in paradise. And one day, the resurrection will reunite body and soul in glory.
A Word for Those Who Are Grieving
If you are reading this and you are in the midst of grief — whether fresh or long-standing — take heart.
You are not alone.
The saints are with you. The angels are with you. Christ Himself is with you, the same Christ who wept at the tomb of Lazarus, who sweat blood in Gethsemane, who cried out on the cross, “My God, my God, why have you forsaken me?”
He knows suffering. He knows abandonment. He knows death.
And He conquered all of it.
The veil is thin. Heaven is closer than you think. And the ones you have lost are not lost — they are merely out of sight, cheering you on, praying for you, waiting for you.
Do not be afraid to ask for their intercession. Do not be afraid to speak their names. Do not be afraid to believe that they are present at your own Calvary.
A Prayer for Those Who Walk Through Darkness
Lord Jesus Christ, You are the resurrection and the life. Whoever believes in You, though he die, yet shall he live. We thank You for the testimony of this police officer, who encountered St. John in his moment of greatest need. We thank You that the veil between heaven and earth is thin. We thank You for the communion of saints — our brothers and sisters who have gone before us and who now stand in Your presence. For those who are grieving today, send Your saints to comfort them. For those who are afraid, send Your angels to protect them. For those who feel alone, send the certainty that they are surrounded by a great cloud of witnesses. And when our own hour of darkness comes, grant us the same peace that surpasses understanding. Let us see, even if only with the eyes of the soul, that we are never alone. In the name of Jesus, who died and rose and lives forever. Amen.
Final Word: The Cross Is Victory
Greg Pierzchala was murdered on December 27, 2022. That is a fact. It is a fact that his family and friends will carry for the rest of their lives.
But it is not the final fact.
The final fact is this: Greg died in the arms of a friend who was being held by St. John, who was himself standing at the foot of the cross of Christ, who died and rose and will come again.
The final fact is the empty tomb.
The final fact is the victory of the cross.
The final fact is that the veil is thin, heaven is real, and the saints are alive.
Do not be afraid. You are not alone. And the cross is victory.
About the Author:
This article is based on a personal testimony originally published by Word on Fire and is republished with permission for ODMDaily.com. The author, Evan, is a police officer who served in the Ontario Provincial Police. Our mission is to declare biblical truth for the public square with clarity, courage, and hope.
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Suggested Discussion Questions for Small Groups:
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Before reading this article, did you believe that the saints in heaven are aware of and intercede for us on earth? Why or why not?
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The police officer experienced a vivid image of St. John before the crisis occurred. Have you ever experienced what felt like divine preparation for a trial? What happened?
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How does the doctrine of the communion of saints change the way you think about death and grief?
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The author writes, “The veil between heaven and earth is thin.” Do you believe this? Have you ever experienced a moment when the veil felt thin?
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How can your small group or church better teach and practice the reality of the communion of saints?
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What practical steps can you take this week to ask for the intercession of the saints or to encourage someone who is grieving?
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About the author – Evan Nohara
Evan Nohara graduated from Franciscan University with a degree in psychology before returning home to Ontario, Canada. There he served as a police officer for six years before transitioning into the private tech sector. Grounded in his faith, Evan is passionate about freedom, self-defense, and the pursuit of human potential. When he’s not running or training Brazilian jujitsu, he can be found exploring the outdoors with his wife, Bridget. Most of all, Evan values deep conversation, honest questions, and the kind of friendships that sharpen the mind and soul.
