When I first met John Sager some 15 years ago, he told me that he was a retired CIA agent. He had been out of the agency long enough that his past identity didn’t need to be kept secret. He also didn’t feel the need to conceal his wife’s condition from me. Joann was terminally ill and he wanted me to walk with the both of them through the valley of shadows.

This eighty-year-old man’s love for his wife was hardly hidden. I witnessed John’s devotion firsthand. The depth of his commitment was also in print. John, who had taken up writing since leaving the CIA, had documented his courtship and eventual marriage in a book he titled “A Tiffany Monday.”

When Joann passed away, John asked me to officiate a ceremony in which his beloved’s ashes were scattered. By then a bond had developed between John and me. A few years later I became a candidate to become the chaplain at the faith-based retirement community where John had moved after Joann’s death.

When John learned of my application for the position at Covenant Living at the Shores, he became a self-appointed advocate… and a spy. John kept me apprised of the process. “No white smoke yet,” he would say (comparing the choosing of a new chaplain to the selection of a new pope). And then when I was chosen, he claimed to have seen the white smoke.

When I was eventually hired as the campus chaplain, John helped assimilate me into the BeFriender’s process, a lay counseling program that he had introduced to The Shores and in which he was deeply involved. John and I inspired each other in our various writing endeavors. John in his spy mysteries and romance novels and me in my poetry. Our love for the Mariners found us following our team going to games and watching on TV.

Our common love of Jesus found us encouraging each other in our spiritual walk. And his generosity was a constant. I was a regular recipient of his most recent book. He loaned me a beautiful painting his late wife had painted he knew I appreciated. It hung in my office for years.

John died rather unexpectedly in May. Just two days before his death, John emailed me and told me about a book on World War 2 he’d come across by Chris Wallace. Because John knew my dad had been an eyewitness to the ceremony that ended the war in the Pacific, he thought the book would be of interest to me. And the very next day a copy of it showed up from Amazon.

I will forever be grateful for the spy who loved me. Who let me be among the first to know that the white smoke had appeared over the administration building at The Shores. Then it dawned me. how appropriate that two days after the white smoke in Rome signaled the selection of a new pope, John traded in his earthly garment for a white heavenly robe.

When I retired as chaplain two years ago John presented me with a little metal thank you card small enough to tuck in my wallet. It said, “Thank you! May you be proud of the work you do, the person you are and the difference you make. Never underestimate the difference you’ve made and the lives you touched.”

As I contemplate my friendship with John Sager, the sentiment he shared with me applies to him. Peace to his memory!

Guest columnist Greg Asimakoupoulos is a former chaplain at Covenant Living at the Shores in Mercer Island.