Editor’s Note: we share this powerful essay and litany prayer from Diana Oestreich originally published in Rally: Communal Prayers for Lovers of Jesus & Justice.
The candles flickered and wax dripped on our mittens on the snowy street corner as we listened to the name of a boy who was killed. His mama described how his smile lit up a room and mentioned how proud she was that Mike was headed to college.
“Say his name,” the leader called out. “Michael Brown,” I whispered in response as hot tears flooded my cheeks. Two little boys held onto each of my hands, tiny mittens wrapped in mine. Little voices raised up into the night saying the name, saying his name, to say his life mattered.
As a mother of a beautiful boy with dark eyes and ebony skin, I was scared. Five years earlier, I held my two-year-old son in my arms, introducing him to his new baby brother. It didn’t matter that my family and I had been flying for the past twenty-four hours from Ethiopia to Minnesota; that moment was electric. Emotions hit me like a tidal wave that made my knees tremble under the weight of this newfound joy. Starry-eyed, I welcomed my new son into a family, childhood, and country, envisioning a peaceful life of lazy naps and cuddling on the couch. I didn’t want to see the dark clouds of violence and racism gathering at the edges of our life.
Michael Brown’s mother showed me a pain I couldn’t bear, offered me a glimpse of a reality of which I was privileged to be ignorant. Knowing that I can’t keep my children safe or alive is a terror that gnaws at me in the best times and suffocates my soul at the worst. I had never been to a political rally, protest, or city council meeting, much less a vigil, until that night. The most I’d ever practiced my citizenship was by voting, privately in a booth, not even brave enough to plant a yard sign for a particular candidate. But when the call to show up came, I knew, mama to mama, I had to go.
I was more scared to go to the vigil than I was when I was deployed to Iraq. I felt vulnerable, making myself so visible in my community. Standing up for Michael meant some would assume that I didn’t love my country, or I saw the police as the enemy. Marching down the main street, holding lanterns and signs, felt terrifying. I knew that in other towns people had thrown things at vigil attendees. When I called a police friend to see if it was safe to bring my kids to the vigil, he flatly said, “No.” I wasn’t safe to publicly lament a life lost. Freedom wasn’t found in our streets.
We lit candles and stood on the street corner underneath a starry sky.
We said his name so his mama, God, and every person walking by would know that he was a masterpiece. Because when we lose something priceless, something valued beyond measure, we hold it up and publicly bear witness to its value. We bear witness to the truth that when a life is taken, we are made all the poorer.
Acts of violence don’t start with our fists or a gun; they start in our minds and hearts. As we lament every act of violence done in our neighborhoods, cities, and country, we tear down the kingdom of death and destruction. We root it out of ourselves and cast light on it, taking away its power to lie, kill, and destroy. Darkness cannot overcome the light. May this litany pour light where there is darkness, illuminating the way out of the culture of violence.
ONE: Come and hear our pain, O God.
Come near and hear our complaint.
Violence is singing a victory song, and our arms are hanging limp at our sides.
Our tears cannot stop.
Violence has cut us. Bleeding, we stand together now.
Make us brave enough to stand in front of violence and call it a thief and liar.
ALL: In your mercy, make all things new again.
ONE: Make us lion-hearted, roaring at the acts of violence around us,
More dedicated to the common good than our own preservation.
May we learn to place those who are hurting first and ourselves second.
ALL: In your mercy, make us brave again.
ONE: Make us mercy, calling to those committing the violence.
Like lost lambs living in darkness, drinking bitterness, disconnected from their true selves,
May we call them back to the fold, shouting loudly that they are created for life not death;
Kinship not killing; love not hate.
ALL: In your love, make us family again.
ONE: Make us ploughshares, sowing peace by renouncing every act of violence committed by our friends, our country, or our enemies.
May we refuse to be weapons against our brothers and sisters;
ALL: In your power, make us peaceful again.
ONE: Make us fearless, relentlessly waging peace instead of war.
Refusing to accept any act that cuts, kills, and breaks down people made in your image—
No matter if they wear the uniform of police officer, pastor, politician, or soldier.
ALL: As our Good Parent, make us fierce peacemakers again.
ONE: For those who have laid down their lives for others
And who have joined God in the unseen kingdom.
For those who have died to the kingdom of death
And who have risen to life with Christ in their breath.
All: We raise our hope because joy comes in the morning!
