The Rebuke

I do not believe I can form the words to articulate the way the memory of my mother’s voice broke when I remembered her telling me how there is power in the name of Jesus. When my memory was whole, she was strong in her conviction and her voice was clear as day. Now, in light of Sonya Massey’s untimely benediction, there is strain in the voice of that memory. It is as if the veil of my faith has been torn, the reality of our world flooded in, and the distance between this world and the one where Sonya’s still alive grows greater by the second. 

If you came here to find comfort, then my act of disappointing you is unapologetic 

See in that timeline, the invoking of the name of Jesus sent golden shockwaves through the air, banishing every wicked thing. Or at least that’s how I imagined it as a young girl shaking with fear, head under the covers chanting the blood of Jesus over and over whenever she heard a noise at night. If Jesus is powerful enough to banish demons then what’s a noise in the dark, what’s a bullet… or three? In all the peace that my conjuring brought me, I cannot begin to explain what has been ripped from me to see it fail so eloquently. 

If you have come here for reconciliation, then leave the pieces of your faith at the altar and be on your way. There is nothing to be done. 

“ lament is naming the dissonance between the world that is and the world that should be. Grief is the experience of loss within that dissonance”

In that timeline, Sonya cackled as the power of her words penetrated every evil and ignorant intent, disintegrating  every narrative of fear that sought to render her extinct. In that world, Sonya could breathe a silent sigh of relief as she received the help she needed. 

And yet I am left tongue tied and confused. Because I cannot seem to calculate how supremacy trumps love

If you came here to scream, then choir rehearsal is down the hall to the left

It has been said that lament is naming the dissonance between the world that is and the world that should be, and that grief is the experience of loss within that dissonance.

If that is true then my voice is but a hoarse whisper, and my body has exhausted itself into numbness. And I, in chorus with the young girl in the dark and the strained voice of my mother, can only manage to pray… please.