Reflection on Prayer Vigil
Reflection on Prayer Vigil
By Laurie Maberry
August 2010
I will never forget the day that I went to my first ever prayer vigil in the fall of 2008. There were probably 20 or so people there. The people there seemed to be people gathered for a common purpose to grieve this life and honor the person who was murdered, but probably wouldn’t be found hanging out together on the weekends. I was struck by all of our differences in race, dress, speech, socio-economic status, and occupations, yet amongst our differences there was so much commonality—in our humanity, our grief, our desire for peace, our pain, and our love.
After the prayer vigil service, people from the neighborhood where this homicide happened were able to speak up about this injustice. It was a rare opportunity for them to have a voice, and never in my life had I felt such horror for what they have experienced in their life that I have never have. . . a violent intentional death. The trauma they experienced seemed to just flow from everyone’s lips “when my sister was shot, when my father was shot and killed, when my nephew . . .” I simply couldn’t believe what I was hearing. I had never lost anyone violently in my life; everyone in my life whom I have loved has died from cancer, a rare disease, old age, or a car accident. I truly had NO IDEA what that felt like to not only grieve but to have the anger and injustice boil within you.
I left the vigil crying for them, crying for myself and my ignorance, crying for peace, crying for all those loved and lost violently. I was changed. I was moved. I will never be the same.
By Laurie Maberry
August 2010
I will never forget the day that I went to my first ever prayer vigil in the fall of 2008. There were probably 20 or so people there. The people there seemed to be people gathered for a common purpose to grieve this life and honor the person who was murdered, but probably wouldn’t be found hanging out together on the weekends. I was struck by all of our differences in race, dress, speech, socio-economic status, and occupations, yet amongst our differences there was so much commonality—in our humanity, our grief, our desire for peace, our pain, and our love.
After the prayer vigil service, people from the neighborhood where this homicide happened were able to speak up about this injustice. It was a rare opportunity for them to have a voice, and never in my life had I felt such horror for what they have experienced in their life that I have never have. . . a violent intentional death. The trauma they experienced seemed to just flow from everyone’s lips “when my sister was shot, when my father was shot and killed, when my nephew . . .” I simply couldn’t believe what I was hearing. I had never lost anyone violently in my life; everyone in my life whom I have loved has died from cancer, a rare disease, old age, or a car accident. I truly had NO IDEA what that felt like to not only grieve but to have the anger and injustice boil within you.
I left the vigil crying for them, crying for myself and my ignorance, crying for peace, crying for all those loved and lost violently. I was changed. I was moved. I will never be the same.