A Prayer for a Hundred Thousand Dead
As the ventilators turn off, a hundred thousand last breaths blow through our towns like a hurricane. Even with the windows boarded up, families safe at home, we feel the walls shake — feel the gale move through us, cracking the joists and struts that hold us together. It sounds like asking for forgiveness, a missing laugh, replaying a voice mail, again and again.
There are so many empty streets, so many people left behind like damaged homes, stained with waterlines of loss. Still, we keep standing. We learn the lessons of grief: kindness, compassion, even — though it seems impossible — faith.
So on this day, when the bodies are too many to count and too heavy to carry, we lay them down and lift our voices. We pray for every life now gone; every sibling, friend, neighbor; every childless parent and parentless child; for every American who has run out of prayers:
Give us the heart to heal and comfort each other through painful times.
Give us the strength to witness, when we want to look away.
Give us the courage to grieve, remembering that we are a family, no matter where we live or what we believe.
Give us the humility to know that our lives are a gift we give to each other and that we must work to make this better.
Give us the breath to use our voice, to pray without ceasing for the people we love, to speak true and kind words, to say you are not alone.
Give us the mercy to forgive ourselves, to see the rubble around us with clear eyes, to rebuild and reimagine a nation, finally, truly, of life, liberty and justice for all.
Amen.
