I cannot help but feel compassion for slain officers Rafael Ramos and Wenjian Liu, and Shaneka Thompson, wounded ex-girlfriend of the murderer—that infamous murderer whose name I will not even glorify by mentioning—and their family members. I have just as much compassion for them as I feel for all those who have been the victims of domestic violence, community violence, police brutality, and state violence. I also pray for the Episcopal Bishops of New York, Long Island and environs, and for New York Mayor de Blasio, as they will undoubtedly have to reckon with a church and a city that likely is as divided about the matter as the proper course of action for moving forward.
My life is measured in votive candles.
Imelda graciously handed me the box of little candles for the vigil, her eyes full of compassion. The flickering beneath those little blue holders scattered the darkness that night. I could not have known then that in my penultimate year in Memorial Church, I would dip into that box yet again in hopes of scattering the darkness and dust of what was left of the World Trade Center towers.