Mourning and Restoration
On June 5th, Orlando World Outreach Center in partnership with Commissioner Regina Hill, Experience Christian Center, and the African American Council of Christian Clergy brought together a diverse gathering of faith and community leaders from across Orlando for The Walk of Mourning and Restoration.
Thousands dressed in black to walk down Church Street together in a time of mourning for Black lives lost due to police brutality and social injustice. The walk culminated near the Amway Center where the group took time to pray, repent, and have conversations about each person’s role in implementing change in our country.
Many from our Summit family participated in this walk of mourning and prayer, and share their thoughts and experiences with us.
I’ve been to several peaceful protests in the last week and each one has been different and significant in their own ways. The mourning walk was different in that it wasn’t a protest at all—it was literally a walk of mourning. It was a time of repentance and restoration.
The walk itself was a time to reflect, but the ceremony afterward was where the real restoration began. Hearing our church leaders (Black, brown, and white) speak and apologize for how the church has been silent in times when injustice is screaming really pulled at my heart. I think as Christians, sometimes we struggle to respond to injustice, especially if it hasn’t happened to us personally. Injustice can happen in a lot of ways, to a lot of people, and sometimes we don’t see it all. But God sees it all. We serve a God of justice.
Apologizing for not acknowledging the clear injustice of our world is a good way to start responding. Actually listening to people’s stories of injustice is a good way to start responding. Standing, marching, and/or praying for people who have experienced injustice, are good ways to start responding.
—Jessica Silva
“As we were walking, there was a man reading aloud from the book of Lamentations. As I listened, I became keenly aware that I have never had to cry out to God as one who belongs to an oppressed group of people. I confess that I felt profound dissonance within myself as we continued on, with the words of God’s people crying out for justice ringing off the buildings.”
As I began my journey of learning about systemic racism and my own implicit biases about a year ago, I knew early on that I needed to share with my family what I was learning and that we needed to be learning together. With the most recent killings of Ahmad Arbery, Breonna Taylor, and George Floyd, I knew that these injustices were breaking God’s heart and I had a duty to let them break mine and not just observe these injustices from a comfortable distance. I felt a conviction and a responsibility to educate my daughter about racial injustice and our responsibility to stand with those who mourn. As I contemplated sharing about these killings, I learned that my own privilege gives me the choice to shield her from these hard truths. I could easily keep her in the dark and provide a sense of safety a little while longer, but my convictions to share with her come from knowing that the parents of her friends of color don’t get the privilege to shield their children from these harsh truths but rather are having to prepare their kids to face them.
When I heard about the walk of mourning, I knew I wanted our whole family to experience this together. I wanted to turn our family's learning into action and this walk was a good start to our action. I want my daughter to learn early in her life that if she is going to follow Jesus, that means standing when we see injustice even if it doesn’t directly affect us.
After Friday’s walk, we were sad, we were raw, we saw glimmers of hope and we walked away with more things to learn. It was a powerful experience to walk alongside everyone on Friday and to show up with the intention to walk silently, mourn, and listen to so many church and community leaders. Joining this march was a culmination of our learning thus far, but our family knows we can’t stop there. Walking was simply another small step in a long-continued path that we are determined to stay on as a family, and if we won’t ever fully understand, we will love like Jesus and mourn with those who mourn.
—Amy Kaufholz
“Walking the streets of downtown Orlando in mournful prayer was a powerful moment for me and my family. We walked the path from Camping World Stadium to Church Street in moments of silent reflection, scripture reading, and spoken prayers for the Black lives lost and those still oppressed and hurting. Particularly walking across Division Street, remembering the historical roots and not-so-distant brokenness within our city, brought a well of emotion as we called out to God to deliver this neighborhood, city, and nation from the systemic and spiritual stronghold of racial inequality.”
Part of the impact of the walk for me was the simple proximity to those whose lives have been so devastated by these injustices. I realize the privilege I have in being able to step away from the problem when so many don’t have that option. I saw so clearly that in proximity to the hurting, the magnitude of the problem is undeniable while distance so readily lends to apathy and misunderstanding. This makes it all the more vital for me to choose to consistently enter into the spaces that feel this hurt the most.
I’ve thought a lot about one of the speaker's assertions from that day; that people who are white cannot truly understand or feel the burden of being Black in America, but with time and effort, we can learn to help carry it. And how can I ever hope to carry anything if I’m not there?
—Kari Freeman
“When I heard about the prayer walk and that I was going to be a part of it, it made me excited and happy that I could do something to show that I believe Black lives matter. When I got there, I loved that so many other people wanted to help make a difference. When the prayer walk came to an end, I realized that God is the answer and he will help us with all that is going on in America. We just have to keep praying and speaking up. ‘We mourn with those who mourn.’”
I didn’t know what to expect. I just knew that I needed to be there. This moment feels different than before, and as I listened to the community leaders and pastors at the Walk of Mourning, I was reminded that lament is the seedbed of hope. There was pain and sadness in their voices (a weariness of a lifetime carrying the weight of racism) as they spoke to us from the stage, but there was also hope. Hope for our community and our country. Hope that we’re seeing each other. Hope that white people are listening to Black voices. Hope that we can be honest with each other. Hope that this time real change would come.
My wife Kara has this saying, “Nothing will change if nothing changes.” She’s right. It’s past time for change, and this can be the moment if we are willing to keep showing up and keep doing the work.
—Chad Buel
“Walking down Church Street toward Division Avenue with the topic of racial injustice in mind made the history of Division Avenue more of a reality for me. I was struck by the unity exhibited in police blocking traffic at the major intersections so that all of us could walk safely.”
Friday morning was a safe place to show up without answers. As I approached the crowd at Camping World Stadium, I immediately felt the heaviness of every heart. I could hear it in the chatter, see it in the faces, and feel it in the humid Florida air. I began to spot familiar faces from our church, from other churches, and even those outside of the church world entirely; cementing even more, this was a safe place. More than the faces I knew, there were hundreds that I didn’t. Clear that different denominations, races, backgrounds, and stories had shown up to mourn together. A safe and sacred place had been cultivated.
We dressed in black as a symbol of our solidarity and mourning. We walked together. We arrived together under Division Avenue. During the ceremony following the walk, we heard the voices of powerful men and women. We heard the context of the history that has led to the suffering of Black lives. A history of oppression that runs deep into the unseen ocean of our own stories, but which waves still crash onto our daily shores. Every person could feel their feet wet. We mourned, we repented, we prayed, we begged for restoration. We rejoiced in hopefulness. As we exited, the crowd started to sing “Lean On Me.”
Friday morning was a safe place to show up without answers. To show up silent and have the privilege to just listen. But Friday morning was one place. As I walked out, my heart cried for the unsafe places. How sweet the message of Friday morning was. How sweet the vision of Pastor Tim Johnson. How strong the heart of Commissioner Regina Hill. How powerful the words of every speaker on the stage. I want every word, every promise, every piece of hope spoken—but I wanted it for our entire city, our entire country. I want Friday morning for all.
I pray that a yearning was ignited at the event. A fire for the uncomfortable conversations many will have with coworkers, parents, spouses, and children. The everyday moments at grocery stores, gas stations, board rooms, dinner parties—the opportunities to either speak up or turn away.
There have been protests every day in our city since Friday morning. I pray that our church has shown up. We don’t only have to arrive at them physically to be present; to simply be fully present in the conversations that are bound to happen around them can advocate for everything for which the physical protestors are calling out. Black lives matter.
To remember Friday morning is to soak in every testimony, prayer, and name of an innocent Black life taken. In an age of unlimited resources and connection, there is no excuse to be ignorant or silent. Continue to show up. Take Friday morning and bring it to your own neighborhoods and tables. Our city is still crying out, “Black Lives Matter.”
—Mia Lycett
