they hand out death so easily. yesterday i wrapped my hands around the handle of a casket and helped carry it with seven other people. it was heavy. i wonder: do they know that it takes eight souls to support the weight of one body, emptied?
there are many paths to god. i am a catholic and not asked to apologize for the crusades. they look at me and say: no, she is innocent, she just belongs to a faith. i will never ask another to apologize for the sins extremists painted on their fingertips. i know what it feels like to be ashamed. every time i see someone hate in the name of my Lord, i flinch. i am constantly saying, “this is not my way.” i know it is not theirs either. i know i am not in trouble in America because i believe in god. i know that they are.
my friend mary does not go by her native birth name. in the wake of someone killing her friend overseas, she asked me to pray with her. i said “yes, absolutely, but forgive me, for i do not know the words that you would say.” she told me, “say what you would. are we not trying to reach the same phone but dialing different numbers? i know you are calling, and that is what matters.” it is true. faith has no language - i of all people and five tongues should have known this.
mary wears jeans and a sweatshirt and has stopped covering her hair. i wear a crucifix during Lent and ashes on my forehead. she takes back roads when going to religious events. i can walk to the church closest to my heart. she and i go out to eat and see a car crash. i cross myself behind the wheel. she watches it and then watches the window.
someone says to us: “doesn’t your religion ever make you fight about things?” but they say it mostly to me. they try not to look her in the eyes. they say, “isis is killing your people,” and i say, “they are. she is not.” i say, “we are killing her people,” and she says, “they are. you are not.”
they hand out death so easily. they stack it on my faith: but they take the bodies out from her family. i think her shoulders are tired. i think we both are.
she called me last night. she said, “have you laid him to rest?” and i said, “yes.” she said, “Let us say the Our Father.” i said, “no. use your words. we are trying to reach the same phone.”
i called her this morning. i said, “i have only just heard of the events in Chapel Hill.” she said, “you are still in mourning, you do not need to tend to me.” i said, “as are you” and she began crying. she said to me, “my dear sister. i am so scared of dying.”
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