tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16326981244379625932024-02-20T07:16:39.898-06:00Invasion of FaithInvasion of FaithUnknownnoreply@blogger.comBlogger24125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1632698124437962593.post-4804071226878120362023-01-13T16:16:00.008-06:002023-01-13T16:29:21.930-06:00Please Follow John Fountain on Substack<div style="text-align: center;"><iframe frameborder="0" height="420" scrolling="no" src="https://johnwfountain.substack.com/embed" style="background: white; border: 1px solid #EEE;" width="750"></iframe></div><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1632698124437962593.post-14889776954642818702022-12-29T13:12:00.003-06:002022-12-29T13:24:00.456-06:00The Children Smile<p><span face="Roboto, Noto, sans-serif" style="background-color: white; color: #0d0d0d; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-size: medium;">In Chicago, in 2022 alone, at least 687 murders were recorded by Chicago Police and 2,787 people were shot. The total over the last five years: 3,320 Murders; 15,751 people shot.</span></span></p><span face="Roboto, Noto, sans-serif" style="background-color: white; color: #0d0d0d; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Each summer, the Faith Community of St. Sabina holds anti-violence march aimed at curbing the violence and bringing hope to a besieged community. Despite the gunfire that makes life on the South and West Side a tenuous proposition, the children smile.
<b>Video and Poem by John W. Fountain</b></span></span><div><span face="Roboto, Noto, sans-serif" style="background-color: white; color: #0d0d0d; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;"><iframe allow="accelerometer; autoplay; clipboard-write; encrypted-media; gyroscope; picture-in-picture" allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="416" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/cvoZYqcGnbY" title="YouTube video player" width="740"> ? rel=0</iframe></div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1632698124437962593.post-18492754549855533142022-09-07T21:28:00.005-05:002022-12-29T13:19:47.886-06:00A Son's Violent Death; A Father's Undying Love<p style="text-align: justify;"></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg-B8rqGZbTkFEKsWamtILbw3WPR7_IsZOkHV-15WZ6NXQFwBa4sdkQvsINpEV8kWCDifp-o7rEkaqfBNi8DVanj7wiSeMWsBQbfTBjLa7d8NxAb2BlqoE2uuksfdPx9TLFCX-tWP04-cPRzCFLzbemMrt-hLD6n64e7tQzUNRPCmZx4-D_0rAD7Xlq/s750/1crop.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="458" data-original-width="750" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg-B8rqGZbTkFEKsWamtILbw3WPR7_IsZOkHV-15WZ6NXQFwBa4sdkQvsINpEV8kWCDifp-o7rEkaqfBNi8DVanj7wiSeMWsBQbfTBjLa7d8NxAb2BlqoE2uuksfdPx9TLFCX-tWP04-cPRzCFLzbemMrt-hLD6n64e7tQzUNRPCmZx4-D_0rAD7Xlq/s16000/1crop.jpg" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Rodney White-El releases a dove at the funeral of his murdered son, Khalil White-El on the stairs of the Faith Community of St. Sabina on Chicago's South Side where services were held. (Photo: John w. Fountain)</td></tr></tbody></table><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><span style="font-size: large;"><b>By John W. Fountain</b></span><p></p><p style="text-align: justify;"></p><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj2rF_pcx-CC51uu2eaB-8GPIxLHlGKR8tKxTLp-7UrkF-UT_V2PQijHO6qRxNTWtVaDLesTOYnytfbvhL7vYpZXnFdq-vcgs1phqpY3NJPbvay903LIinYREC6Vlxc0lRP89E8e45J9z5rTWycLq-iXUK0pHOHhtKIQB95EbNS8c1hXvDzXV84c73J/s1841/20220902_123047.jpg" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1841" data-original-width="1776" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj2rF_pcx-CC51uu2eaB-8GPIxLHlGKR8tKxTLp-7UrkF-UT_V2PQijHO6qRxNTWtVaDLesTOYnytfbvhL7vYpZXnFdq-vcgs1phqpY3NJPbvay903LIinYREC6Vlxc0lRP89E8e45J9z5rTWycLq-iXUK0pHOHhtKIQB95EbNS8c1hXvDzXV84c73J/s320/20220902_123047.jpg" width="309" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Rodney White-El with son Khalil and <br />the child's grandmother. (Photo: Provided)</td></tr></tbody></table><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: x-large;">O</span><span style="font-size: medium;">nce upon a time, a father fell in love with a son. They united in love and spirit even before that late-autumn day nearly 19 years ago when the precious newborn boy squinted in the bright light, fresh from his mother’s womb as his father beamed with delight tinged with fear over the responsibility of raising the infant he cradled in his arms. Particularly in a world that can be cold, cruel and deadly to brown-skinned boys born on the other side of the tracks. </span></div><p></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;">But a good father can be a son’s compass. Even if fatherhood arrives devoid of a handbook. Even if the elements that can steal a son’s life hover sometimes like storm clouds even on some sunny days.</span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;">And a son can be the light that inspires a father to be a better man. That compels a man to be a better father than his father. To provide for, produce and protect a son with endless selfless devotion. To carry him in life, and also in death. And perhaps beyond. <span></span></span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><span style="text-align: left;"></span></span></p><blockquote style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><i>"I looked at him as my angel..."</i></span></blockquote><p></p><a name='more'></a><p></p><p style="text-align: justify;"></p><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjJxIyZ3AkCyxWFNAoGaeA4bT1N9B8fW3kUWQInJDzheSRQ6lJ9_BcRNxcHjnPf5KOqUL0Abe3nq_qRYS2OP5MKAU3YdVT2EIfJvWVj_ENQmoo7zt-8j1lV6HCAunKWnlGLdLhJtjwmgSHqRgiSuZQZ4txRCOYbhA4iGD7tLwbYtU4J3ua-K1IcGCNf/s2334/Rodney%20White-EL%20and%20son%20Khalil%20during%20happier%20times.jpg" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2334" data-original-width="1668" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjJxIyZ3AkCyxWFNAoGaeA4bT1N9B8fW3kUWQInJDzheSRQ6lJ9_BcRNxcHjnPf5KOqUL0Abe3nq_qRYS2OP5MKAU3YdVT2EIfJvWVj_ENQmoo7zt-8j1lV6HCAunKWnlGLdLhJtjwmgSHqRgiSuZQZ4txRCOYbhA4iGD7tLwbYtU4J3ua-K1IcGCNf/s320/Rodney%20White-EL%20and%20son%20Khalil%20during%20happier%20times.jpg" width="229" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Rodney White-EL and son Khalil <br />during happier times. (Photo Provided)</td></tr></tbody></table><span style="font-size: medium;">This is Rodney and Khalil’s story.</span><p></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Rodney White-EL wanted to give his son a strong name, one with purpose and power. He chose to name him after one of the elders who was “like a father” to him at the Nation of Islam, where he was a member at the time. </span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;">He chose “Khalil”—meaning friend of Allah. He chose “Tariq” as his middle name—meaning “night star.” The “EL” signifies their Moorish American heritage and, for the father, his own transformation, both naturally and spiritually, through his Islamic faith. </span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;">White-EL spoke his son’s name to him while he was yet in his mother Regina Howard’s womb. Sometimes he moved his lips close to her belly while rubbing cocoa butter so that their unborn son might feel his voice’s vibrations. </span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;">“Khalil!” he called to him as his son responded with a kick the father could feel while placing his hand on her stomach.</span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;">“I can’t wait to meet you, you a little feisty dude.”</span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;"> On Nov. 9, 2003, Khalil entered their world. He didn’t scream, didn’t really cry, only squinted his eyes--when his father finally held him--smiled. </span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;"></span></p><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiIEF8u1NvRWca4-_BOGnXoeAhzPmNIEEIIIYfZEv1mo9govKv4X7tz1334m-0cfp1PbWApDQusdzGndw-2VyBczXyJ-hBwhQBNzOPDMXrg1tzvqD9dkeb6ZQbgFrxsdq0tRkv6YJPl_S_6AG6l1GUaL8k5dPET_OtHnKQ_ju6k9WacED3PCJLMxbpm/s5520/A%20banner%20in%20memory%20of%20Khalil%20stands%20inside%20St.%20Sabina%20during%20funeral%20services.JPG" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="5520" data-original-width="4000" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiIEF8u1NvRWca4-_BOGnXoeAhzPmNIEEIIIYfZEv1mo9govKv4X7tz1334m-0cfp1PbWApDQusdzGndw-2VyBczXyJ-hBwhQBNzOPDMXrg1tzvqD9dkeb6ZQbgFrxsdq0tRkv6YJPl_S_6AG6l1GUaL8k5dPET_OtHnKQ_ju6k9WacED3PCJLMxbpm/s320/A%20banner%20in%20memory%20of%20Khalil%20stands%20inside%20St.%20Sabina%20during%20funeral%20services.JPG" width="232" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">A banner in memory of Khalil stands <br />inside St. Sabina during services <br />(Photo: John W. Fountain</td></tr></tbody></table><span style="font-size: medium;">“I didn’t know where to start, what to do. I was nervous, man. …I looked at him as my angel. I would never want him to experience what I experienced. I know how hard it was for me…’</span><p></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;">By White-EL’s account, his own father was a gangster. A man who moved from New Orleans to Chicago and settled on the West Side. He ran policy and owned a liquor store.</span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;">White-EL’s mother was a devout Christian who kept her children in church on Sundays. It was kind of like a heaven and hell situation. As a youngster, White-EL drank his first “forty” (ounce bottle of malt liquor) with his father. White-El says he ended up battling alcoholism, being ensnared by the streets. He didn’t want that for his son.</span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;">He changed his life, motivated by his faith in Allah. By the example of good men like Supreme Grand Sheik E. Braswell Bey of the Moorish Science Temple of America. And by his love for Khalil. </span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;">He quit the streets. Quit drinking and smoking. Devoted himself to work and fatherhood. He doted on Khalil, who was always full of life and energy, always running, jumping, playful and smart beyond his years. He took his son everywhere he went. Gave him his first haircut and every other haircut over 18 years.</span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"></p><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: justify;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhqxCzxChyI8eZKnE64DQ8NwSJw71nGxkoNEl_8uByckJvgBW4mq65KCISrkKbWpDnHHFQkks0KVQFwpiHpNM_8A6d52MyUnaA_sot8tvvHCXg9zsuIxAXlmYGQpLQon8nTK9FLkw3g2oDlMtrL6lJVSKryP7lpX0jteLDhT78W_hNQ8-Q4SonLoZ8i/s3721/Rodney%20White-EL%20(on%20left)%20stands%20at%20the%20podium%20speaking%20durinf%20services%20for%20his%20son.jpg" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1960" data-original-width="3721" height="169" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhqxCzxChyI8eZKnE64DQ8NwSJw71nGxkoNEl_8uByckJvgBW4mq65KCISrkKbWpDnHHFQkks0KVQFwpiHpNM_8A6d52MyUnaA_sot8tvvHCXg9zsuIxAXlmYGQpLQon8nTK9FLkw3g2oDlMtrL6lJVSKryP7lpX0jteLDhT78W_hNQ8-Q4SonLoZ8i/s320/Rodney%20White-EL%20(on%20left)%20stands%20at%20the%20podium%20speaking%20durinf%20services%20for%20his%20son.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Rodney White-EL (on left) stands at the podium <br />speaking during services for his son <br />(Photo: John W. Fountain)</td></tr></tbody></table><span style="font-size: medium;"><div style="text-align: justify;">On Thursday afternoon, as one of the final loving acts for his son, White-EL arrived at a South Side mortuary to line up his son’s hair hours before a scheduled funeral visitation. Instead he helped adorn his son’s head with a red fez, symbolizing his royal prince-hood as a Moorish American. </div></span><p></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Khalil was fatally gunned down on Aug. 23, in a South Side alley, after starting a new job. No one has been charged.</span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;">On Friday morning, hundreds of mourners at the Faith Community of St. Sabina filed past a black open casket adorned with red and white carnations, roses and peace lilies and anchored by a banner with Khalil smiling in life amid a somber song with piano and flute. </span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;">“Of course it hurts, of course we are angry, and of course we are determined to get justice for Khalil,” White-EL told mourners. “If I didn’t have my faith, I would literally lose my mind.”</span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Standing on the church’s stone steps, the crowd of mourners shouted, “Khalil!” over and over and over again. The father, brokenhearted but smiling widely, released a dove into the cloud-filled blue sky. A symbol that his son and their love still lives.</span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;">#JusticeForJelaniDay</span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjHlt6XJw6yLS-Feo8N2gxUOipvaoX21NwHxMhy4IK8AQy6HqzW_vOZTr1mCh-IRB37qFgchTJiHIMMfau5EfMO7pw-V4HOQn4HGz5s0EtOiuA4I7UU2HGR1ABZOnb3qjq4yYFE7vBgrzhE3FULbc-WtxODsoW4mmJ8ngXOUzkqZ-BzH_WGXh9_OzCa/s6000/Mourners%20gather%20outside%20St%20SabinaJPG.JPG" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4000" data-original-width="6000" height="426" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjHlt6XJw6yLS-Feo8N2gxUOipvaoX21NwHxMhy4IK8AQy6HqzW_vOZTr1mCh-IRB37qFgchTJiHIMMfau5EfMO7pw-V4HOQn4HGz5s0EtOiuA4I7UU2HGR1ABZOnb3qjq4yYFE7vBgrzhE3FULbc-WtxODsoW4mmJ8ngXOUzkqZ-BzH_WGXh9_OzCa/w640-h426/Mourners%20gather%20outside%20St%20SabinaJPG.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Mourners gathered at the Faith Community of St. Sabina for services for Khalil White-EL <br />(Photos: John W. Fountain)</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjbn_WHJwU6vQ0lki9kV6qzRgraoy79EjEu4adUncez0InirUVq3gS5YN5Hfh8d9k6ddimt6Ro7yd5xTfnbkU995kQbxxuImShmvzgGToPyzUXBB9zoofQhOl98TfceuIiIQLLoX9HFFqddzODnqhZukdJPtQRC3Ln4UWniXZn5Kgg_5ZZGW3BtIZvW/s6000/Moments%20after%20being%20released%20by%20the%20family%20in%20Khalil's%20honor,%20doves%20take%20to%20the%20sky.JPG" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4000" data-original-width="6000" height="426" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjbn_WHJwU6vQ0lki9kV6qzRgraoy79EjEu4adUncez0InirUVq3gS5YN5Hfh8d9k6ddimt6Ro7yd5xTfnbkU995kQbxxuImShmvzgGToPyzUXBB9zoofQhOl98TfceuIiIQLLoX9HFFqddzODnqhZukdJPtQRC3Ln4UWniXZn5Kgg_5ZZGW3BtIZvW/w640-h426/Moments%20after%20being%20released%20by%20the%20family%20in%20Khalil's%20honor,%20doves%20take%20to%20the%20sky.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Moments after being released by the family in Khalil's honor, doves take to the sky</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span><p></p><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1632698124437962593.post-49421450703797814232022-09-07T21:02:00.001-05:002022-09-07T21:35:48.728-05:00Faith, Love & A Fragile Hope: Peace<p><b><span style="font-size: medium;"><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: justify;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj8nmAmmXKQIu7kLcFuszzfKtGl7NtbO-awUpJW0SFJAhcc8Gc1KFzc8oCGMrYB1kIP45dBMfp9-vgtz7oiS1InjmkRqvzo2gj4m2uNMpCk2TYlOQWE1Jv-yp1N2qbPdYyqiyh5QG2sfVml1Kl6Jc57CwhJe3xUHoLp3dSUZQ11fvVrWsBjIuOamM2h/s1080/2%20Khalil%20White%2018.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="860" data-original-width="1080" height="510" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj8nmAmmXKQIu7kLcFuszzfKtGl7NtbO-awUpJW0SFJAhcc8Gc1KFzc8oCGMrYB1kIP45dBMfp9-vgtz7oiS1InjmkRqvzo2gj4m2uNMpCk2TYlOQWE1Jv-yp1N2qbPdYyqiyh5QG2sfVml1Kl6Jc57CwhJe3xUHoLp3dSUZQ11fvVrWsBjIuOamM2h/w640-h510/2%20Khalil%20White%2018.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: justify;">Khalil White-EL, 18, was previously a member of The Faith Community of St. Sabina’s Brave Youth Program and most recently in the church’s Strong Futures Mentoring Program, where he was a mentee. He had recently landed a new job and was sharing his excitement about it with mentors Friday (August 19, at St. Sabina’s back-to-school Block Party held at Renaissance Park, at 1300 W. 79th Street, near the church. According to police, Khalil was fatally shot four days later on August 23, in an alley in the 8700 block of South Wabash Avenue, about three miles from St. Sabina. (Photo: Provided)</td></tr></tbody></table>By John W. Fountain</span></b></p><div><p></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span><b><span style="font-size: x-large;">P</span></b><span style="font-size: medium;">eace. Into the night, the children smile. Their voices rise above the steady whir of bouncy house fans and the deep incurable pain that is not as easily detectable here, though its presence too is undeniable. Like the water that ripples in soft waves at a nearby park fountain. </span></span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Like the mothers of murdered sons and daughters who don “Purpose Over Pain” T-shirts--decades of grief shared between them. Like the enthusiasm of Khalil White-EL, 18, who bubbles with excitement over his new job--his future as bright as his infectious smile. </span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Peace. It flows here, on an August Friday night at Renaissance Park on West 79th Street. Drifting upon a premature autumn wind is a sense of the way life is supposed to be, even on this side of Chicago, where gunfire and murder confiscate childhood.</span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span></span></p><blockquote><span><b><span><span style="font-size: x-large;">"Don’t we all bleed the same? Doesn’t every human soul carry the same worth?"</span><span style="font-size: x-large;"><a name='more'></a></span></span></b></span></blockquote><p></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;"></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: medium;"></span></div><span style="font-size: medium;"><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjAvvmeMQmA27yOE3pLhnM3GBN9NoxvZTZOcGmkP34fqETyXCV6oH7-LVBYVyh81qlJK4-AW-4p66wssWBFQN4-1avtedvA50FHgx9AYP9KZiL7UuJAiPkLICWn7YljfzrjJ5dK_lGVZm7UaG_vVRRtD1Kixo9rnBAOkqjBV75aa91PxWgymrSj0V58FA/s960/1%20Khalil%20White%2018.jpg" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="960" data-original-width="709" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjAvvmeMQmA27yOE3pLhnM3GBN9NoxvZTZOcGmkP34fqETyXCV6oH7-LVBYVyh81qlJK4-AW-4p66wssWBFQN4-1avtedvA50FHgx9AYP9KZiL7UuJAiPkLICWn7YljfzrjJ5dK_lGVZm7UaG_vVRRtD1Kixo9rnBAOkqjBV75aa91PxWgymrSj0V58FA/s320/1%20Khalil%20White%2018.jpg" width="236" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Khalil White-EL (Photo: Provided)</td></tr></tbody></table>Here Black Lives Matter protestors are MIA when it comes to Black lives taken by Black killers. But here each summer the Faith Community of St. Sabina takes its vigil for peace to the streets.</span><p></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;">A thousand people flocked to Renaissance Park for games, treats and backpacks at St. Sabina’s back-to-school Block Party, which is signals the church’s annual “Friday Night Peace Walks” led by Father Michael L. Pfleger, the church’s senior pastor soon will be ending. </span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;">The summer marches snake through the streets, undeterred by the recalcitrance of violence and the toll on the psyche and souls of those who dwell in the valley of the shadow of death.</span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Around here, they live with the reality that Black lives in this city and nation still don’t matter as much as white lives. With the quantifiable truth that frequent mass shootings in Englewood, West Garfield, Austin or Auburn Gresham, Illinois, don’t garner the same headlines or sense of public urgency or loss as a single mass shooting in Highland Park, Illinois. </span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;">What’s the difference? Don’t we all bleed the same? Doesn’t every human soul carry the same worth?</span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Is the life of a Black child shot to death on the South or West Sides somehow made less valuable by her zip code or race? Does the prevalence of shootings in poor urban neighborhoods make the occurrence of violence there somehow more palpable, normal? </span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjjlqo2Nr89m9y807BZaFrAXmhxxB-T_aUHSUEAGblH0V2EDWODTdzeExv2UPCsUkDyGUfRda11SWXRSNzE_7OVG67SuNx8LK6eM9IOjrh2ZElVryFY5B6keps4SumbMOrTVOxd8O-fvaBfoHdHTgBn8aj52B72E_GMt74orZlFxpGHE9Jk4wKayI9j3g/s5704/4.JPG" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3840" data-original-width="5704" height="430" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjjlqo2Nr89m9y807BZaFrAXmhxxB-T_aUHSUEAGblH0V2EDWODTdzeExv2UPCsUkDyGUfRda11SWXRSNzE_7OVG67SuNx8LK6eM9IOjrh2ZElVryFY5B6keps4SumbMOrTVOxd8O-fvaBfoHdHTgBn8aj52B72E_GMt74orZlFxpGHE9Jk4wKayI9j3g/w640-h430/4.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Children play inside a bouncy house at Renaissance Park at St. Sabina’s back-to-school Block Party on Friday August 19. The event signals an end to the church’s annual “Friday Night Peace Walks” led by Father Michael L. Pfleger, the church’s senior pastor. (Photo: John W. Fountain)</td></tr></tbody></table><span style="font-size: medium;">On Chicago’s South and West Sides gun violence is a fact of life. So far, in 2022, Chicago has averaged about four mass shootings a month with all but three occurring on the South and West Sides, according to Gun Violence Archive, an online archive of gun violence incidents. </span><p></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;">A total of 31 mass shootings in Chicago through August 20, with at least 130 people injured and 14 people killed, figures show. Two mass shootings this past weekend raise that figure to at least 140 people shot. But that’s not the whole story.</span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;">According to Chicago Police records, there were 425 homicides in Chicago through August 22, and 1,828 shootings, compared to 519 homicides and 2,239 shootings (an 18 percent decrease in both) during the same period in 2021. But any impact of a dip in gun violence is hard to measure. Or feel.</span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;">“We shouldn't feel good about a small decrease,” Pfleger told me. “Also, people do not feel safer. In fact, my take (is), they feel less safe.”</span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Indeed the weekend turned out to be another deadly one with 38 people shot, four of them fatally, according to police.</span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;"></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: medium;"></span></div><span style="font-size: medium;"><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhWzUXPtme80ugXb_-JM2ssm-hnutj6Q1gcbpjOYm6Zyz7hUZTa_pqyBQL73bX6x0EhjZDQbOwI-A3PVtq5dvxC1IAhUpJ3dqjsKEYunRaW0IEOI_pT_E6g8-9jBwgC24BzmHbhPOuVOWy5QtXQuLSJDvPr5II5sLj8Lqa5SBRyQLxY5ODANLEOMimSBg/s3486/A%20little%20girl%20at%20the%20back%20to%20school%20Block%20Party%20sponsored%20by%20St%20Sabina%20awaits%20a%20bag%20of%20freshly%20popped%20popcorn.jpg" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1960" data-original-width="3486" height="180" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhWzUXPtme80ugXb_-JM2ssm-hnutj6Q1gcbpjOYm6Zyz7hUZTa_pqyBQL73bX6x0EhjZDQbOwI-A3PVtq5dvxC1IAhUpJ3dqjsKEYunRaW0IEOI_pT_E6g8-9jBwgC24BzmHbhPOuVOWy5QtXQuLSJDvPr5II5sLj8Lqa5SBRyQLxY5ODANLEOMimSBg/s320/A%20little%20girl%20at%20the%20back%20to%20school%20Block%20Party%20sponsored%20by%20St%20Sabina%20awaits%20a%20bag%20of%20freshly%20popped%20popcorn.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">A little girl at the back-to-school Block Party sponsored<br />by St Sabina awaits a bag of freshly popped<br />buttered popcorn. (John W. Fountain)</td></tr></tbody></table>Peace is elusive. And yet, at Renaissance Park on Friday evening, a little girl stands in front of<br />the glowing popcorn machine among scores of children--the white smoke of giant barbecue grills carrying the scent of burgers and hotdogs, and normalcy.</span><p></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Four days later, on Tuesday Khalil White-EL--who is Moorish American and a member of St. Sabina’s Strong Futures Mentoring Program who had shared his excitement over his new job at Friday’s block party--is fatally gunned down about three miles away, in a South Side alley. </span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Khalil was 18. His funeral services at St. Sabina are pending.</span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;">The family was planning a balloon release at St. Sabina’s peace march this Friday evening. Balloons for Khalil. And prayers for peace.</span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;">#JusticeForJelaniDay</span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgrkMO4VLSmz1vPzkCHapN_MOIP49DEcS2DwV4BBbjXuyL3EmRM71TOs7YiC9kHxNOdJgMajhab-58ui-yquNlH6FsBNsHinmomVgnFzUd1TOpjw6QlCYEHTQgnr6UY5CuCrJmnPZWftYNVcn52-rh1lNcSSx4buM2JCh2HSNXI77_SOckr7lcTs9c-fQ/s5840/5.JPG" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3976" data-original-width="5840" height="436" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgrkMO4VLSmz1vPzkCHapN_MOIP49DEcS2DwV4BBbjXuyL3EmRM71TOs7YiC9kHxNOdJgMajhab-58ui-yquNlH6FsBNsHinmomVgnFzUd1TOpjw6QlCYEHTQgnr6UY5CuCrJmnPZWftYNVcn52-rh1lNcSSx4buM2JCh2HSNXI77_SOckr7lcTs9c-fQ/w640-h436/5.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Two women pray for another woman at Renaissance Park at St. Sabina’s<br />back-to-school Block Party on Friday August 19. (Photo: John W. Fountain)</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span><p></p><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div></div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1632698124437962593.post-73038782616454156612022-02-22T07:33:00.010-06:002022-02-24T10:00:41.240-06:00Faith Vs. Violence: The Journey Begins<tyle both="" clear:="" left="" text-align:=""><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjXjd6xIkZN73DnsG_SGixQh4G5ORGcT9EZXNb9qOK0jP4Zc2393JTiGWjBH9ljSxznwvfkCoVilYc9qazWIzfgYlmU4kkmfzqJ8OJTLwCPC_nSd1vqQxgRMnnhhi37Eiiv4F7EPHCVdjKR99Nq6uOCnUo8lHfDkdAKpCtuzw3_-sl8bXXr-c4n-zYE=s750" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="427" data-original-width="750" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjXjd6xIkZN73DnsG_SGixQh4G5ORGcT9EZXNb9qOK0jP4Zc2393JTiGWjBH9ljSxznwvfkCoVilYc9qazWIzfgYlmU4kkmfzqJ8OJTLwCPC_nSd1vqQxgRMnnhhi37Eiiv4F7EPHCVdjKR99Nq6uOCnUo8lHfDkdAKpCtuzw3_-sl8bXXr-c4n-zYE=s16000" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">FatFather Michael L. Pfleger, senior pastor of the Faith Community of St. Sabina leads the <br />way in the church’s annual weekly “Friday Night Peace Walks,” last summer.</td></tr></tbody></table><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><i style="text-align: justify;"><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: large;"><i>“To be a Christian without prayer is no more possible than to be alive without breathing.”</i><span> </span><span>–Dr. Martin Luther King Jr.</span></span></div></i></div></tyle><p style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: large;"><b>By John W. Fountain</b></span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: large;">A CARAVAN OF HUMANITY. A PEOPLE OF faith. It idles on 78th Place near Racine Avenue in the warm evening sun one late-summer Friday in June. Music blares from a shiny green SUV outfitted with loud speakers that will lead them on their sojourn in the streets of the South Side of Chicago from the doorsteps of the Faith Community of St. Sabina. It is a spiritual showdown against the forces of darkness.</span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: large;">A bout for the soul of the city, maybe even the bold makings of a revolution that will not be televised. In one corner stands Faith. In the other: Violence. </span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: large;">Which will win?</span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: large;">Two reporters set out last summer to chronicle their journey, covering every single march over 12 hot and muggy weeks in Chicago, through the elements, even as nightfall consumes the last light of day. Chronicling the hope and also the marchers' pain—through the glaring sun and summer rain that would take this caravan of faith to perilous street corners, where, just hours earlier, bullets reigned. Where the wounded had lain, felled by a shooter's deadly aim. </span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: large;">Before summer’s end, this group of the faithful would come face to face with the Death Angel who came to claim even one of their own. And more than one mother would be welcomed into the unenviable club of being mother to a murdered son.</span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: large;">In the end, the summer’s violence would prove to be a foreshadow of one of the city’s deadliest years on record.</span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: large;">But might prayer and faith work in the fight to end violence?</span></p><p style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><b>_________________________</b></span></p><p style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><b>_________________________</b></span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"></span></p><blockquote><span style="font-size: x-large;"><i>“Church is the ‘huddle’ of the game... No one comes to a game to see the huddle but look to see what they will do when they leave the huddle to build the Kingdom of God.” </i>-Father Pfleger</span></blockquote><p></p><p style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><b>_________________________</b></span></p><p style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;"></span></p><p style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><b>_________________________</b></span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: large;"><b><span></span></b></span></p><a name='more'></a><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: large;"><b>Genesis</b></span><p></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: large;"></span></p><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEh-OMd5z3ubTsflomMSenx91gwtULp4hVPZqBjIqPgvlnl6HhPPd6cmi-fabfh-A0GoFOgBFl-ZQpWkK2kafcZ4DvV_js7q92sGBlUxozIfmnuOcgkRONmbBI1GX95tClerHhsYHjPc0lD6VcrbKw5nSclOVHN8ZixAbbNWpuip-_VXkcjkuyYDHmm4=s2758" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2758" data-original-width="2406" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEh-OMd5z3ubTsflomMSenx91gwtULp4hVPZqBjIqPgvlnl6HhPPd6cmi-fabfh-A0GoFOgBFl-ZQpWkK2kafcZ4DvV_js7q92sGBlUxozIfmnuOcgkRONmbBI1GX95tClerHhsYHjPc0lD6VcrbKw5nSclOVHN8ZixAbbNWpuip-_VXkcjkuyYDHmm4=s320" width="279" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">One of the peace marchers holds a portrait <br />of a slain son during summer 2021. </td></tr></tbody></table><span style="font-size: large;"><div style="text-align: justify;">The nuts and bolts of the Peace March are simple. It begins with marchers assembling amid a palpable cloud of excitement outside St. Sabina at 7 p.m., each Friday. Pfleger speaks briefly. His words boom over a loudspeaker about their mission—followed sometimes by other church or community leaders, though words are kept to a minimum. Their mission is to pray.</div></span><p></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: large;">They pray before beginning their pre-determined route. Marchers assemble in the 1200 block of West 78th Place, near idling police squad cars and St. Sabina’s lead green SUV, which broadcasts their mission in word and song into the summer wind.</span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: large;">And they march. Through the surrounding neighborhood, up and down humid busy avenues and streets, turning corners onto blocks where shooting and gang violence make life hard, fragile and damn near untenable. They sing, chant, pray, and hand out fliers about social, educational and job services available at St. Sabina.</span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: large;">They greet people on the street, or others who gaze from yards and doorways. The marchers wave back, smile, hug—an intimate exchange of goodwill between strangers. Along the way, Pfleger’s voice blares as he extols the message of hope and peace. </span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: large;">The peace caravan snakes through the neighborhood then finally returns to outside St. Sabina. Pfleger speaks briefly, encouraging marchers for their commitment. They pray again then climb into their cars, the evening turned to night. They head home.</span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: large;"></span></p><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEiU-5HMcAq0HogV-3TvgDK5vgUxGIqxttoz6NpXsk-tlhrJX-t06Xus2pY4Ih8OGGziToc7wwtoad70wRJueowNm2dyf0ciY4ETYEy63Y3S1FEBxc_Nsw5RbajXc3Fhvrvha6Wn8HXLIMnpd7ZmxDAU6b8UP54WSArGAIkLX-qt--ERrlqPsQlHpfcI=s1188" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1080" data-original-width="1188" height="291" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEiU-5HMcAq0HogV-3TvgDK5vgUxGIqxttoz6NpXsk-tlhrJX-t06Xus2pY4Ih8OGGziToc7wwtoad70wRJueowNm2dyf0ciY4ETYEy63Y3S1FEBxc_Nsw5RbajXc3Fhvrvha6Wn8HXLIMnpd7ZmxDAU6b8UP54WSArGAIkLX-qt--ERrlqPsQlHpfcI=s320" width="320" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">6th District Commander Senora Ben and officers <br />from the Gresham Police District were a constant<br />presence during the marches, providing an escort<br />for marchers through busy South Side streets.</td></tr></tbody></table><span style="font-size: large;"><div style="text-align: justify;">All summer they march. The absence of the key players in this twinkling Midwest lakefront city is as glaring as the darkened and shuttered storefront churches with grandiose names that we pass along the route each week. There is no mayor of the city of Chicago here. No Chicago police chief. No battalion of city council members. No show of Illinois’ two U.S. senators. Not all summer long.</div></span><p></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: large;">No delegation of concerned U.S. congressmen from Illinois. No Cook County state’s attorney. No Cook County commissioner. No chief judge. No governor of Illinois. No Cardinal Blase Cupich of the Catholic Archdiocese of Chicago, or any detectable representation from its other 289 parishes.</span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: large;">No assemblage of members from the countless denominations that dot the urban landscape well beyond St. Sabina—an English gothic cathedral built in the early 1930s and once an Irish Catholic parish with a well-documented history of resisting integration by Blacks during the 1960s whose numbers by then in Chicago had swelled significantly due to the Great Migration.</span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: large;">There is no sighting of any U.S. presidential delegation, or of any “cavalry” coming to assist a grassroots effort to deliver its community from the forces of evil. No sense that in this city, population 2.75 million, there exists any grand urgency or the collective will to work together to resolve the issue of violence, which disproportionately impacts Black and brown communities.</span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: large;">The absence of city, county and state officials from St. Sabina’s marches doesn’t mean they aren’t doing anything to quell the city’s violence and murder. But it also does not reflect any visible concerted commitment to this grassroots effort, perhaps the largest, most consistent and most vigilant by any church or pastor in Chicago—a city that by year’s end would record more than 3,500 shootings, police records show. </span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: large;">Moreover, Chicago accounted for 836 of the county’s 1,087 homicides recorded in 2021—1,002 of them gun-related, according to the Cook County Medical Examiner’s office. The county’s gun-related homicides in 2021 broke the previous record of 881 recorded in 2020, marking an 8.5 percent increase—evidence of a rise in violence and the need, many here say, for solutions. Now.</span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: large;">The absence of other churches to partner in St. Sabina’s effort—or in another perhaps by their own initiative that might help create a seismic movement within the community of faith to redeem the soul of a city where the blood of women and children stain its most menacing streets—is inexcusable. And the church’s overall laxity—particularly the Black church—to collectively and significantly seek to move beyond its walls to address the city’s violence, which cannot be solved by policing or policy alone, is downright shameful.</span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: large;">But the question for me, amid an unrelenting storm of violence that bangs louder than any gunshot is: Where is the church?</span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: large;">This much is clear: St. Sabina is out here in these streets. And they believe that prayer is not a negligible thing. Not the only step needed to reclaim community. But perhaps a good first step in seeking to shift a prevailing atmosphere where the spirit of evil is manifested in the natural as murder and mayhem, and requires divine intervention. </span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: large;">“What makes us authentic Christians is not what we do in the church building but what we do when we leave because we have gathered,” Pfleger explained. </span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: large;">“Church is the ‘huddle’ of the game... No one comes to a game to see the huddle but look to see what they will do when they leave the huddle to build the Kingdom of God.”</span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgukQBd-9zyUqDEzLuJUQaUsGe_7MzMH8oV-J0XegoVL7Qc2HEunm4ilDuOy8FpN8eJ8j_P2Z7Jyy39X3DbuHl9MXS3PDjHx-dz5Va6n5TmSFNXZlA4X_gYy9ZAR1nxzUYqhqaDMRLtJ_4CsjZxhEq-wwLNHz2TaAi3QNF-RyXqMj-xr3xd2BC4BKnn=s760" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="616" data-original-width="760" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgukQBd-9zyUqDEzLuJUQaUsGe_7MzMH8oV-J0XegoVL7Qc2HEunm4ilDuOy8FpN8eJ8j_P2Z7Jyy39X3DbuHl9MXS3PDjHx-dz5Va6n5TmSFNXZlA4X_gYy9ZAR1nxzUYqhqaDMRLtJ_4CsjZxhEq-wwLNHz2TaAi3QNF-RyXqMj-xr3xd2BC4BKnn=s16000" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Father Pfleger chats with brothers on the street during one of the Friday Peace Marches,<br /> offering job services and counseling at the Faith Community of St. Sabina.</td></tr></tbody></table><b style="font-family: verdana; font-size: x-large;">Book of Acts</b><p></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: large;">On one particular Friday, Pfleger breaks off from his point position in the march. He hurries, wearing his white high-top canvass Converse and black-and-white anti-violence sweatshirt, over to a group of brothers on the sidewalk while flanked by men of St. Sabina. </span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: large;">The smell of marijuana wafts in the wind, like the warm greeting from the white Catholic priest with a reputation in the streets as a down-to-earth preacher with a genuine love for the hood. But this is their block. The preacher’s sudden appearance out of nowhere clearly is not on their agenda and apparently no reason to breach their leisurely activities as one young man continues rolling what appears to be a blunt throughout the entire exchange. </span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: large;">But there is no judgement. No airs. No wincing from Pfleger who straightway launches into a cordial appeal. </span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: large;">Not an appeal for a contribution to a building fund. Not a membership drive. Only mutual respect. And for Pfleger perhaps a chance to save a life, win a soul.</span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: large;">“Come talk to us, maybe we can help,” he says to a group of young men who look to be in their early 20s. “Maybe we can help, all right?” </span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: large;">One young man nods.</span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: large;">“So come see me,” Pfleger says, turning to another standing nearby, wearing a goatee and an untied black do-rag on his head and giving the preacher the side-eye. His skepticism about the preacher’s promises is clear. Pfleger senses as much.</span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: large;">“Don’t be like that, looking at me like I’m bullshitting you,” Pfleger says. “I’m telling you the truth. I’m here, ok?” he assures the young man, placing his right hand on his shoulder. </span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: large;">“Ok,” the young man says, nodding, looking directly into the preacher’s eyes. “I got you.”</span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: large;">They both smile, shake hands, embrace.</span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: large;">“I love you, my brother,” Pfleger tells him before pushing on. “I want you to be safe. </span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: large;">“Too much up in here for the world not to hear from,” Pfleger says, gently tapping the left side of the young man’s head. “OK?”</span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: large;">The young man nods.</span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhJzhfdpuB8V2hC5ovYa5ywQaOKxrCy3Uwf9A4-7A9DH-nrVj85wVCThRuOJz-YlGurpEp6yYzzt3x0beP4hiG0s5LTcsUXMX6j_HdpGtX0VMke6dbToFGBN2V3OVxybCNRkf8YSlIaNawyM5-iDfIyVhHV92hFmQRe82OmKdm5zRr1nDtU6rj_vYNz=s750" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="500" data-original-width="750" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhJzhfdpuB8V2hC5ovYa5ywQaOKxrCy3Uwf9A4-7A9DH-nrVj85wVCThRuOJz-YlGurpEp6yYzzt3x0beP4hiG0s5LTcsUXMX6j_HdpGtX0VMke6dbToFGBN2V3OVxybCNRkf8YSlIaNawyM5-iDfIyVhHV92hFmQRe82OmKdm5zRr1nDtU6rj_vYNz=s16000" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Pallbearers carry the casket of Marquise Richardson to an idling hearse. A student at St. Sabina, Marquise, 14, was<br />reportedly shot twice in the head on July 29, while sitting in a parked car in front of his home, in the 1600 block of West Waseca Place, when someone in another car reportedly opened fire. Marquise died two days later.</td></tr></tbody></table><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><b style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: large;">Numbers</span></b></div><p></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: large;">Prayer changes things. Or does it, really? </span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: large;">Dr. Martin Luther King Jr. wrote: “There can be no gainsaying of the fact that prayer is as natural to the human organism as the rising of the sun is to the cosmic order… Men have often tried to dismiss it by affirming that pressing rigidity of natural law makes it impossible. But such a declaration is unconvincing; for there is something deep down within us that makes us know that God works in a paradox of unpredictable newness and trustworthy faithfulness. </span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: large;">“And so even the most devout atheist will at times cry out for the God that his theory denies. Men always have prayed and men always will pray.”</span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: large;">But can prayer actually affect the affairs, lives, behavior, or health of humans? Can prayer be used to impact the condition of neighborhoods besieged by gun violence and murder? </span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: large;">Might a solution to violence in a natural world lie, in part, also in a more spiritual approach aimed at shifting the values, attitudes, mindset and cultural atmosphere in which so many communities have been turned into war zones, where bullets fly, children die and their blood stains city streets? </span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: large;">That is debatable. But the use of prayer for divine intervention into earthly matters is not new. For example, Americans—religious and nonreligious—amid the vast uncertainty and crises wrought by the COVID-19 pandemic have turned to prayer. </span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: large;">In fact, a Pew Research Center study in March 2020 found that more than half of all U.S. adults or 55 percent said they have prayed for an end to the spread of coronavirus. The study also found that a significant majority of all Americans who pray daily—or 86 percent—have turned to prayer during the Coronavirus pandemic. Additionally, a significant number of Americans who say they have seldom—or never prayed (15 percent)—have also turned to prayer. Even among those who do not belong to any religious group, 24 percent admitted to praying to a higher power, the Pew study found.</span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: large;">Studies on the effectiveness of prayer have found largely that it works as a good kind of spiritual meditation, but have found no quantifiable evidence of divine intervention invoked by prayer.</span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: large;">“Clearly, people pray because it makes them feel better, or makes them feel hope, or makes them feel love, or makes them feel just a welcomed hair shy of being utterly powerless,” Phil Zuckerman writes in a 2019 Psychology Today report. “So, concerning all of the above, it can be said that prayer works.</span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: large;">“But when it comes to prayer as a form of asking for something from a divine source and then getting it—there is simply no empirical evidence that such mental messaging to an invisible deity works. All stories of ‘answered prayers’ are merely anecdotal, and nothing more.”</span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: large;">Believers, however, have a different opinion. They attribute everything from healing from cancer and other diseases and drug addictions to their deliverance from any number of life crises, emergencies and dilemmas—from major to the minor—to divine intervention, stemming from prayers.</span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: large;">Faith is “the substance of things hoped for, the evidence of things unseen,” believers are quick to say, citing Hebrews 11:1. And the effectiveness of prayer and faith—both intangible, invisible, spiritual and not easily quantifiable—difficult to prove, yet as difficult to disprove.</span></p><p></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: large;"></span></p><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjdIMvQEHY4yk-N_UhY6c0aTee4p1e2aJqwKpT9YY5GF-gtShkUT1s5nPlo0fZWYJWBC4CEUSLNy2uulUIVNZeRUmwItuhyHNJdkCLXhDDtLxJ1qHTIM6wg45r5tOYQ4RXFfOpx7VWA_xktOdqQ4ZZ83-uk8Whj0WWBbKFG5BMvALGURsEmFAF94s97=s4528" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4000" data-original-width="4528" height="283" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjdIMvQEHY4yk-N_UhY6c0aTee4p1e2aJqwKpT9YY5GF-gtShkUT1s5nPlo0fZWYJWBC4CEUSLNy2uulUIVNZeRUmwItuhyHNJdkCLXhDDtLxJ1qHTIM6wg45r5tOYQ4RXFfOpx7VWA_xktOdqQ4ZZ83-uk8Whj0WWBbKFG5BMvALGURsEmFAF94s97=w320-h283" width="320" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Ashley Adams, mother of Marquise Richardson, 14, <br />is comforted on the stairs of The Faith Community <br />of St. Sabina where her son’s funeral service was held</td></tr></tbody></table><span style="font-size: large;"><div style="text-align: justify;">For Pfleger and the St. Sabina faithful, prayer and faith are at the core of their belief and also their Peace March that evokes the heart and soul of the Civil Rights movement, which was as much a spiritual sojourn as it was a social, political and cultural movement that wrought seismic change in America, affecting laws and policies but also hearts and minds. </div></span><p></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: large;">“I believe in the power of prayer,” Pfleger told me. “It is what grounds us and reminds us we are not just doing some action rather we are doing it in Faith and walking with the power of God with us. </span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: large;">“I also believe Faith without works is dead,” Pfleger said. “So it is prayer and then walking and living out our prayers.”</span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgCfJGdrG4DdxLRGYHIUO5dpaR0Y4eK21voDxb3GwOOolqoZAxOK4XSBTjurke9x0DwAQ4vICCcHf6dwXWfsGe0H-7oLqsvMOgrpxihlvQdeV52bYjq3-WHvKKJZNyHcbMaPGDMh-oHI19kQ28FRspfDtn_9Hlbj8EpHu6J3WMexZLEzbtBevhzTYAD=s760" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="507" data-original-width="760" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgCfJGdrG4DdxLRGYHIUO5dpaR0Y4eK21voDxb3GwOOolqoZAxOK4XSBTjurke9x0DwAQ4vICCcHf6dwXWfsGe0H-7oLqsvMOgrpxihlvQdeV52bYjq3-WHvKKJZNyHcbMaPGDMh-oHI19kQ28FRspfDtn_9Hlbj8EpHu6J3WMexZLEzbtBevhzTYAD=s16000" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">A woman holds a sign for peace during St. Sabina’s march for peace in summer 2021.</td></tr></tbody></table><p></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: large;"><b>Lamentations</b></span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: large;">They appear, at first glance, an unintimidating force. A mixed, mostly Black congregation, led by a white Catholic activist priest. Graying but praying church mothers, babies in strollers. Strong men in T-shirts. Some on crutches or wheelchairs. The infirmed. The wounded. Mothers and fathers of murdered sons and daughters, pressing through their pain for purpose. </span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: large;">They hoist signs proclaiming their mission. Sneakers, walking shoes and wheels. Strollers. Not tanks or guns in this assault against the violence that drenches this city each summer like an unrelenting rain.</span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: large;">On one Friday evening, they kneel at a corner where hours earlier two people were shot. They pray, their fervor as shining as their courage and commitment that leads them on another Friday to an apartment complex known for violence and shootings. </span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: large;">Here, a 10-year-old girl, recovering from being shot, and her parents emerge from their apartment amid the swarm of marchers. Pfleger comforts the daughter and also her mother who lays her head on his shoulder, tears falling. He embraces them as a prayer warrior fills the air with declarations of peace and a petition for blessing and healing for this family.</span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: large;">On another Friday, marchers surround a woman whose left shoulder is still bandage from having been treated for a gunshot wound. Her husband who was also shot is still in surgery, she tells the priest as peace marchers surround her in the yellowish glare of street lights beneath a night sky on a corner on 81st Street.</span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: large;">“We plead the blood of Jesus, we say devil, ‘you are a lie and you will not stop them from fulfilling their destiny,’” a woman prays, clutching a microphone as “hallelujahs” and “thank you, Lord’s” ring out unashamed and unconstrained into the atmosphere.</span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: large;">An atmosphere filled with the unpredictability and the threat of chaos and the unseemly that can erupt without a moment’s notice, like the woman holding a young child the marchers witness as a man kicks her out of his vehicle and drives off, abandoning them in the heat. Pfleger and others rush to her side, offer prayer and the human hand of assistance.</span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjXC5nSEK1ShWmip_EDAZMTQsMWRbjlFmQ6xJYeC04LdcjUSzrb_0t3rRUj9Bd7Zf5-FefBKuZDLVPnM2m-OSTzPHMlwGyQbm0QUMqhB2rYCAzYBYXALzPDPHyDIEbhltFpwNKEBhXnqQUTsWPWnVqj3yn4DRzFaCnbhmZzoXkf2EH8roQWLIUOMeW6=s760" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="507" data-original-width="760" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjXC5nSEK1ShWmip_EDAZMTQsMWRbjlFmQ6xJYeC04LdcjUSzrb_0t3rRUj9Bd7Zf5-FefBKuZDLVPnM2m-OSTzPHMlwGyQbm0QUMqhB2rYCAzYBYXALzPDPHyDIEbhltFpwNKEBhXnqQUTsWPWnVqj3yn4DRzFaCnbhmZzoXkf2EH8roQWLIUOMeW6=s16000" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">A little girl gets tattoos and her face painted at a back-to-school picnic held at a park <br />by St. Sabina after a summer of peace marches.</td></tr></tbody></table><p></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: large;"><b>Revelation</b></span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: large;">For more than a dozen years, the Faith Community of St. Sabina has taken to the streets for a “Summer Peace March.” They pour through Auburn Gresham until summer’s end, seeking to quell violence that grip neighborhoods ¬mainly on the city’s South and West Sides where shell casings often seem more prevalent than the sight of little girls jumping rope.</span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: large;">Chicago’s deadly violence is a reflection of a tale of gangs and social media beefs mostly between young Black and brown men in Black and brown neighborhoods that bear the brunt of that violence. Inarguably, the violence, which leaves a trail of blood and bodies, is more deeply a reflection of systemic racism, of the city’s historic neglect of the poor and of those hyper-segregated neighborhoods that lack resources. Among them: jobs, equality in education, healthcare and housing.</span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: large;">And yet, it is the violence that permeates life in the hood. That makes life more tenuous if not treacherous, and that too often ends in tragic violent tale I too often have covered as a journalist for more than 30 years. </span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: large;">What ought to be clear by now is that any effort to heal, uplift and improve these neighborhoods must be an effort to stop the killing, to subdue the violence so that daily gunfire and murder of the innocent and young are no longer the norm. What ought to be clear is that the violence in some Chicago neighborhoods—though minuscule if at all existent in many others—has become as predictable as the passing and arrival of summer, and that it has reached a critical stage. Clear that Chicago must now engage in an epic war for its soul.</span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: large;">A soul in a city beset by the killing of our children—of little girls like 7-year-old Jaslyn Adams, murdered less than a year ago, about 10 miles from St. Sabina, on the West Side. She was sitting in her father’s car in the drive-thru of a McDonald’s parking lot when gunmen reportedly fired at least 45 shots from an AK-47, fatally shooting Jaslyn multiple times and also wounding her father.</span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: large;">Once upon a time chief crime reporter at one of Chicago’s big daily newspapers, I have come to take the pulse of violence in this city not only by the number of those killed each year, but by the number of those shot. By the randomness of shootings today. By the current blatant disregard for human life and the collateral of innocents. By the state of brazenness of shooters and their youth compared to shooters and gangs in days of old who respected innocents and abided by a gang code. By the easy access to high-powered automatic weapons that enable the unleashing of mass destruction in a matter of just seconds. </span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: large;">And by my measurement, Chicago’s violence is worse than it has ever been. Chicago no longer has a conscience. Chicago is on the verge of losing its soul. </span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: large;">I know of no institution better equipped to save souls than the church. And I know of no church or pastor in this city more willing to engage in the effort at a grassroots level to try and reach the heart, mind and soul of a community besieged by evil, violence, poverty, trauma and hopelessness than St. Sabina and Father Michael L. Pfleger. A church that even amid its grand net of social services sees its most formidable weapon in this war as: faith and prayer, fueled by the audacity of hope.</span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: large;">I bore witness to that hope last summer—infectious and freely given. Witness to the smiles that hope, love and faith caused to spread over the faces of even hardened young brothers who stood on some of the city’s meanest streets as the Peace caravan passed by and the church paused to embrace them. </span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: large;">I witnessed the miracle of a church in modern times, flowing freely beyond its walls, seeking to impact community. Talking the talk and walking the walk. Seeking to be the hands, feet and heart of Christ, and to affect change: one step, one prayer, one block at a time.</span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: large;">So what did all that accomplish? Where’s the evidence that all that marching did one bit of good?</span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: large;">“What I know is that it gave people hope,” Pfleger told me months later in hindsight. “We got so many folks thanking us. It also impacted the community with joy, love, and light amidst the darkness. </span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: large;">“We were able to get out information about our services, which each week would have folks come for help. It also brought some young brothers to us who wanted a change,” Pfleger added. “We were able to help them, mentor them and get many jobs... Those are things I know.” </span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: large;">“Only God knows what the seeds planted will harvest.”</span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: large;">This much I know: That I witnessed by their human presence and engagement the hand of God. I felt in their uttered summer prayers a power that flowed like an electrical surge, ushering in an almost tangible spirit of peace in the streets along their trail.</span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: large;">And I saw in the eyes of those they touched: tears, joy, relief and gratefulness that in a city where so many do nothing to try and end this scourge called violence, the church—this church—cared enough to do something.</span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: large;">Indeed on hot Friday nights—in a bloody city on the verge of losing its soul—by the St. Sabina caravan of believers, the seeds of peace were sown. All summer long.</span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: large;"><i>“Invasion of Faith: Faith vs. Violence” is a multimedia journalism project by John W. Fountain and Samantha Latson, a graduate journalism student at Indiana University.</i></span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: large;"></span></p><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhM70bKj5TTrxjBUWqlA8Yog0WDmA4o8X5wbpdNZZArUR-Zndojw7KNOpfr9gI5NIEBnNytGYb3HPtnuhuti4pE4HUl3tnDntHtv-fitruEQYnISM0taLYMlT8zqtA9kGi46qYeqToRz0pFcs5_gP4hd-TysodZnZMuuplUZyFmopFM_loHiM9avtBj=s760" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="570" data-original-width="760" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhM70bKj5TTrxjBUWqlA8Yog0WDmA4o8X5wbpdNZZArUR-Zndojw7KNOpfr9gI5NIEBnNytGYb3HPtnuhuti4pE4HUl3tnDntHtv-fitruEQYnISM0taLYMlT8zqtA9kGi46qYeqToRz0pFcs5_gP4hd-TysodZnZMuuplUZyFmopFM_loHiM9avtBj=s16000" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Peace Marchers walk during St. Sabina's "Summer Invasion" 2021</td></tr></tbody></table><span style="font-size: large;"><br /><i><br /></i></span><p></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><br /></p>Unknownnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1632698124437962593.post-63746654799959486782022-02-22T07:20:00.000-06:002022-02-22T07:42:54.000-06:00Summer Invasion: "Like Jesus"<p> </p>
<div style="text-align: center;"><iframe allow="accelerometer; autoplay; clipboard-write; encrypted-media; gyroscope; picture-in-picture" allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="420" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/tbD2QYIdWB4?rel=0" title="YouTube video player" width="750"></iframe></div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1632698124437962593.post-52852207726485863962022-02-22T07:00:00.001-06:002022-02-25T06:40:03.737-06:00Pastor Announces Church Gun Buy-back <p style="text-align: justify;"><b></b></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><b><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhKjJpHPBJEmNLlxxVVhzUa3-SzFMKWYSGtgvIq4GFV5ckqK0dQi54EUB0rtJWc_-3mfnv_rEYfoF7GGS53E8N1LQE51Xay6QSEhS9nn5NqjVAIeiMKedkmMGFm7NbWlQFA4UWBAVYbcYfV1EaVEWdPqkSzi80TMuLU-pTUkQNVbhL8ME2vYirrFSRB=s750" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="576" data-original-width="750" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhKjJpHPBJEmNLlxxVVhzUa3-SzFMKWYSGtgvIq4GFV5ckqK0dQi54EUB0rtJWc_-3mfnv_rEYfoF7GGS53E8N1LQE51Xay6QSEhS9nn5NqjVAIeiMKedkmMGFm7NbWlQFA4UWBAVYbcYfV1EaVEWdPqkSzi80TMuLU-pTUkQNVbhL8ME2vYirrFSRB=s16000" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: left;">Peace Marchers from the Faith Community of St. Sabina flood the streets in summer 2021 during Friday evening marches through the neighborhood to seek an end to the gun violence in their neighborhood.</td></tr></tbody></table></b></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><b><b style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;">By Samantha Latson</span></b></b></div><p></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;">STANDING OUTSIDE THE FAITH Community of St. Sabina, the Rev. Michael L. Pfleger Father announced Thursday a gun buyback to fight violence plaguing Chicago’s streets and amid his church’s ongoing annual “Friday Night Peace March,” which kicked off at the start of the summer. </span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;">In the wake of three mass shootings, Pfleger expressed frustration and outrage during a press conference. <span></span></span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;">“Last night, we had three mass shootings in Chicago, two on the West Side, and one on a party bus in Old Town,” said Pfleger. “Chicago is out of control, gun violence is killing our children, and blood is running through our streets.”</span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;">The gun buyback will begin next week (starting on Monday, July 26) and continue, Pfleger said, until the $25,000 provided by a donor for this purpose had been exhausted.</span></p><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: #3d85c6;">_______________________________</span></div><p style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: #3d85c6;"></span></p><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: #3d85c6;">_______________________________</span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><i style="text-align: left;">"If we can have a state of emergency because of flooding, we ought to have a state of emergency because because of dying."</i><span style="text-align: left;"> </span></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="text-align: left;">-Rev. Michael L. Pfleger</span></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><div><div><span style="color: #3d85c6;">_______________________________</span></div><div><span style="color: #3d85c6;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="color: #3d85c6;">_______________________________</span></div></div><div><br /></div></div><div style="text-align: center;"><iframe allow="accelerometer; autoplay; clipboard-write; encrypted-media; gyroscope; picture-in-picture" allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="385" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/jgeFEd-fWto" title="YouTube video player" width="640"></iframe></div><span><a name='more'></a></span><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><p></p><p></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;"></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEglle1XXYX-uhH-wSqLaE49DSv2DAMHS2D9Lj3BC9B7CKKyZkMzYBWs8Mc1xrVBDeNtLJ7cEET6vFdO8Jog-tqLl2Ci7NVenuyZvpS-8X-Oss4U1o5Uni6G6ODJ7yvzEaXSB9umq-jJ7H39ONHgRaILtyNerb0CMXPjtv1U29JPxDQYxGWpDGWuuF84=s6000" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="6000" data-original-width="4000" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEglle1XXYX-uhH-wSqLaE49DSv2DAMHS2D9Lj3BC9B7CKKyZkMzYBWs8Mc1xrVBDeNtLJ7cEET6vFdO8Jog-tqLl2Ci7NVenuyZvpS-8X-Oss4U1o5Uni6G6ODJ7yvzEaXSB9umq-jJ7H39ONHgRaILtyNerb0CMXPjtv1U29JPxDQYxGWpDGWuuF84=s320" width="213" /></a></span></div><span style="font-size: medium;"><div style="text-align: justify;">That donor is Tom Sondago, a Chicago businessman who appeared at the press conference. According to Sondago, the death of 13-year-old <a href="https://chicago.suntimes.com/news/2021/4/5/22367894/adam-toledo-shooting-police">Adam Toledo</a>, shot and killed by a police officer while reportedly armed and running from officers. Sondago said the Toledo shooting compelled him to do more to try and get guns off the street and to help quell the city’s violence. </div></span><p></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;">“A few months ago, I watched one of our children Adam Toledo, lying under a garbage can in a Chicago alley shot to death, and I can’t wrap my head around it,” Sondago said. “I met with Father Mike, and said, ‘I have to do something.’ I gave him some ideas, and he finally said, ‘Hey Tom, why don’t you do what you do best.’ </span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;">“I buy and sell things in the city, so I'm putting up $25,000, and we’re gonna buy some guns back,” said Sondago.</span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;">The gun buyback is a no-questions-asked proposition that exchanges cash for guns turned in. Those turning in guns must be age 25 or younger. </span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;">“We want to try to help save lives. We want to reach the younger brothers and sisters, who are not usually being reached in a lot of the gun buyback programs,” Pfleger said. </span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Those turning in guns will receive $100 for rifles, $200 for handguns or assault rifles and $20 for high-capacity magazines/clips. </span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhochYKArYigvFQusEH7MVb254H_mVhRgQlYbsZdGJ3ATD1mfmHyK8tNfvw5GpETy053y3oCxrB69_UT0-bB41ODHHFvTvLYM_0HOW_NEmK_p9uv6NK5W8U8C_TMOdMFeBqhzc4Z1wilS0Z7jcs9Giyi7ULyzNP6YsiOVH7Ln3Ja81_vCxDL3tzfkwG=s6000" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4000" data-original-width="6000" height="426" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhochYKArYigvFQusEH7MVb254H_mVhRgQlYbsZdGJ3ATD1mfmHyK8tNfvw5GpETy053y3oCxrB69_UT0-bB41ODHHFvTvLYM_0HOW_NEmK_p9uv6NK5W8U8C_TMOdMFeBqhzc4Z1wilS0Z7jcs9Giyi7ULyzNP6YsiOVH7Ln3Ja81_vCxDL3tzfkwG=w640-h426" width="640" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Among the cache of firearms turned in at the church's gun buy-back was this box of assorted handguns.</td></tr></tbody></table><p></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Pfleger noted that the gun buyback is not solely about cash but also an opportunity for his church to impart life, hope and an opportunity for change and social uplift for those who enter the church’s doors to turn in a gun, and where staff will be on hand to offer job training, counseling and educational opportunities.</span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;">“When a young person brings a gun, they will not just get $100 or cash. They will also have a conversation with a staff member from our Strong Futures program, so that we can find out how we can serve them, give them a job, mentor, and help their situation,” Pfleger said.</span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Pfleger said no one is immune from the city’s violence, not even him who has been impacted firsthand.</span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;"></span></p><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjSAdp7zWF4vXYZfnEzIv0XpKAQJy8bKZeZgH7-cJtE9BkCpP0smys-Vc286d_Z0ti3yN9xghmU3gyCMO9FLhT8S-IZ6U3knk7M6lcz2m_o8mEcoWMZMl8v29e-To4_B4AfO8zSEnNedGhj_gcJy-_zFZs07yMC9yb--TQJMTgNTJ1CRHlTIFCaXB_C=s2700" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1445" data-original-width="2700" height="171" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjSAdp7zWF4vXYZfnEzIv0XpKAQJy8bKZeZgH7-cJtE9BkCpP0smys-Vc286d_Z0ti3yN9xghmU3gyCMO9FLhT8S-IZ6U3knk7M6lcz2m_o8mEcoWMZMl8v29e-To4_B4AfO8zSEnNedGhj_gcJy-_zFZs07yMC9yb--TQJMTgNTJ1CRHlTIFCaXB_C=s320" width="320" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Father Pfleger announces gun buy-back at a press<br />conference surrounded by supporters.</td></tr></tbody></table><span style="font-size: medium;"><div style="text-align: justify;">“I couldn’t sleep last night. I’m losing sleep over and over, because they’re killing our children out here,” Pfleger said. “Our young people are afraid to go out of the house, afraid to go to school, afraid to go to the park, our children are dying.” </div></span><p></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Indeed during the press conference, behind Pfleger and his supporters stood Tenika Blackman, 40, holding her granddaughter in her arms. Blackman lost her son Lewis Funches, 22, to gun violence in the summer of 2020. A dancer who was waiting to gain admission to the Chicago Police Academy, he was shot in the head and later died in an apparent unintended target when shooting broke out at a block party on June 27, 2020.</span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;">“My son wanted to be a police officer and he loved his city,” Blackman said. “I’m here because this is my city. I don’t want to give up and I know if my son was alive, he would be here.”</span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Her son, she said, aspired to become a detective. According to Blackman, her son was anticipating a spot to open at the Chicago Police Academy in hopes to make his dream come true.</span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Following her son’s death, the Chicago Police Department issued a tweet stating, “We extend our heartfelt condolences to the family of Lewis Funches, whose dream was to become a #ChicagoPolice detective. The death of this young man to senseless gun violence is a tragic loss for the CPD and this city.” </span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Asked what she wants Chicago to remember about her son, Blackman said, “That my son laughed and lived life. He was a go-getter and pushed forward. When people told him he should give up, he didn’t. He took his test for the police academy three times, and he passed.”</span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Pfleger, reflecting on movie director Spike Lee’s description six years ago of the violence in Chicago necessitating the declaration of “a state of emergency,” said that today “it’s even worse.”</span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;">“We keep screaming for this state of emergency. I was told by somebody in the government that the governor can’t call a state of emergency,” Pfleger added. “Well, in 2013 Governor Quinn called for a state of emergency because of a flooding. If we can have a state of emergency because of flooding, we ought to have a state of emergency because of dying. </span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;">“There’s not water rushing down our streets there’s blood rushing down our streets,” said Pfleger.</span></p><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Email: <a href="mailto:Samanthalatson22@gmail.com">Samanthalatson22@gmail.com</a></span></div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1632698124437962593.post-36952309806350146812022-02-22T06:30:00.000-06:002022-02-22T07:44:25.311-06:00Column: Big Lessons From My Little Internship<p style="text-align: justify;"><b><span style="font-size: large;">By Samantha Latson</span></b></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: large;"></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;"></span></div><span style="font-size: large;"><div style="text-align: justify;"><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjQQq01VWWRtMYQqOodxqLPWcQd20DsFkaB4A6vbYPFTv2e2UhcNvlSKq0GThg5QUWt14uaGVpRgiMN735vZEHv3zFcHWepz2g5_q0ueLndnusOjbIEGQJB4uD-To1nf4k4JXmVxR65W33YDy7WaDHXomswZO_T88T8urMb_nEu5wtZH6fem_yEuI3q=s1315" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1315" data-original-width="1171" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjQQq01VWWRtMYQqOodxqLPWcQd20DsFkaB4A6vbYPFTv2e2UhcNvlSKq0GThg5QUWt14uaGVpRgiMN735vZEHv3zFcHWepz2g5_q0ueLndnusOjbIEGQJB4uD-To1nf4k4JXmVxR65W33YDy7WaDHXomswZO_T88T8urMb_nEu5wtZH6fem_yEuI3q=s320" width="285" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Samantha Latson</td></tr></tbody></table>I CAN STILL SEE HUMAN palms covering the ground during prayer on a hot summer night shortly after a crowd stops at a street corner in Auburn Gresham at 8 p.m. It marks the spot where, just hours earlier before the march, a shooting took place. These are my summer reminisces.</div></span><p></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: large;"> The group—men, women and children—followed Father Michael L. Pfleger’s lead. They kneel and place their palms where blood had been shed. “Peace, peace, peace,” the crowd of dozens shout in unison, commanding the streets and all within earshot to yield to their prayer for change.</span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: large;">Months later, with summer well ended and the first snow of winter already fallen, the marcher’s voices and chants still fill my head. Their hope. Their journey through some of Chicago’s deadliest streets in their fight to turn the cycle of violence around. I still see them, hear them clearly. And I doubt that I will ever forget.</span></p><p style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;">____________________</span></p><p style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;">____________________</span></p><p style="text-align: center;"><i style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: x-large;">"I learned that beyond the stereotypical stories that plague Black communities there are vibrant complex stories of daily life."</span></i></p><p style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;">____________________</span></p><p style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;">____________________</span></p><p style="text-align: center;"></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEglNUiDlBJkBlJBWGeLKlZncWvzzrGVhY-XNjaUv1XfAW64Qmnkqh2ozKpj8j5ZyZbBy9glOsgyU4BnsTgxxbp8m_GKQ6zg_c5flTzthJAxjyPitBfrhsAqYPMxfgjjJREqsgon6ITeFDx8WlYMwGETic82gUtySYzxOE4AX_bMxcLE2pMJehSV0BIQ=s3400" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2250" data-original-width="3400" height="424" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEglNUiDlBJkBlJBWGeLKlZncWvzzrGVhY-XNjaUv1XfAW64Qmnkqh2ozKpj8j5ZyZbBy9glOsgyU4BnsTgxxbp8m_GKQ6zg_c5flTzthJAxjyPitBfrhsAqYPMxfgjjJREqsgon6ITeFDx8WlYMwGETic82gUtySYzxOE4AX_bMxcLE2pMJehSV0BIQ=w640-h424" width="640" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Father Michael L. Pfleger leads Peace Marchers in prayer at corner where two people were shot. </td></tr></tbody></table><p></p><p></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span></span></span></p><a name='more'></a><span style="font-size: large;">Weeks earlier, Pfleger announced a call to action, exclaiming, “We’ve saved the whales, we’ve saved the birds, but our children are becoming extinct. We must save our children!” His plan with the Faith Community of St. Sabina: To “invade” the city in an effort to save our children.</span><p></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: large;">As a reporter, I decided to be there to chronicle for the entire summer each march with my professor. It was my own self-made internship, as my pickings for a summer job at a newspaper were slim to nonexistent due to the pandemic, though my need for real-life reporting and writing experience remained necessary to building a career in journalism. </span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: large;">My assignment was simple. Cover the marches on Fridays: take notes, take pictures—lots of them, plus video. Observe and be prepared to do a lot of walking. </span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"></p><p></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: large;">I remember covering the weekly marches, sometimes running with my camera, trying to capture Pfleger as he prayed, hugged, and encouraged people, often strangers, he encountered in the streets.</span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: large;">At other times, I stood amid the crowd—the young and the old—capturing them and the scene—the motorists who honked in support as the human caravan flowed through the streets, or a person having emerged from a storefront and crying or applauding the church’s efforts. Or I walked alongside the marchers, even as the last glimpse of sun faded on a summer city night with them still calling on the Lord for divine intervention.</span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: large;"></span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: large;">I’ll never forget the marchers who oozed with excitement as the green truck, which led them, outfitted with loud speakers, turned every corner, blasting Civil Rights anthems and other songs of Black pride and empowerment. Marvin Gaye’s “Inner City Blues,” Bob Marley’s “Get up Stand up,” and Public Enemies “Fight the Power” rang throughout the course through the city’s South Side.</span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: large;">Lyrics of hope permeated the streets, the handheld signs of some of the marchers—and also some fists—raised in solidarity.</span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: large;">“The world won't get no better, if we just let it be, the world won't get no better, we gotta change it, yeah, just you and me,” Teddy Pendergrass’ voice blared as Harold Melvin & The Bluenotes, “Wake Up Everybody” played. “So I'm gonna stand up, take my people with me, together we are going to a brand new home.”</span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: large;"></span></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEi8YBkO4og6Qap74BStQ6QHp-CAYLDeX6EESiUBaxEbQsO-Qyb7tpg44vZoKSpFi7QmEiA-G4XkCMlzRPOkvHjs1xgumgyKy6GXvpsodvn5rmC7bLrU6jLCLv95w_sdDhxXsvCl3zazO-ENOOkB_JADlutrms-r5aT452_dLMOgwMMFrPp8kigCgTQq=s2078" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1017" data-original-width="2078" height="314" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEi8YBkO4og6Qap74BStQ6QHp-CAYLDeX6EESiUBaxEbQsO-Qyb7tpg44vZoKSpFi7QmEiA-G4XkCMlzRPOkvHjs1xgumgyKy6GXvpsodvn5rmC7bLrU6jLCLv95w_sdDhxXsvCl3zazO-ENOOkB_JADlutrms-r5aT452_dLMOgwMMFrPp8kigCgTQq=w640-h314" width="640" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Reporter Samantha Latsson reporting on the scene at the Summer Peace March in 2021.</td></tr></tbody></table><p></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: large;">There were few, if any, new homes along the prayers’ route. Wrought-iron fences, darkened storefront churches sealed by metal bars and locks. Evidence all around that there is likely more hurt than hope for so many here and the offer of prayer a perhaps welcome balm. </span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: large;">That seemed the case one Friday evening for one woman who the prayer warriors happened upon with “Fight the Power,” blaring and a man apparently forcing her out of a sedan with a baby in the summer heat, abandoning them on 76th Street.</span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: large;">The woman screamed, but the driver seemed unfazed, speeding away in the wind. Pfleger and his followers stopped. They prayed for her as the young woman cradled the child in her arms. The pastor’s right hand rested gently on the back of her head, as he spoke a word of life into her ears, and afterwards others in the church sought to offer help and services.</span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: large;">That is what I remember.</span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: large;">I don’t know all that I was expecting from my summer assignment—maybe a few clips and experience doing up close and personal, real-life journalism about a critical subject in a big city that deserves much more news media attention. But I got so much more. I learned the importance as a journalist in simply being there. Of sticking around and returning to the scene long after the news cameras have packed up and gone. </span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: large;">I learned that beyond the stereotypical stories that plague Black communities there are vibrant complex stories of daily life. Of people working to effect change. I learned that my lens and my pen as a journalist can make a difference. I learned that the stories journalists encounter—the faces, voices, lives and people’s journeys, even if tumultuous and filled with tears—can become the tapestry of experiences that make you, even as a reporter, better for having taken that journey with them.</span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: large;">I can’t forget. </span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: large;">Even now as a graduate student, many miles away at Indiana University, I miss those summer nights, bearing witness to the “good news” Father Pfleger and St. Sabina extend to the community beyond the church’s walls. The light that beamed bright amid the darkness—natural and spiritual—as families came out of their homes, smiling and waving from their porches at the passing prayer caravan. The young Black men who stood on the sidewalk, giving the white Catholic priest a hug, talking to him like he was one of the guys, showing respect.</span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: large;">Summer has long since ended and another looms. Cook County has recorded more than 1,000 homicides, with a reported 797 in Chicago alone, according to city officials. And although I am far from home, I am continuously made aware of the violence still plaguing Chicago’s streets. I awaken to headlines of yet another child being gunned down.</span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: large;">It reminds me why Chicago needs Father Pfleger and St. Sabina, and the entire faith community of Chicago. I witnessed the peace, the tears, the hope and the help one summer as people of faith invaded the streets. Their impact might not show up as empirical data. But how do you measure the power or effect of faith and prayer? </span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: large;">I don’t know. </span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: large;">But I cannot shake from my mind the image of people kneeling on one accord, palms stretched on the ground, and voices declaring, “peace, peace, peace,” invading darkness where blood was shed.</span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: large;">Email: <a href="mailto:Samanthalatson22@gmail.com">Samanthalatson22@gmail.com</a></span></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhI_vIaO7V6crXRmFsQSmbG_TlYesnjUNBJX05NT7eaMUI9FS7Kz-7tRPiG6ps7xSaAMJ9J3xuO4G4pziF2u0Zoe4jast4BTKmAq86g3rM1CkhYNNdTe_mkq_TgSyLHSVMivmesHA_S8fApqkh5cvIG0Y2Dd5xTUOewmS0TyxmRe_zAlAdXpA8CP0_H=s4664" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3704" data-original-width="4664" height="508" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhI_vIaO7V6crXRmFsQSmbG_TlYesnjUNBJX05NT7eaMUI9FS7Kz-7tRPiG6ps7xSaAMJ9J3xuO4G4pziF2u0Zoe4jast4BTKmAq86g3rM1CkhYNNdTe_mkq_TgSyLHSVMivmesHA_S8fApqkh5cvIG0Y2Dd5xTUOewmS0TyxmRe_zAlAdXpA8CP0_H=w640-h508" width="640" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Mothers of murdered sons and daughters were instrumental in the summer marches as members of<br />Purpose Over Pain, a group based at the Faith Community of St. Sabina</td></tr></tbody></table>Unknownnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1632698124437962593.post-1610285238851956172022-02-22T06:25:00.000-06:002022-02-22T07:45:01.727-06:00Tears For Marquise<p><span style="font-size: large;"><b></b></span></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjmNEzapyA0cu4Qh7mGOvx9UcQfVP_EWpGRJvxcjNyCpf9ZBxBto9t_Youpw4h-bm6QgwsmTJhsqMCmfAilQI00HZUKyEo-H2cik7z2uJ8WXSnEqSXG-nWQzhMiSu69HlXqrMLvK-NC7tSoIsrGNaGNTWgW4z3PCHOc5dii-2ivEsfIUawsjNINQxxd=s6000" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4000" data-original-width="6000" height="426" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjmNEzapyA0cu4Qh7mGOvx9UcQfVP_EWpGRJvxcjNyCpf9ZBxBto9t_Youpw4h-bm6QgwsmTJhsqMCmfAilQI00HZUKyEo-H2cik7z2uJ8WXSnEqSXG-nWQzhMiSu69HlXqrMLvK-NC7tSoIsrGNaGNTWgW4z3PCHOc5dii-2ivEsfIUawsjNINQxxd=w640-h426" width="640" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Pallbearers carry the casket of Marquise Richardson to an idling hearse.</td></tr></tbody></table><span style="font-size: large;"><b>By John W. Fountain</b></span><p></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: large;">TEARS. THE PIANO PLAYED HAUNTINGLY, </span></span><span style="font-size: large;">the soloist’s voice floating above the tears and sorrow inside this airy sanctuary on a somber Wednesday morning. Tears for Marquise. Tears for all Chicago children shot or slain. Agony and rivers of bitter tears.</span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: large;">Endless tears over the gunfire that crackles across this bleeding city, claiming the innocent and young with no relenting. That steals our children almost from the cradle. </span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: large;">That now rings with numbing normalcy and largely is reduced to the weekend newspaper round-up. That robs us all of hope and humanity, leaving a trail of carnage wrought by evil.<span></span></span></p><a name='more'></a><p></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: large;">Not by guns. But by miscreants who wantonly pull the trigger in what seems to be the worst of times, where none are safe. A world where rage and moral decay and bullets leave a trail of blood. And tears.</span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: large;"></span></p><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEif1CuyI4cFq-GTxP9vPLWGPRmYB_-DHc7efCmrKMQ5Z4R9uKXVJKJGQ8Rrnp3fSfLJewNcTMmL651OdvuQZlav6fBVvXO9BKDXORWGX1BnA5o-HpTUu3LyL9CV4aNQD1-UQkHmxGEXBr-PsCqWlqDqMF86EdMPbSWEnHecI-Wl3ygArIWmBlGwsuS7=s2997" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2997" data-original-width="1846" height="366" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEif1CuyI4cFq-GTxP9vPLWGPRmYB_-DHc7efCmrKMQ5Z4R9uKXVJKJGQ8Rrnp3fSfLJewNcTMmL651OdvuQZlav6fBVvXO9BKDXORWGX1BnA5o-HpTUu3LyL9CV4aNQD1-UQkHmxGEXBr-PsCqWlqDqMF86EdMPbSWEnHecI-Wl3ygArIWmBlGwsuS7=w225-h366" width="225" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"> </td></tr></tbody></table><span style="font-size: large;">Tears fell inside the Faith Community of St. Sabina, where a life-size cutout of Marquise L. Richardson reflected in bright white light near his casket, smiling and clad in a button-down white shirt and deep blue bowtie. And the piano played…</span><p></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: large;">The hands of Christ and the gold-lighted JESUS sign formed the backdrop for this agonizing and also celebratory occasion. Mourners sat inside, the back of one young man's white T-shirt emblazoned with the words in blue script: “Long Live Marquise”</span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: large;">Except Marquise is dead. </span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: large;">Reportedly shot twice in the head on July 29, while sitting in a parked car in front of his home, in the 1600 block of West Waseca Place, when someone in another car reportedly opened fire, wounding Marquise and an unidentified 29-year-old man. Marquise died two days later.</span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: large;">He was a smiley kid. He had nothing to do with nothing. Affectionately called “Quise,” he was Ashley Adams’ firstborn. A caring big brother. A loyal friend. A schoolboy.</span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: large;">In June, he graduated 8th grade at St. Sabina Academy. Five days later, he turned 14. About a month later, he was gone. No major headlines. </span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: large;">No pause in this city’s summer body count. No stagger in the pulse of life in this murderous city.</span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: large;">No media. No cameras. No public chronicling of mourning here at Marquise’s service. Only family. Teachers. Friends. Among them Marquise's classmates and his little brothers.</span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: large;">As I walked into the sanctuary, ingesting the crowd of young people, Marquise's casket, and the life-sized smiling cutout, tears filled my eyes, then overflowed. Overwhelmed that after more than 30 years of covering this story, we are still burying our children.</span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: large;">I sat there, angry with God. Until the preacher and others who spoke said again and again that this is not God's fault... I know it is not. But it makes no damn sense. </span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: large;">As the air blew cold, the preacher shared words of comfort, even as family consoled one another with pats on the back, another Kleenex, an embrace. Father Michael L. Pfleger spoke fondly of Marquise’s love for old-school music, particularly rap, and for old-school cars.</span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: large;">He shared memories of Marquise as a “teacher,” as a kind soul who loved to tell jokes, even if they weren't always funny. Of his love for football. About the “deep impact he made” in his few years. Then, in fiery tones, he called for an end to Chicago’s violence.</span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: large;">There were prayers. And tears. Laughter. And tears.</span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: large;">Grief, anger, disillusionment, and tears.</span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: large;">“Welcome home, Marquise,” Pfleger intoned in the end. “Welcome home. We'll see you in the morning.”</span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: large;">The song, “Melodies From Heaven” played as Marquise’s blue casket was ushered down the middle aisle to the front door, into the bright light, where pallbearers carried him down the church’s stairs to an idling hearse soon bound for the cemetery. </span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: large;">Tears.</span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: x-large; text-align: left;">Email: </span><a href="mailto:Author@johnwfountain.com" style="font-size: x-large; text-align: left;">Author@johnwfountain.com</a></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhXvH26seQBOkEf-9Hy24uYM85IMN0GseFfyahiGDqP1gvAvVTbQT7spZwWynT5aTNHibA3iQEzD4_l_jvLuHVDKWjdFhQg_EOib6a2q5_vvlXiOu-Q7CbyOb0sBtuEzJHOtPHwqHHcCFWBqJApSohtjgTJZ38IMNf0o4Q59Fs9eEqXe5bcg6SAkWg9=s4528" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4000" data-original-width="4528" height="566" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhXvH26seQBOkEf-9Hy24uYM85IMN0GseFfyahiGDqP1gvAvVTbQT7spZwWynT5aTNHibA3iQEzD4_l_jvLuHVDKWjdFhQg_EOib6a2q5_vvlXiOu-Q7CbyOb0sBtuEzJHOtPHwqHHcCFWBqJApSohtjgTJZ38IMNf0o4Q59Fs9eEqXe5bcg6SAkWg9=w640-h566" width="640" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><p class="p1" style="-webkit-text-stroke-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 16px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; text-align: start;"><span class="s1" style="font-kerning: none;">Ashley Adams, mother of Marquise Richardson, 14, is comforted on the stairs of The Faith Community </span></p><p class="p1" style="-webkit-text-stroke-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 16px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; text-align: start;"><span class="s1" style="font-kerning: none;">of St. Sabina where her son’s funeral service was held, as Father Michael L. Pfleger stands nearby.</span></p></td></tr></tbody></table><br /><p><br /></p>Unknownnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1632698124437962593.post-57767407503514338382022-02-22T06:20:00.000-06:002022-02-22T07:45:42.820-06:00A Grieving Mother Finds Purpose Over Pain<p style="text-align: justify;"><b></b></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhAMcWRZ6FHU7vKpFKa8SJTT9yFoZGwKiyMIY0YMjlHEvdgat_tSBS-Ul7T1b6lajhNKhUzoXzhyAuXidVJY2ZfUTPxfJ9E4ON27z8H0-ZUMebOsNusgdhBfng5UdTTaV6uzsjSoGUdpZVeyd3M_8_y3cb34CSKYpzBJPGBIetfpF9LckbmLAmT_hKs=s4664" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3704" data-original-width="4664" height="508" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhAMcWRZ6FHU7vKpFKa8SJTT9yFoZGwKiyMIY0YMjlHEvdgat_tSBS-Ul7T1b6lajhNKhUzoXzhyAuXidVJY2ZfUTPxfJ9E4ON27z8H0-ZUMebOsNusgdhBfng5UdTTaV6uzsjSoGUdpZVeyd3M_8_y3cb34CSKYpzBJPGBIetfpF9LckbmLAmT_hKs=w640-h508" width="640" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Members of "Purpose Over Pain" gather outside of St. Sabina for the 2021 Summer Peace March.</td></tr></tbody></table><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><b></b></div><b><span style="font-size: large;">By Samantha Latson</span></b><p></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: large;">Genell Taylor marched through South Side streets with members and supporters of the Faith Community of St. Sabina, chanting and clutching a portrait of her 14-year-old son. Taylor, 56, had only recently lost her son Tyrese Taylor to gun violence. </span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: large;">Despite her grief, or perhaps partly to help her deal with it, she found it important to plant her feet on Chicago’s streets, comforted by other mothers present who know what it means to walk in her shoes. </span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: large;">“I just want to honor my baby because he was murdered,” Taylor said, standing outside the rectory at St. Sabina on a summer night in June after a Peace march.</span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: large;">Taylor’s son was murdered just days earlier, according to police, fatally shot on June 10, outside their North Lawndale home on the city’s West Side. </span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: large;">She said that as a mother she had strived to do what any good parent hopes to achieve: To raise her son and to shield him from hurt, harm and danger. <span></span></span></p><a name='more'></a><p></p><p style="text-align: justify;"></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEi4unn3ouPUZMAPpR9CwWq3vJR_8p6ZRN3IiEG4xpfE8xIxteZKSzzz-32c-D_hekdK2UsnCDf1rHK7tZbYQOaJiiCq73TVfLAVkakX9rzEfED9qdWYmfo2u9cjnmeVyZNkFt4onqgWDcLTSm_U5CJ4GVPUExIQWQ4n-7PmP9jJfLaO0KkSRDZ8YDAM=s5925" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="5925" data-original-width="5832" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEi4unn3ouPUZMAPpR9CwWq3vJR_8p6ZRN3IiEG4xpfE8xIxteZKSzzz-32c-D_hekdK2UsnCDf1rHK7tZbYQOaJiiCq73TVfLAVkakX9rzEfED9qdWYmfo2u9cjnmeVyZNkFt4onqgWDcLTSm_U5CJ4GVPUExIQWQ4n-7PmP9jJfLaO0KkSRDZ8YDAM=w630-h640" width="630" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Genell Taylor, who lost a son to homicide, holds a portrait of her son at a Peace March.</td></tr></tbody></table><p></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: large;">That was her motivation in planning to leave the menacing streets of her West Side neighborhood and move her family to the suburbs, where she believed they would have a better life in a safe community. </span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: large;">On the day of their planned move, a U-Haul van was outside their home and the family had begun loading their belongings. According to police, Tyrese was shot multiple times on the sidewalk in the 1100 block of South Karlov Avenue. He was taken to Mt. Sinai Hospital where he was pronounced dead, according to police.</span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: large;">During St. Sabina’s march against violence attended by Taylor, the grassroots group Purpose over Pain was among the march’s chief supporters. The group consists of mothers whose children were slain. At the march, they joined together, raising pictures and signs of young Black children who had once walked Chicago’s streets. </span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: large;">For mothers like Taylor and Delphine Cherry, another member of Purpose Over Pain who lost a son and a daughter to murder, the summer marches are an outlet for those who have become members of a sorority that no mother wants to be eligible to join.</span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: large;">The organization is a 501c3 founded in 2007 by “several Chicago-area parents who lost their children to gun violence.”</span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: large;">“These and other parents who were affected by violence now have a purpose to be effective in preventing gun violence over merely living with the pain,” according to the group’s published self-description.</span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: large;">“Purpose over pain speaks for itself,” said Cherry in an interview. “You put your purpose over your pain. Out of all the groups, they are still standing.</span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: large;">“I can say Father Pfleger genuinely cares about grieving parents, not just the women, but men too,” Cherry added. “He makes sure he looks after us.”</span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: large;">For Taylor, it is a new and peculiar journey. But she said she looks forward to standing shoulder to shoulder with women who bear similar wounds. </span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: large;">“I love this, this is something I can look forward to,” Taylor said. “I just want to be with ladies who are going through like me and get support because I know I’m going to need it. </span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: large;">“I’ve never been through anything like this,” she added. “But I want to be a strong woman where I can just talk about my baby.”</span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: large;">Email: <a href="mailto:Samanthalatson22@gmail.com">Samanthalatson22@gmail.com</a></span></p>Unknownnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1632698124437962593.post-31657379641120541872022-02-22T06:15:00.000-06:002022-02-22T07:46:13.789-06:00Church Launches Summer Invasion<h2 style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: x-large;">Faith vs. Violence: And They March</span></h2><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEiY_mWkzXzF5A_Tvc3JMMuKhuTtECr0wSxQF57PDDNAwf-6rkni6pVR23-pvg_R3Rtr0fmNTyHqWX0cNOUTKR3Aex3HHH6tsDYTL5nShaIynUpPla-M_U4grkafPSLKOyIeR07-uV5sIIbQ4-aQBOPrwZLF2S5KeuKp_QyRppyc9BO3CB0Gg1k8zHFi=s2048" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1769" data-original-width="2048" height="552" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEiY_mWkzXzF5A_Tvc3JMMuKhuTtECr0wSxQF57PDDNAwf-6rkni6pVR23-pvg_R3Rtr0fmNTyHqWX0cNOUTKR3Aex3HHH6tsDYTL5nShaIynUpPla-M_U4grkafPSLKOyIeR07-uV5sIIbQ4-aQBOPrwZLF2S5KeuKp_QyRppyc9BO3CB0Gg1k8zHFi=w640-h552" width="640" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Father Michael L. Pfleger, Senior Pastor of the Faith Community of St. Sabina points the way<br /> forward as the South Side Catholic church kicks off its summer-long "Friday Night Peace Walk" </td></tr></tbody></table><p></p><p><span style="font-size: large;"><i>“And I tell you, you are Peter, and on this rock I will build my church, and the gates of hell shall not prevail against it." </i>Matthew 16:18</span></p><p><span style="font-size: large;"><b>By John W. Fountain</b></span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: large;">Against the raging tide, against the forces of evil--as the golden evening sunlight on the first Friday of summer yields to darkness and shadows in Auburn Gresham, where the streetlights illuminate this faithful trail of prayer warriors--they march.<span></span></span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: large;">Led by a young Black man, hoisting a giant cross, emblazoned with “Demand Justice” on one side and “Stop Shooting” on the other, they march. West on 79th Street and beyond, through this South Side business thoroughfare and turning down tree-lined streets, they walk through the valley of the shadow of death. </span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: large;"><i>“I will fear no evil; for thou art with me…</i>” <span></span></span></p><a name='more'></a><p></p><p></p><p style="text-align: justify;"></p><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgAUQ5WZBLEP648H-IodoCXUGRDRr38JyHSR8msilIxincg5BExH_w5LlFRCYsFiaI-nlQfRvlcvqDfZN7xBz1FUWv1zo3bbLf15sDrGj90ohswYvEoSHCO8XW709Pg2KbdaH8npHhpqlBSqWTVzZ21ivdAB0f3OSk54FJpQ1RBzAJ3VddvRL4IQdlc=s2048" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1365" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgAUQ5WZBLEP648H-IodoCXUGRDRr38JyHSR8msilIxincg5BExH_w5LlFRCYsFiaI-nlQfRvlcvqDfZN7xBz1FUWv1zo3bbLf15sDrGj90ohswYvEoSHCO8XW709Pg2KbdaH8npHhpqlBSqWTVzZ21ivdAB0f3OSk54FJpQ1RBzAJ3VddvRL4IQdlc=s320" width="213" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">A woman hoists a sign during the<br />Friday Night Peace Walk.</td></tr></tbody></table><span style="font-size: large;"><div style="text-align: justify;">They march, the Faith Community of St. Sabina--an invasion of Christian believers, having accepted this divine mission to be violence interrupters. Their fight is a supernatural one, using earthly tools, including the microphone through which Father Michael L. Pfleger invokes a call for peace. </div></span><p></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: large;">Marchers--young and old, even a man on crutches--respond in unison as music spills from a green SUV. Songs of fight, encouragement and freedom:</span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: large;">Public Enemies’ “Fight The Power.” Bob Marley’s “War.” Kendrick Lamar’s “We Gon Be Alright.” Tupac’s “Changes” and John Legend and Common’s “Glory.”</span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: large;">They march--flashing the peace sign as motorists honk, and people along the route spill from local businesses and houses in support, smiling, waving, crying. </span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: large;">They march in St. Sabina’s annual “Friday Night Peace Walks,” held Fridays from the start of summer until the end, and beginning at 7 p.m., at the church, except July 2, when St. Sabina hosted its “Block Party.”</span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: large;">Some carry signs: “Honk 4 Peace” and “Pray for Peace.” Others lift portraits of murdered sons and daughters. </span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: large;">Their appeal is to a higher power to intervene in the invisible realm, where public policy, policing strategies, and economic revitalization plans--all vital and necessary--have no power. They march to invoke a spiritual shift. To spark reverberations of hope and peace in the intangible atmosphere that might invariably alter evil’s manifestations in this world. That might transform hearts, minds, their community.<br /></span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: large;"><i>“For we wrestle not against flesh and blood, but against principalities, against powers, against the rulers of the darkness of this world…”</i></span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"></p><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEiN4aD7g1eh2CPO7T__IWEvyM81i9VVfr7uJyfWNd6XVL3pfPYn3pSueXsKJcs0QT7Ps8aLpUyTWanr99OPdse6o72MamFgQHKrkbL93cXVp6vh3Qg4-6LAQFJ7-mUhbe3Rs7IE8vwZ4CWF7ibz_jfrnvbLxSPyQ1ZSsCj41PnMJlTHPQtVxDFKlg1e=s2048" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1423" data-original-width="2048" height="444" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEiN4aD7g1eh2CPO7T__IWEvyM81i9VVfr7uJyfWNd6XVL3pfPYn3pSueXsKJcs0QT7Ps8aLpUyTWanr99OPdse6o72MamFgQHKrkbL93cXVp6vh3Qg4-6LAQFJ7-mUhbe3Rs7IE8vwZ4CWF7ibz_jfrnvbLxSPyQ1ZSsCj41PnMJlTHPQtVxDFKlg1e=w640-h444" width="640" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Father Pleger comforts a a mother whose daughter Raniyah Manuel, 10 (also pictured) was shot in Chicago last year, according to her parents.</td></tr></tbody></table><span style="font-size: large;">So they march--against the gates of hell, calling upon the name of the Lord. Spiritually intervening for a community, for a people, for a city besieged by mass shootings and murder. The killing of our babies. The slaying of old ladies.</span><p></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: large;">Against chaos. Gunfire by day, at evening and into the night. Headlines chronicle the foreboding battle between darkness and light.</span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: large;">“At least 77 people shot in weekend violence in Chicago, including 17 in two mass shootings.”</span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: large;">“Infant among 5 shot in Englewood” </span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: large;">So they pray. And they march, stepping intently, pounding through these humidity-thick streets, where tears, blood and violence flow. In a brutal city, where the winds of murder blow cold here, especially in summer, and where bullets tear bodies asunder. They chant: </span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: large;">“Peace up… Guns down…”</span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: large;">“We want peace… We want peace… We want peace!”</span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: large;">“Save our babies… Save our babies… Save our babies!”</span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: large;">They march, emboldened by the Holy Spirit and compelled by the agony of a city where hearse wheels carrying the bodies of murdered children never cease. Out here, in these streets, where neighborhoods on the other side of the tracks know no peace.</span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: large;">As I stand here in the midst of them, I can hear the naysayers’ and unbelievers’ jagged whispers in the wind: “What’s all that marching and praying going to do?” </span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: large;">With nearly 11 people shot every day in Chicago so far this year, my response is: “What in hell are you going to do?”</span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: large;">Against the gates of hell, they march.</span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjaqflvwYYEHl36BPIn3iDlh-UavnaUXQQ0Mp6taXURQkpoiIzGZfu9jaYyWQgfH_JGIrCusJvO116YP4tKB7cVgErhjC0XWg7Jkn3OePY6V47US7D2NiwS-dggKLt7GJo4WFsSk-eeIQKJQdBZdVNW6WRkokS8vc78abZ9fYfmaGWYX_0FQwtdv_M2=s2048" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1324" data-original-width="2048" height="414" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjaqflvwYYEHl36BPIn3iDlh-UavnaUXQQ0Mp6taXURQkpoiIzGZfu9jaYyWQgfH_JGIrCusJvO116YP4tKB7cVgErhjC0XWg7Jkn3OePY6V47US7D2NiwS-dggKLt7GJo4WFsSk-eeIQKJQdBZdVNW6WRkokS8vc78abZ9fYfmaGWYX_0FQwtdv_M2=w640-h414" width="640" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Hundreds Hundreds marched on Friday, June 25, in the Faith Community of St. Sabina’s annual “Friday Night Peace Walks.”</td></tr></tbody></table><p></p><div><br /></div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1632698124437962593.post-27779061220787961392022-02-22T06:10:00.000-06:002022-02-22T07:46:52.309-06:00Chicago: A Tale of Two Cities<p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: large;"></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjM8Y0qLzQosTa-g_ISuVgGnsdhc0MSGyxOiMQhov6xZKm1B-25I3NBprH2eQxqiC-F1Iq8JBJamcwt6Z9WNuOzAth9aq1Iul_LxeYB-ocWQ2rp5E0nti9FD_eghaU5DV_EMBI9AcXrh6tgr-DUqMVaxXnmYi0-Szp0MxcWR8FCvKa5Zl30CMINyhsz=s4032" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1960" data-original-width="4032" height="312" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjM8Y0qLzQosTa-g_ISuVgGnsdhc0MSGyxOiMQhov6xZKm1B-25I3NBprH2eQxqiC-F1Iq8JBJamcwt6Z9WNuOzAth9aq1Iul_LxeYB-ocWQ2rp5E0nti9FD_eghaU5DV_EMBI9AcXrh6tgr-DUqMVaxXnmYi0-Szp0MxcWR8FCvKa5Zl30CMINyhsz=w640-h312" width="640" /></a></span></div><span style="font-size: large;"><b>By John W. Fountain</b></span><p></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: large;"></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhGXjnFR8YVn9EXP1tQOZnJqux6MDBmpS4oaCQxezJOs513-l-d2wGUrS3qxzcCmK-1MMb9H_uP97iShigWBoyUJuGW_YQyhfys_vATz6_dhJgWj9zdOmf1CMUyK3iY4qi4DC8LYYsVDdRdQzy6PS5__Sa56gUMajNUxPjDFZm0WfYPMSUeZHb6I4tr=s1003" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1003" data-original-width="794" height="225" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhGXjnFR8YVn9EXP1tQOZnJqux6MDBmpS4oaCQxezJOs513-l-d2wGUrS3qxzcCmK-1MMb9H_uP97iShigWBoyUJuGW_YQyhfys_vATz6_dhJgWj9zdOmf1CMUyK3iY4qi4DC8LYYsVDdRdQzy6PS5__Sa56gUMajNUxPjDFZm0WfYPMSUeZHb6I4tr=w178-h225" width="178" /></a></span></div><span style="font-size: large;">Let me say it again: Chicago is pretty and Chicago is ugly. Even on her most beautiful of days. And this is her glaring dichotomy for me as a native son who stands with a foot in each world. Chicago stirs within me both love and hate.</span><p></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: large;">I love Chicago. And I hate her. She is a tale of two cities, two-faced. </span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: large;">She is a glistening skyscraper-lit city on a shimmering sailboat-dotted Great Lake, the epitome of picture postcard beauty. </span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: large;">She is a bloody city, where wanton gunfire rips Black and brown babies from their families, leaving a trail of blood, tears and carnage on streets littered with shell casings. </span></p><p style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"></span></p><p style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: x-small;">_______________________ </span></p><p style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: x-small;">_______________________ </span></p><blockquote><blockquote style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><i>"I love the Chi. But it’s complicated."</i></span></blockquote></blockquote><p></p><p style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: x-small;">_______________________ </span></p><p style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;"></span></p><p style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: x-small;">_______________________ </span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: large;">The Chicago I know is the city of succulent deep-dish pizza, Michael Jordan’s Bulls and Lollapalooza. Of safe neighborhoods in some parts, where children frolic freely in the summer sun. </span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: large;">It is a Chicago of unsafe neighborhoods in other parts, where irreverent unsavory young men with automatic weapons and disregard for human life gun down children while they jump rope, make mud pies, wait in a McDonald’s drive-thru, or play in a bouncy house. A soul-less city of mounting child autopsies.</span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: large;">Chicago shines. Chicago bleeds. Chicago soars. Chicago falls. </span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: large;">She uplifts. And she crushes. She is angelic and devilish, bipolar even. She is the meadow. She is the ghetto.</span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: large;">She is a Ferris wheel-twinkling safe zone. And she is a muzzle-flashing war zone. </span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: large;">Chicago is good. Chicago is bad. </span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: large;">Even when I am relishing her skyline and cultural gems, her scents and sounds of the seasons--even when the lake and city are white-frosted over--I am reminded that my love for her runs deep to my bones. The city intoxicates me.</span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: large;">But I am sobered by the portrait of Chicago’s dark side--by the faces and travail of those who dwell in her land of the forgotten beyond the Magnificent Mile, on Chicago’s insignificant isles, where poverty and gun violence rise assuredly each morning like the sun. </span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: large;">“The American Millstone,” some have called them who dwell on the other side. “The Truly Disadvantaged.” “The Permanent Underclass.” </span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: large;">I was once one of them. </span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: large;">I am still one of them--my zip code eternally 60623, no matter where life or my choices take me. And my pen and heart are forever wed to that part of Chicago where I grew up and lived for more than two decades.</span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: large;">My writing as a journalist for more than 30 years, and as a freelance columnist for this newspaper for the last 12 years can attest to that, and also to my love for Bigger Thomas’ town. I love the Chi. But it’s complicated.</span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: large;">And inasmuch as I might ever be tempted to close my eyes to the grim realities that compose life for those who dwell beyond Chicago’s safe neighborhoods and her tourist thoroughfare, I cannot. No matter how much Chicago shimmers, I cannot. </span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: large;">No matter who says that Chicago’s beauty and hope outshine or outweigh her goriness and bleakness, or that fewer shootings and murders or per capita violence stats make Chicago not America’s bloodiest city, I cannot. I’ve heard such rumblings lately.</span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: large;">But I know the truth: That in Englewood Chicago, and East and West Garfield Chicago, and Austin Chicago and Lawndale and Auburn Gresham Chicago bullets fly, the children die, and all the pie-in-the-sky platitudes over the city’s beauty ring hollow.</span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: large;">The number that matters most is one. If it is your loved one who is murdered or shot, that is one too many, and the impact on one’s psyche and soul immeasurable.</span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: large;">I know. </span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: large;">Chicago is pretty. She is ugly to the bone and always my love-hate home.</span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: large;">Email: <a href="mailto:Author@johnwfountain.com">Author@johnwfountain.com</a></span></p><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1632698124437962593.post-17037901268455839982022-02-14T00:12:00.010-06:002022-02-19T14:56:49.793-06:00Praying For Healing<div style="text-align: center;"><iframe allow="accelerometer; autoplay; clipboard-write; encrypted-media; gyroscope; picture-in-picture" allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="360" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/zAuFOg-u9ig?rel=0" title="YouTube video player" width="640"></iframe></div>
Unknownnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1632698124437962593.post-69351033940707803082022-02-14T00:10:00.003-06:002022-02-15T07:25:58.239-06:00The Invasion Begins<div style="text-align: center;"><iframe allow="accelerometer; autoplay; clipboard-write; encrypted-media; gyroscope; picture-in-picture" allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="360" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/OtA7bWISdVQ?rel=0" title="YouTube video player" width="640"></iframe></div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1632698124437962593.post-44712490285294045702022-02-14T00:09:00.004-06:002022-02-18T17:16:06.947-06:00Voices II -- "Because She Cares"<div style="text-align: center;"><iframe allow="accelerometer; autoplay; clipboard-write; encrypted-media; gyroscope; picture-in-picture" allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="360" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/tySXmb6R-do" title="YouTube video player" width="640"></iframe></div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1632698124437962593.post-16040864057635612322022-02-14T00:08:00.003-06:002022-02-15T07:26:34.034-06:00Voices III:"Tears for Marquise"<div style="text-align: center;"><iframe allow="accelerometer; autoplay; clipboard-write; encrypted-media; gyroscope; picture-in-picture" allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="360" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/xibk0Yn4ssU?rel=0" title="YouTube video player" width="640"></iframe></div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1632698124437962593.post-12406820614925028332022-02-14T00:07:00.010-06:002022-02-15T07:26:52.954-06:00Voices IV: "Greeting The Brothers On The Street"<div style="text-align: center;"><iframe allow="accelerometer; autoplay; clipboard-write; encrypted-media; gyroscope; picture-in-picture" allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="360" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/Osv9IR8Ii8I?rel=0" title="YouTube video player" width="640"></iframe></div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1632698124437962593.post-70999320410700097992022-02-14T00:06:00.010-06:002022-02-15T07:27:32.149-06:00Voices V: "Where They Were Shot"<div style="text-align: center;"><iframe allow="accelerometer; autoplay; clipboard-write; encrypted-media; gyroscope; picture-in-picture" allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="360" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/0pUyrqvAo6A?rel=0" title="YouTube video player" width="640"></iframe></div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1632698124437962593.post-24807281904987419772022-02-14T00:05:00.006-06:002022-02-15T07:27:53.009-06:00Voices VI: "Making Any Difference?"<div style="text-align: center;"><iframe allow="accelerometer; autoplay; clipboard-write; encrypted-media; gyroscope; picture-in-picture" allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="360" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/b-vPUoxRj5Y?rel=0" title="YouTube video player" width="640"></iframe></div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1632698124437962593.post-47612776199710183352022-02-14T00:04:00.008-06:002022-02-15T07:28:12.750-06:00Voices VII: "On The Loss Of A Son"<div style="text-align: center;"><iframe allow="accelerometer; autoplay; clipboard-write; encrypted-media; gyroscope; picture-in-picture" allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="360" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/y0feRBO8bTA?rel=0" title="YouTube video player" width="640"></iframe></div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1632698124437962593.post-5284347282439178552022-02-14T00:03:00.008-06:002022-02-15T07:28:36.838-06:00Voices VIII: "Standing In The Need Of Prayer"<div style="text-align: center;"><iframe allow="accelerometer; autoplay; clipboard-write; encrypted-media; gyroscope; picture-in-picture" allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="360" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/YTX5Vtbqu0w?rel=0" title="YouTube video player" width="640"></iframe></div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1632698124437962593.post-38994138913456799542022-02-14T00:01:00.004-06:002022-02-15T07:29:04.063-06:00Voices IX: "And They Danced"<div style="text-align: center;"><iframe allow="accelerometer; autoplay; clipboard-write; encrypted-media; gyroscope; picture-in-picture" allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="360" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/SQdmIFHfB8E?rel=0" title="YouTube video player" width="640"></iframe></div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1632698124437962593.post-70942725758643871212022-02-14T00:00:00.003-06:002022-02-15T07:29:21.222-06:00Summer Invasion: Grieving Mother Speaks At Press Conference<div style="text-align: center;"><iframe allow="accelerometer; autoplay; clipboard-write; encrypted-media; gyroscope; picture-in-picture" allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="360" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/jgeFEd-fWto?rel=0" title="YouTube video player" width="640"></iframe></div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1632698124437962593.post-29691124619906150592022-01-01T21:01:00.002-06:002022-02-21T21:07:27.407-06:00There Are Children Here<div style="text-align: center;"><iframe allow="accelerometer; autoplay; clipboard-write; encrypted-media; gyroscope; picture-in-picture" allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="380" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/YA1PYXyrZro?rel=0" title="YouTube video player" width="640"></iframe></div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com