Sixteenth Street bombing

As the nations rage, as the memory of bitter blood stains our hearts, we languish on the porticoes of pain, near to the healing water’s stir. But who dares carry us to the resurrection pool?

We remember today, fifty years since past, the buoyant life of Denise McNair, age 11, caught up in the deadly virtue of bomb-laden revenge.

The blind, the lamed, the halt and shamed assemble to ask: Who can take me to the water?

We remember today the buoyant life of Carol Robertson, age 14, caught up in the deadly virtue of bomb-laden revenge.

The cowered, the forlorn—yes, even we who cling to our paralyzing pallets—await the angels’ erupting presence.

We remember today the buoyant life of Cynthia Wesley, age 14, caught up in the deadly virtue of bomb-laden revenge.

By what authority dares anyone say, “Stand up. And walk.”

We remember today the buoyant life of Addie Mae Collins, age 14, caught up in the deadly virtue of bomb-laden revenge.

Gracious One, take us to that water that we may

Wade in the water that wears down the rock, walk in the power that can’t be stopped.

©Ken Sehested @ prayerandpolitiks.org. Inspired by John 5:1-9 on the 50th anniversary of the bombing of the Sixteenth Street Baptist Church, Birmingham, Alabama. The final verse adapts language from the refrain of Pat Wictor’s “Love is the Water.”