A Blessing for Survivors
When old wounds are stirred by public harm
Blessed are you whose body remembers what the world would rather reduce and redact to headlines and files; whose nervous system activates at names resurfacing, at sealed doors pried open too late, at power once again exposed, and yet left undealt with.
Blessed are you when the release of records also releases the ache, the fury, and the grief you did not choose for yourself; when what is called “headline news” for others, becomes a reopening of closed wounds for you.
Rest in this truth: God does not ask you to be brave today. God does not ask you to be poised, or grateful, or strong. The Holy One, instead, is shelter — the One who knows how memories live in our bodies, as the God who keeps count of tears that never made it into the record.
Blessed are you if and as anger rises— for anger is often grief refusing to disappear quietly. It is faith expressed as justice is denied.
Blessed are you if exhaustion settles in your bones, for even Christ withdrew for rest when the crowd pressed in too close.
Blessed are you if you cannot look, cannot listen, cannot carry one more weight, for your survival has already been a holy labor.
Blessed is your refusal to give up on your healing, to give up on the thriving of others, to give up on the hope that our world does not have to be like this.
May the God who sees what was hidden, who names what was denied, and who holds together broken dreams, broken trust, and wounds both seen and unseen, wrap you now in a mercy that does not rush your healing.
May the truth that emerges do its work in the world without demanding your re-wounding. And when the noise grows loud, may you hear instead the quieter voice of God speaking your name, not as a case, not as a victim, but as beloved.
Amen.
