God of the margins,

We encounter you in the ostracized, in the liminal, on the outskirts of town. We encounter you in the pariah, the reject, the apostate.

Sometimes we are the pariah, plagued by the ghosts of failed expectations. Of merciless accusations. With no consolation but your deafening silence.

Sometimes we find you again. In a fellow outcast whose words spark hope. Whose vulnerability is magnetic. Whose inspiration is contagious.

Their voice reverberates with the love we thought we lost, and the boldness we were too terrified to touch.

We had such a prophet in Rachel. Rachel was a guiding voice to us lost souls. We who wander the desert, in search of our better selves. In search of you. But now she is gone.

Surely, you can do better than that. Surely, you could have found a better way to end the story of such a woman of words.

What is gained from her sudden silence?

We struggle with our questions, as we try to make meaning from that which is meaningless.

And as we do so, we remember the hope of Rachel.

For she was inspired by someone who was not received in his home town. Who elevated the lowly. Who centered the marginalized.

His life was vanquished. His breath became air.

But the silence of death was no match for his voice. And death was swallowed up in his life.

So we remember the superlative story of a short but valiant life.

For her voice still speaks, haunting the powerful, invigorating the alienated.

She speaks of an outcast whose thunderous resurrection broke the silence of death.

Give us the courage to hope as she did. Wander with us, as we continue to search for Sunday.