When I don’t know what to do, I pray the Rosary. I prayed it a gazillion times when I was growing up: every time our family went on a road trip, every day during Holy Week, every time I couldn’t sleep or was recovering from sickness or when the Pope said we should.
Yesterday, I attended the #BlackLivesMatter march for #GeorgeFloyd in Fargo. With hundreds, perhaps thousands of people, I clapped and chanted as we marched peacefully through the streets of downtown Fargo. No one broke anything. No one threw anything. When confronted, people took a knee and held both arms overhead.
I peeled off from the crowd after they left City Hall, and I went about the business of my day. Later I was on the way home from the fabric store, and when I passed the intersection of two large, busy streets on the south end of town, I saw them — a massive crowd moving south.
I got caught at the intersection, and one of the leaders of the march came to my car window to apologize. “It’s ok,” I said. “I was there with you today. I am with you. I hear you. I love you. Be careful.”
They moved people so I could turn around and head for home. As I drove away, I prayed for their safety.
Later in the evening, my friend texted to say he heard the situation had turned violent downtown. Organizers of the march were reporting, “This is not us. We don’t know who this is.” Police came out in riot gear. The National Guard came to respond to our state of emergency.
I lay down in bed after reading accounts from my cities and friends in Minneapolis/St. Paul. I wanted to pray, but no words came, so I started to pray the Rosary.
I don’t remember where all the prayers go, the Our Fathers and all the little prayers that come before the Hail Marys start. I have beads, but I didn’t pull them out. I just counted to ten on my fingers. One time, I think I prayed 15 Hal Marys.
In between each decade, I prayed for peace and safety. I prayed for the people who have been oppressed and abused and threatened for hundreds of years — for my Native friends and family, for my Black friends and family, for my Asian friends, for mothers and fathers and sisters and brothers.
I asked Mary, the Blessed Mother, to hold us in her heart, to quiet the unrest, to bless and shoo away the people who were only there to cause trouble and to spread hatred and to destroy property.
At the end of the Rosary, we pray:
Hail, Holy Queen, Mother of Mercy,
our life, our sweetness, and our hope.
To you do we cry,
poor banished children of Eden.
To you do we send up our sighs,
mourning and weeping in this valley of tears..
Turn then, most gracious advocate,
your eyes of mercy toward us,
and after this exile
show unto us the blessed fruit of thy womb,
Jesus.
O clement, O loving,
O sweet Virgin Mary,
pray for us,
that we may be made worthy of the promises of Heaven.
Being Wendi 