It’s been 58 days since we gathered together in Elliston Chapel at Baylor University to say these words together:
Even though our grief may last for ages,
Our hope is never entirely lost.
We acknowledge that sometimes hope is a bright light
breaking through the darkness
and sometimes hope is a tiny flicker
barely visible in the dead of night.
Sometimes the most we can do is hope to hope.
There are times we cannot hold on to hope at all.
We lose our grip, and somehow the hope carries us
through the wilderness of our despair.
Sometimes hope is loud,
and sometimes hope is quiet.
Sometimes hope is as small as our next breath,
Sometimes hope is the gumption that rises
like beauty from the ashes of our past,
Sometimes hope makes us brave. Sometimes hope heals.
Today is a day we can easily speculate about the future of a football program, the future of administration, the future of recruiting etc. Let us not forget today is a day that people whose stories we’ll never know are listening to our responses. They will hear today that their voice caused Baylor to fall or that their experience was their fault. They will be called names and made to feel fear all over again.
Some will be happy, some will be sad, some will just want it all to end. But today, as Christians, our response should be mindful of those forgotten in this story. Those who suffered at the hand of negligence for far too long. We are responsible for the culture change that follows. We are responsible for teaching respect, teaching consent, teaching each other what it means to choose people over prestige. May we choose to hold ourselves to a standard beyond the law of the land.