A Lament for Renee Nicole Good

How long, O Lord,
will the streets keep swallowing names?
How long will the ground of Minneapolis
drink the sorrow of mothers, friends, neighbors,
while heaven listens and we struggle to breathe?

I stand where Jeremiah once stood—
between the wound and the Word,
between the ache of the city
and the promise you whispered long ago:
“I will be your God, and you will be my people.”

But today the people are bent low.
Today a daughter named Renee Nicole Good
has been gathered into silence,
and the city wears sackcloth under its winter coat.

My eyes are fountains.
My voice cracks like old walls in a storm.
I want to tear my robe and shout,
yet my grief is too heavy for shouting.

O God of the Kingdom,
this is not how it is supposed to be.

You taught us that your reign
looks like bread shared,
streets made safe,
dignity unthreatened,
life guarded like holy ground.

But instead—
sirens preach louder than prophets,
and justice limps while violence runs free.

Still, I remember:
You are not distant.
You are not indifferent.
You weep with those who weep,
and you refuse to call death “normal.”

So I speak this grief aloud—
not to accuse you,
but to summon us.

Let this lament become a doorway.
Let sorrow sharpen our love.
Let Renee’s name be written
not only in memory,
but in our resolve.

Teach us, O God,
how to live the Kingdom now—
where no life is disposable,
where every name is sacred,
where peace is practiced, not postponed.

Until that day,
we refuse cheap comfort.
We refuse holy silence.
We will mourn honestly,
love fiercely,
and labor stubbornly
for the world you keep promising.

For the Kingdom of God
belongs to the grieving—
and from their tears,
you are still making all things new.

by Mick Finch