As we approach the second Sunday in Advent, many churches will be lighting the peace candle and reading about the day when, “the wolf shall live with the lamb and the leopard shall lie down with the kid,” (Isaiah 11:6). For Rev. Gabrielle Corbett of Pearl River UMC, God’s promised peace finds both renewed urgency and hope, as she reflects on a recent vigil for victims of gun violence in her community. Here’s her story:
A few years ago, as the pandemic was morphing into the new normal in which we all find ourselves, I received an email asking whether or not our congregation would be interested in joining a new group based on Interfaith relations and social action.
At that point in my life, I was getting ready to go out on parental leave and not really interested in being a part of something new, but I had long been a participant in and advocate for Interfaith work… so I spoke with a few laity who were really excited about the opportunity to form this group. A few months later, Rockland Interfaith Social Action (RISA) was formed.
Over the last couple of years, this group has rallied two VERY big food drives, partnered with community organizations focused on helping with immigration needs, and developed an emerging forum on Interfaith Conversations. I am so grateful I stayed connected to the group, even when I felt like there were “better” things my time could be used for. This group is becoming a movement within our county—one that is tearing down walls, building awareness, and creating lasting relationships In short, the group truly reflects the Kin-dom of God.
Earlier this year, the author of that first email asked RISA if we would be willing to take on a vigil she had started a few years ago, called Ribbons of Remembrance. Gina Danialinia, a Synodical Deacon at Good Shepherd Lutheran Church in Pearl River, NY had been moved by the Spirit when her pastor at the time began a practice of placing candles at the altar every week—one for each person killed in a mass shooting that week. Gina felt moved to create a space where names of those who had died were spoken aloud and prayed over, tying this vigil to the celebration of All Saint’s Day.
The Ribbons of Remembrance Vigil was held at Good Shepherd Lutheran Church for two years and traveled to the Convent in Sparkill for two more years after that. When Gina first floated the idea of RISA taking ownership of the vigil, I never imagined what the experience would be like. Like many other situations in my life, I said yes because I knew it was a good idea, but I did not fully think through what the experience would entail.
As I prepared for the first fall meeting of RISA, Gina reached out to the PRUMC team directly to see if we wanted to amend the process of how Ribbons of Remembrance had been done before. Traditionally, the names of mass shooting victims were read, but Gina wondered if we wanted to read the names of those under 18 who had died from gun violence in any of its devastating forms. In her email to me, she said “it would be a lot of names, but it would be powerful.”
I’m not sure if any of us were ready for just how powerful the evening was going to be when we agreed to name every child who has lost their life to gun violence since October 2024. On November 13, we gathered at the Pearl River United Methodist Church with RISA and community members to read the names of over 1500 people who have lost their lives to gun violence—more than 1400 of those names were children under the age of 18, and the remainder of the names were law enforcement officers who were killed in the line of duty.
We read names for well over an hour, and each name corresponded to a ribbon that was lovingly tied onto a string of lights that was taken outside and continued to light up each night. The mood in the room was somber and reflective as we reminded ourselves that the 1500 names read represented real people, real families, real first responders, real trauma that will never be forgotten. It was a privilege to hold space for each memory and to prayerfully demand action, envisioning a world where there is no more gun violence. Fifteen hundred names, 1500 stories, 1500 people whose memory lives on as we say their names again and again. Fifteen hundred names is far too many. With every ribbon I held, every ribbon we tied, all 55 pages of names printed out to be read, I found myself overwhelmed by how many children lost their lives this year.
At the same time, I was encouraged by the outpouring of support by this community—clergy, community members and leaders who showed up without pomp or circumstance just to bear witness, to read names, to tie ribbons. Our RISA group gathered together across community divides, religious affiliation, and superficial labels. We lamented, but we also hoped—hoped for a day when gun violence ends, and our swords are truly beaten into ploughshares.