Spirit Quill

There is a kind of grief that doesn’t know how to cry. It lingers in the chest like smoke in a sealed room — thick, unseen, suffocating. You wake with it. You sleep with it. You carry it, even when no one asks you to.

That is the grief many feel when they hear — once again — of Christians being killed in Northern Nigeria.

And then, there is the other silence. The silence of the government. The silence of those who hold power but seem to have grown calluses on their conscience. The silence that follows after horror, like a shrug after a scream.

This is the kind of silence that feels loud. Deafening. Unholy.

The Scandal of Innocence

The spiritual heart struggles to make peace with such injustice. How is it that those who gather to pray, to worship, to live quietly — are so often the ones met with bullets, machetes, and fire? What wickedness finds joy in destroying the lives of people whose only weapon is faith?

We know from Scripture that the path of righteousness has never been without cost. The early Church was born in persecution. The saints we revere were martyred, not pampered. Christ Himself was crucified outside the city gates, as though He were too filthy for the holy places.

But knowing this does not make it easier. It doesn’t dull the sting of watching men killed in front of their wives, or children growing up without fathers because their family chose Christ over fear.

There is a sacredness to this suffering — but sacred does not mean soft. Sacred hurts. Sacred bleeds.

When Government Becomes Ghost

There is a tragic irony in the fact that the government can swiftly respond to political protests, organize motorcades for dignitaries, and deliver speeches with practiced precision — but when blood flows in rural churches, their lips grow heavy.

They do not say nothing. They say things like “unknown gunmen.” They say things like “farmer-herder conflict.” They say, “We are looking into it.”

But we have heard those phrases before. Too many times. And each time, they sound more like excuses than answers.

The soul begins to wonder: is this slowness incompetence, or indifference? Has the state grown tired of protecting its own people? Or worse — has it chosen which people it wishes to protect?

In spiritual terms, this is more than political failure. It is the sin of Cain, repeated over and over. “Am I my brother’s keeper?” — as though responsibility dies at the edge of power.

The Light That Does Not Die

And yet — and yet — the light still burns.

This is the mystery of faith. That even when drenched in sorrow, the spirit of the believer does not collapse. We have seen women who have lost everything still lifting their hands in worship. We have seen churches rebuilt from ashes, again and again. We have seen communities bury their dead and still say, “God is good.”

This is not weakness. It is not delusion. It is defiance. It is a refusal to let hatred define our testimony.

For Christians, suffering is never meaningless. The tears are counted. The wounds are remembered. We believe in a God who was wounded too — and who rose, not with revenge, but with redemption in His hands.

One day — we do not know when — the Judge of all the earth will answer with justice that does not stutter. And until then, we mourn. But we mourn with meaning.

A Wake-Up Cry

To those in power: your silence is not neutral. It is a kind of speech. And heaven is listening.

To the body of Christ: do not look away. Do not let your heart grow hard. If one part of the body suffers, we all suffer. This is not “their” problem. This is ours.

To the martyrs — known and unknown: your stories will not be erased. You do not die in vain. Your blood waters the ground with hope, even if the world cannot yet see it.

And to the killers, if they ever read this: there is mercy still. There is forgiveness even now. But judgment walks closely behind you, and it does not forget.

May the souls of the faithful departed, through the mercy of God, rest in peace. And may those still standing, still believing, still weeping — be strengthened with the peace that surpasses understanding.

Amen.