Dear Editor,
I write to you not as a commentator, but as a pastor, because Guyana is hurting and a pastor’s place is beside the hurting.
The waters off Essequibo have taken sons and daughters, mothers and fathers, grandchildren who were trying to get home. As of this writing, the government has confirmed at least 65 dead and approximately 38 still missing from the MV Barima, out of what may have been as many as 179 souls aboard. Families are waiting at Suddie Hospital for news no parent should have to wait for. I have sat with grieving families in hospital corridors more times than I can count in thirty years of ministry, and I know that in that waiting, words often fail. So let me not begin with words of my own, but with words older and steadier than mine.
“Blessed are those who mourn, for they shall be comforted.” (Matthew 5:4, NIV)
This is not a promise that grief will be short. It is a promise that grief will not be carried alone. To every family still waiting for a name, still waiting for a body to be found, still waiting for the phone to ring: you are not forgotten, and you are not alone in this. A whole nation is holding you in its heart this week.
“The Lord is close to the brokenhearted and saves those who are crushed in spirit.” (Psalm 34:18, NIV)
I want you to hear that verse plainly. Nearness, not distance. God has not turned away from Guyana in this hour. He is close, precisely where the breaking is deepest.
Job’s friends, for all their later missteps, got one thing right at the very beginning. “They sat with him on the ground seven days and seven nights, and no one said a word to him, because they saw how great his suffering was.” (Job 2:13, NIV) Before Guyana reaches for explanations, before we ask what could have been done differently, we owe our grieving families that same seven days of simply sitting with them. There will be a right time for hard questions about safety, about how a vessel meant for fewer passengers came to carry so many. That time will come, and it should come, because love for the living asks such questions. But this week belongs to mourning, and mourning deserves room to breathe before it is asked to do anything else.
“Weep with those who weep.” (Romans 12:15, NIV)
That is the whole instruction, and it is enough for now. Not fix, not explain, not even fully understand. Weep alongside.
For those who went out into that dark water to search, our coast guard, our fisherfolk, the international divers who came without hesitation, I hold before you this word: “Greater love has no one than this: to lay down one’s life for one’s friends.” (John 15:13, NIV) You did not have to go out into that water. You went anyway, and Guyana has seen something of Christ in that going.
And to a nation that does not always agree on much, I offer this closing prayer, borrowed in spirit from the oldest comfort our faith has to give:
Lord, be near to every family still waiting. Give strength to the searchers, wisdom to those who lead the response, and to a grieving nation, the peace that passes understanding. Bind up the brokenhearted of Guyana, and let Your comfort reach every home touched by this tragedy. Amen.
Guyana, we mourn together, and by God’s grace, we will hold one another through it.