Tragedy strikes in unexpected ways, leaving behind a wake of sorrow and questions that may never be answered. Every death is difficult to cope with, but when it hits close to home, the pain feels unbearable. My godson’s death was one of those heartbreaking losses that left me wondering if I could have done more, if I could have somehow protected him from the dangers lurking in our community.
As a pastor on the South Side of Chicago, I am all too familiar with the violence that plagues our streets. For years, I’ve dedicated my life to trying to change that reality. From the top of a roof in Chicago’s most violent neighborhood, I spent 343 days enduring the harsh winters and sweltering summers, raising awareness about the violence that tears families apart. My mission was to gather support for the construction of a much-needed community center that could serve as a beacon of hope for our youth. Thanks to the generosity of Americans from all walks of life, this dream is becoming a reality.
But even as we make strides toward transforming what we call “O Block” into “Opportunity Block,” tragedies like my godson Christian Tucker’s death remind me of how much work remains. Christian was no statistic. He was a vibrant young man with dreams and ambitions, full of promise and potential. His death was not just another tally mark in the city’s homicide count; it was a profound loss for everyone who knew and loved him.
A Bright Future Cut Short
I recently celebrated Christian’s 21st birthday at Carson’s Ribs in downtown Chicago. It was a joyful occasion, filled with laughter and light-hearted moments. It was there that Christian tried red wine for the first time. None of us could have imagined that this would be one of our last happy memories with him. Just a few days later, I received the devastating call from his mother. Christian had been shot multiple times while sitting in his car. He was gone.
The news was like a punch to the gut. We still don’t know why Christian was targeted. What we do know is that his death was utterly senseless. Christian wasn’t involved in gang activity, and he wasn’t the type of person you’d expect to be caught up in violence. He came from a loving family that supported him at every step, and he had so much to offer the world. He had just started working at my nonprofit, Project H.O.O.D., where he was poised to make a positive impact on the lives of others.
Christian’s story is a stark reminder that violence doesn’t discriminate. It can strike anyone, anywhere, at any time. This is why we must remain vigilant in our efforts to stop it.
A Bond Forged Through Tragedy
I first met Christian in 2018 under similarly tragic circumstances. His younger brother, Chanty, had died in a car accident involving a snowplow. That loss was devastating for their family, and I tried to be there for them as much as I could. Over time, Christian and I grew closer. We formed a bond that felt almost predestined, as if we were meant to walk through life together. When his mother asked me to be Christian’s godfather, I was deeply honored.
Christian didn’t let the loss of his brother drag him down. Instead, he honored Chanty’s memory by tattooing his brother’s name on his forearm and focusing on his future. He finished high school, went on to junior college, and even played basketball. He also had a passion for music that brought him joy. More than anything, Christian had a unique ability to connect with people, especially the youth. That’s why I was so excited when he joined Project H.O.O.D.—I knew he would inspire others to follow a positive path.
But now, all that potential has been cut short. Christian’s life was stolen from him, and the world is worse off because of it.
Coping with the Loss
Every death is hard, but losing Christian hit me particularly hard. A part of me keeps wondering if I failed him. Did I do enough to protect him from the dangers of our neighborhood? Could I have done more? These questions haunt me, but I know deep down that I’ll never have the answers.
As a pastor and community leader, I’ve seen how grief and tragedy can lead people down destructive paths. It’s easy to lose faith when faced with such profound loss. But Christian didn’t let tragedy define him, and I can’t let his death define me. Even though the pain of losing him is excruciating, I must continue to fight for a better future for the kids in our community. That’s what Christian would have wanted.
There have been moments since his death when I’ve felt like giving up. The weight of these losses sometimes feels too heavy to bear. But then I remember why I started this journey in the first place. I remember the dream that Christian believed in—the dream of helping every young person in our community achieve their own version of the American Dream. I owe it to him, and to all the kids who have been lost to violence, to keep going.
Moving Forward with Purpose
Christian may no longer be with us physically, but his spirit will continue to guide me as I work to mentor the youth in our community. His voice will echo in my heart as I help them navigate the challenges of growing up in a violent neighborhood. In some ways, Christian has already started his work with me. I just didn’t expect it to be in this form.
This loss has strengthened my resolve to make sure that Christian’s life—and the lives of all the young people we’ve lost—will not be in vain. We must continue to push forward, to build a better future for our community. We must make sure that every child has the opportunity to thrive, to live out their dreams, and to become the person they were meant to be.
In the end, we cannot allow these senseless deaths to define our community. We must use them as fuel to drive us toward positive change. Christian’s life had meaning, and I am committed to ensuring that his legacy lives on through the work we do at Project H.O.O.D. Together, we can create a world where tragedies like this are no longer the norm.
God bless you, and God bless America.
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