"Inspiring, thoughtful, and beautiful." --BRYAN STEVENSON
"A tender reminder and spacious invitation." -- FATHER GREGORY BOYLE
"Liz Walker accomplishes a difficult literary and theological balance with stunning clarity." --OTIS MOSS III
An extraordinary account of a Black church that decided to give neighbors a space to share their grief, No One Left Alone provides a blueprint premised on a simple truth: the wounded heal best together.
As the first Black woman to anchor the Boston-area evening news, Liz Walker found herself in an industry that defined the neighborhood of Roxbury largely by violence. But when she became a pastor there, Walker grew close to households marked not only by trauma but by courage--including the family of Cory Johnson, a young father who was murdered. In the wake of their worst nightmare, the family reached out for help.
As Walker's congregation invited neighbors to gather, they created soft spaces for others' grief to land. There, in the stories told, the meals shared, the tears shed, and the silences kept, people found a space to receive their sorrow. Out of this ministry grew a grassroots trauma-healing program, one now being replicated across the country.
Through this groundbreaking book, begin to imagine what story-sharing groups might look like in your context. Face the disparity of grief that comes from racism and systemic inequality, and learn to confront legacies of harm. Discover the healing power of listening, as well as the art and skills of accompanying someone in pain. Further, grasp how caregivers, pastors, counselors, and other healers--many with their own wounds--can benefit from soft spaces too.
Marked by history and surrounded by violence and loneliness, we all long for healing. In the tradition of esteemed writers like Bryan Stevenson and Cole Arthur Riley, Walker writes about how community helps us transfigure trauma. There is nothing dramatic about listening to someone's story or sharing our own. But there is mystery here, and sacredness. No one has to be left alone.
