As you gaze upon us from the perch of wisdom bequeathed unto you by the ninety years that have passed since your birth, and you see us sometimes wallowing in our folly; forgive us Brother Malcolm.
You gave so much and taught so well, but, frequently, we have been unworthy recipients of your grace, unworthy students; forgive us Brother Malcolm.

You were engulfed in the jungle of racist oppression, beating back the thickets and the thorns, braving the vipers and other hazards, miraculously pulling yourself out of the quicksand, just to make a road for us to traverse; and yet, we sometimes refuse to even walk upon the trail you so boldly blazed. Forgive us Brother Malcolm.

You spoke so clearly, made it so plain, broke it all the way down, all the way down to the bone; yet our voices can be so weak that when the times call out, for help, for hope, for direction or love, oftentimes we refuse to even speak. Forgive us Brother Malcolm.

You loved us so much that you gave your life, so that we could live, you gave everything you had to give. You did not hesitate to make the supreme sacrifice, however, when our turn comes we think twice or thrice, calculating hustlers carefully rolling the dice and if the numbers don’t add up we shrivel like mice; callously ignoring your advice, that the price of freedom is death. Thus, here we are, Twenty-First Century slaves. Forgive us Brother Malcolm.