I was taught never to question God. In my faith tradition, questioning God was akin to heresy and blasphemy, but there was no one else I could ask these questions.

Why? Why Pinckney and all of these innocent people? My God! Mrs. Susie? Why Mrs. Susie, Lord? She would not hurt a living soul. Why? Why any of these people? None of them deserved to die like this.

I grappled with the senseless murder of the dear friend and brother I referred to simply as Pinckney -- the Rev. Clementa Pinckney, the pastor of Mother Emanuel AME Church -- and eight other faithful souls on that life-altering Wednesday evening: DePayne Middleton-Doctor, Cynthia Hurd, Susie Jackson, Ethel Lance, Tywanza Sanders, Daniel Simmons Sr., Sharonda Coleman-Singleton, Myra Thompson.

I could not comprehend how such a thing could happen, during a period of prayer and Bible study, in such a sacred place. Such hatred, such unprovoked violence, such evil had penetrated the holiest of places.

My soul felt empty but at the same time flooded with bewilderment, anger, loneliness, anxiety, loss. There was no real space to process any of it, because I had to remain strong for Pinckney's widow, Jennifer, and their daughters. I had to maintain hopeful optimism as a pastor in the African Methodist Episcopal Church and a leader in the community. I was expected to help bring people together -- to be a leader in the process of healing, reconciliation and forgiveness.