LEWISTON, Maine — Dan Beazley thinks of himself as God’s EMT. On call 24/7, when the Big Man calls, Beazley doesn’t give it a second thought.
“I just go,” he said.
So it was, Saturday morning, when Beazley woke up before dawn at his home in Detroit, Michigan. Feeling the call in his heart, he loaded a 10-foot, 65-pound, wooden cross into the back of his white, Ford F150 pickup truck and started driving east.
By Sunday night, the 60-something Beazley was standing sentry with his cross outside Schemengees Bar and Grille, praying with ad hoc groups of mourners, trying to help them make sense of last week’s mass shootings and jumpstart their healing process.
A real estate broker by trade, Beazley crisscrosses the country, bringing his gentle demeanor and homemade Christian symbol of faith and sacrifice to disasters and tragedies. So far, he’s visited 25 states since 2021. Beazley has been to many mass shooting sites including those in Uvalde, Chicago, Buffalo and Memphis.
But before Sunday, he’d never had to set foot in Maine.
Beazley said God’s calling never comes in the form of words or formal directives. It’s more a feeling in his heart.
“When I start to cry, watching the news, sitting in my family room, which I don’t often do, I know God’s convinced me,” he said. “And this time, God said, ‘You gotta go man.’”
Though driving all night, then standing beside the road is physically taxing, it’s work Beazley is grateful to bear. He reckons it’s better and more useful than sitting at home. Beazley said his giant cross acts like a kind of signpost or beacon, reminding believers that a higher power cares about them.
The cross also usually draws the faithful straight to Beazley.Just before 10 p.m. on Sunday, a small group of locals were gathered in front of Schemengees, where a makeshift shrine of photographs, candles, flowers and pumpkins was beginning to take shape. Though many were strangers to each other, and none knew Beazley, he soon had them gathered in group prayer, everyone’s arms around their neighbor.
Beazley prayed that they all find peace in their hearts, that the community continue to come closer together in the face of the tragedy and that those still in the hospital have speedy recoveries. He didn’t ask them for money, direct them to a website or tell them who to vote for next month.
At the end, most of the mourners gave Beazley a hug and thanked him. Several wiped away cathartic tears. He gave each person a tiny wooden cross made from an olive tree.
“I told them that if tomorrow or 10 days from now or whenever, if they start to feel things are going sideways, that they just hold on to it and just pray for God’s light to continue to shine on them,” Beazley said.
Eventually the group dispersed, leaving the Michigander standing on the lonely stretch of road, alone with the flickering candles and flowers. Beazley said he probably wouldn’t stand out in the cold till dawn, but his one-man vigil would likely continue a while longer, into the night.
“I’m here for however long God wants me,” Beazley said. “I’ll just be standing here, quietly, and just praying over the community. When folks show up, I’ll do whatever I can do to help them heal their hearts.”