But there is an old prayer I know that asks God to shield the joyous. In my love for Black people, and on this particular day for Black men, I come back to that phrase again and again. Sometimes calm and steady, sometimes buckled at my knees. Shield those of us grappling with the joy — the terror, pain, and delight — of loving Black people in a world that cuts us down with that ever-swinging blade of senseless hatred, in a world that won’t testify to our value even as it gobbles up all that we make and do. Please shield the joyous.