As word of Rev. Jesse Jackson’s death rippled through Chicago, hundreds of mourners converged on the city’s West Side for a candlelit vigil that felt as much like a recommitment ceremony as a farewell. They gathered in church pews and on the sidewalk outside, heads bowed in prayer, then lifted in song, repeating the phrase that defined his public life: keep hope alive.

Inside Greater St. John Bible Church, Rev. Ira Acree stood before a packed sanctuary and described Jackson as a giant whose influence stretched far beyond the South Side streets where he first organized. Today, we mourn the passing of Rev. Jesse Jackson, a giant in African-American and American history, Acree said. Rev. Jackson was a long-distance runner in the truest sense, not just in endurance, but in impact. He motivated, mentored, and trained generations of leaders.

Jackson, a protégé of Rev. Martin Luther King Jr. and a two-time presidential candidate, spent decades at the center of the nation’s most urgent struggles. From the push for voting rights and desegregation to campaigns for jobs, education, and healthcare, he framed civil rights as a global human rights project, leading marches from Chicago to Selma to apartheid-era South Africa.

Through his Rainbow PUSH Coalition, headquartered in Chicago, Jackson forced boardrooms and political leaders to confront racial and economic inequality. He brokered negotiations, organized boycotts, and demanded that corporations diversify their ranks and invest in neglected communities. For many in attendance, those victories were not abstractions but personal turning points that opened doors to scholarships, jobs, and public office.

Rev. Marshall Hatch of New Mount Pilgrim Church told the crowd that Jackson’s moral clarity remains urgently needed. What would Rev. Jackson do? he asked. He’d remind us that we have work to do. Hatch urged mourners to honor Jackson not with nostalgia but with action on voting rights, police reform, and economic justice.

Again and again, speakers returned to the words that made Jackson a household name: I Am Somebody. The simple poem, recited in churches, classrooms, and rallies for generations, echoed through the vigil as elders and children chanted together: I may be poor, but I am somebody.

As candles flickered in the evening air, the crowd closed in a chorus of prayer and promise. America’s best-known activist since King, mourners said, leaves behind more than memories. He leaves a mandate: to keep hope alive, and to keep moving.