"You can't be mad with the messenger," Bryant said.
Dressed in a long black cassock, Bryant delivered the fiery sermon at his church in Northwest Baltimore that dwelt on the dangers of speaking out and the risks that messengers for common people - from Jesus to Malcolm X - have run throughout history.
People responded enthusiastically to the pastor's words, cheering and applauding.
The image of Scoota, born Tyriece Travon Watson, was everywhere at the funeral: To get into the church, mourners passed three larger than life sized photographs of the 23-year-old. People posed for snapshots with them after the service was over and clamored to get hold of copies of the funeral program. Others wore his picture on their shirts, depicting him with angels wings or at the gates of heaven.
The service swung between jubilant cheers for Scoota's life and chilling moments of sorrow. As the choir sang Kanye West's "Ultralight Beam," a young man held his head in his hands, unable to look up. Some mourners, overcome with sadness, walked out of the church in tears.
Scoota released the song Bird Flu which became a hit in the city, the lyrics striking an authentic chord with listeners. Councilman Nick J. Mosby called him a "hood poet." "He was Baltimore and Baltimore was him," Mosby said.
His fame and ambition attracted jealousy, Bryant said. "Whenever you speak for the masses, you will be a target for murder," he said. Watson's body lay at the front of the church. He wore a black shirt with white stars around the collar, his thumbs jabbed confidently into the pocket of white pants.
As family and friends filed past as they filled the church, they stopped, looked down and then continued to walk. One gentleman stopped to say a few words. Some left the room, with tears running down their faces. A young lady, so distraught, she had to be held up -- she couldn't walk alone.
Watson was shot dead driving back from a peace rally June 25 in what police called a targeted killing at a busy intersection in Northeast Baltimore. Police say they've received numerous tips about the crime, but no arrests have been made.
Watson's death Saturday shocked the city, and hundreds of people of all ages showed up at the northwest Baltimore church to pay their final respects. Many more have gathered across Baltimore to pay tribute with a vigil Sunday, a wake followed by a rap concert Thursday and his funeral service Friday.
Watson might be dead, Bryant said, but Scoota's legacy will live on.
"You can kill the messenger," he said. "But you can't kill the message."
Bryant called on the mourners to seek to better themselves, borrowing Scoota's motto to urge them to be" up next."
The pastor also railed against what he described as disdainful Korean, Vietnamese and Arab business owners in black communities, but also African-American parents too willing to spend money to see Beyonce but not look after their families.
And in an apparent reference to a tense confrontation between the police and people celebrating Scoota on Pennsylvania Avenue this week, he said he wished the police would surround Annapolis in riot gear. He condemned legislators for spending too little on education and too much on prisons.
"It's rigged for us to always come up last," Bryant said.
Copyright 2016 Baltimore Sun
