Media were not permitted inside the church, but from the sidewalk, the magnitude of grief surrounding Keith Porter’s funeral was unmistakable.

      Hundreds of mourners—many dressed in black—lined the block as ushers reached capacity inside the sanctuary and overflow rooms. Some family members who arrived late were turned away at the doors, leading to quiet but emotional moments as they stood outside, unwilling to leave. Cars filled the surrounding streets, their license plates stretching across California and beyond, signaling how far people had traveled to pay their respects.

      Inside Faithful Central Bible Church, where the service was held in the church’s Living Room sanctuary, the tone was heavy but deliberate, said Jack Wilson, the bishop who delivered the eulogy and accompanied the family throughout the day.

      “It was very emotional—very sad,” Wilson said. “But my focus at the beginning wasn’t Keith. It was his mother.”

      Wilson preached a message titled The God That Sees, centering the service on what he described as a grieving mother whose pain did not need explanation or spectacle—only acknowledgment.

      “I talked about the things God sees,” he said. “God sees a grieving mother.”

      That framing shaped the rest of the service. Keith Porter, a 43-year-old father of two daughters, was remembered not through dramatic retelling but through faith language rooted in worth, life, and absence. Wilson said it was important that those who never met Porter understand who he was beyond headlines or speculation.

      “He was a young man who deserved to live,” Wilson said. “He was raised in church. He knew who God was. And we don’t believe he took his last breath—we believe his last breath was taken from him.”

      Wilson, who said he had known Porter since he was about five years old, spoke repeatedly of the disbelief that continues to surround the family.

      “She kept saying to me, ‘My son should still be here,’” Wilson said, referring to Porter’s mother. “And I believe the same thing.”

      The service, he said, was not intended as a forum for legal debate or public accusation. Instead, it was a space for mourning—something Porter’s mother had been carrying privately since her son’s death on New Year’s Eve.

      “She just wanted to lay her son to rest,” Wilson said. “This woman has been grieving since December 31.”

      That restraint shaped the atmosphere inside the church, said Rev. K.W. Tulloss, who officiated the service alongside Wilson.

      “It was a very emotional service,” Tulloss said. “Keith was a great son, a great father, and a great friend. The emotion came from knowing how many people are going to miss him—and how many are committed to uplifting his life, his values, and his morals.”

      Tulloss said what stood out most was the strength of Porter’s family, particularly his mother and daughters, and the way their grief resonated quietly throughout the room.

      “The family is very close-knit,” he said. “And there was a call for justice—but it was expressed in an organized way.”

      That call, Wilson emphasized, was framed through faith rather than fury.

      “God saw everything,” he said. “And when God sees something, God says something—and then God shows something. We haven’t seen yet what God is going to show.”

Outside the sanctuary, the stillness of those waiting mirrored the tone inside. There were no chants, no raised voices—just clusters of mourners standing shoulder to shoulder, listening through closed doors, unwilling to turn away.

      Wilson noted that the crowd itself was a testament to who Porter was.

      “There was nothing gang-related,” he said. “Nothing about the hood. This was just a kid. People came from far away just to show respect.”

      Porter’s death occurred just after midnight on New Year’s Eve outside his Northridge apartment. Federal officials have said Porter had been firing shots into the air in celebration when an off-duty U.S. Immigration and Customs Enforcement agent heard the gunfire, went to investigate, and ultimately shot and killed him. Porter’s family and supporters dispute that account, saying the circumstances did not justify the use of lethal force. The shooting remains under investigation, and the off-duty agent has not been charged.

      In the days following the killing, Assemblymember Isaac Bryan called for an independent and transparent investigation, saying the public deserves clear answers when a civilian is killed by law enforcement. His office said accountability and public trust must be central to the review.

      For Wilson, however, the hardest part of the day was not the sermon, the burial, or even the crowd—it was the future the family must now face.

      “What does life mean for the mother now?” he asked. “What does life mean for the daughters—one 20, one 10?”

      He paused before answering his own question.

      “You don’t get over something like this,” Wilson said. “You get through it.”

      The day did not end at the church. Wilson followed the family to the cemetery, where more than 300 people gathered for the committal—an unusually large turnout that extended the weight of the service beyond the sanctuary walls.

      “Justice won’t fix it,” Wilson said. “But it will ease it.”

      As dusk fell and mourners slowly dispersed, the prayers had been spoken and the body laid to rest. What remained was quieter and unresolved—held by a grieving mother, carried by two daughters, and entrusted to a faith community still asking God to see, to speak, and, in time, to show what comes next.