Ms. González, a senior at the school, said the group was inviting elected officials “from any side of the political spectrum” to join the movement. But she said: “We don’t want anybody who is funded by the N.R.A. We want people who are going to be on the right side of history.”
The organizers hope the march, scheduled for March 24, will attract students from across the country, and they say more protests are planned.
Pastor Bevill’s Baptist church has a special relationship with the high school. For several years before its house of worship was completed in 1999, the congregation held services on the school campus, and many families of students belong to the church.
“Our hearts are heavy, we are overburdened, and we are incapable of holding the weight of grief that is upon us, but that is even more true of the families of the deceased,” Pastor Bevill said on Sunday. He then read aloud the names of the dead, as congregants wiped tears from their cheeks and held their arms aloft.
Pastor Bevill also asked his flock to pray for the accused gunman, Nikolas Cruz, although he did not mention Mr. Cruz’s name or ask that he be forgiven. “Repair his heart and his broken mind,” the pastor said, adding that “justice be served.”
A mile from the school in the opposite direction, the body of Meadow Pollack, who was 18, lay on Friday in a plain wooden coffin, kept closed in accordance with Jewish tradition.
Hundreds of mourners were seated row upon row and crowded every corner of the Congregation Kol Tikvah synagogue — Meadow’s relatives, classmates, the state governor and many others.
Tears slipped beneath dark sunglasses as Rabbi Bradd Boxman stood below stained-glassed windows and recalled a girl who shone “like a star.”
“I’m not here to explain any of this,” he said. “I can’t tell you why Meadow died the way that she did.”
Ms. Pollack’s boyfriend Brandon spoke about his “princess,” his shoulders slumped in pain. And her father, Andrew Pollack, stood in a black suit before the crowd and addressed the gunman.
“You. Killed. My. Kid.” he said, one word at a time, his voice booming through the synagogue in grief and rage. “My kid is dead. It goes through my head all day. And night. I keep hearing it over and over.”
“How does this happen to my beautiful, smart, loving daughter?” he said. “She is everything. If we could learn one thing from this tragedy, it’s that our everythings are not safe when we send them to school.”
The room heaved with sobbing teenagers as Ms. Pollack’s coffin was wheeled out for burial.
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