Some years ago I had the opportunity to work with a youth group to plan their annual worship service. They had a great theme in mind, all about voices. As youth they felt like they had no voice, but were learning how to speak up. They talked about people who were silenced, and people who spoke out anyway. It was going to be great!

During one of our long planning sessions, someone piped up, “Wait! I have an idea! Let’s hand everyone a blank order of service. It will be symbolic, calling attention to the ways people are silenced and the ways people can speak. The absence of words will be really dramatic.”

Inside my head, I thought, “There is no universe in which that is going to be allowed to happen.” But the conversation that followed gave me one of the most important lessons of my ministerial formation, and a strategy I use to this day. Instead of saying, “Yeeeaah, that’s not going to work,” and shutting them down, I said, “Hmm, that’s a really interesting idea.”

The first thing I asked was, “What are you trying to accomplish? What is the goal of the blank order of service?” They then articulated a great set of goals, grounded in their theme and their lived experience. So I said, “Wonderful! Now, will this action accomplish the goals you have articulated?” A longer conversation ensued, in which the youth decided that, among other things, the blank order of service would be so confusing and anxiety-provoking to the recipients that it would be a distraction and would not reinforce their symbolic intent.

I learned from this process that imposing my own assumptions on their idea would have been bossy and unhelpful. I could easily have claimed my authority as their leader and shut it down. Instead, by engaging them in the conversation, I gave them an opportunity to articulate more clearly their own vision and goals.

I ask these questions constantly in my ministry: What are we trying to accomplish? And will our proposed action meet our stated goals?

Last year I joined a group of protestors at a prominent Civil War monument in Asheville, North Carolina. I was asked to be part of a peaceful clergy presence at
a vigil held in solidarity with those who believe that monuments to Confederate figures ought to come down.

The event might best be described by a statement that the organizers of the vigil released later which began: “Four arrested at Robert E. Lee Monument during symbolic action against White Supremacy.” Their message went on to say, “We understand that the removal of this monument would be symbolic of removing white supremacy from the very center of our city. We know that this must be connected to the deep work of ending systemic racism and white supremacy culture here…”

When I received the call to participate, I wasn’t sure if I would go. It had been a busy week, and Friday morning is my writing time. I also take the kids to daycare in the morning and needed to grocery shop. Further, there is so much going on these days, so many conflicting asks and needs, so many different tactics and movements. I am prepared to take my body to the streets, but I want to know why I’m doing it—I care that the things I participate in are effective and meaningful.

I agree that confederate monuments are not useful in our communities. I do not necessarily agree that removing them is the most important focus. And yet, I participated in this action. Why is that? Because I know my goal. And in this case, my personal goal was more important than the goal of the action itself.

My highest value in the context of my work to dismantle white supremacy culture is to support and amplify the marginalized voices in my communities. And that made my decision about the action quite simple. I was asked by the women of color who organized the event to attend as a peaceful clergy presence. So I did.

When I was helping the youth group plan their service, it was my role to shepherd them through their process. In the case of the solidarity vigil, my role was different.

I had a lot of questions—and a lot of theory and experience in my own mind. I’ve planned actions myself. As a white woman, a professional clergy person, I have authority in the system. I could have marched into the slightly chaotic 7am scene and gotten bossy. Instead, I found the people who had called us all together and asked them how I might be most supportive. They answered, and so I set to work singing, holding space, and being a peaceful presence as they had requested.

In another situation, I might have different goals. My highest value might be different. And that’s an important distinction to make as well. If I know my highest value in a given situation, I will make decisions differently. Sometimes my highest value is efficiency. Sometimes it is collaboration, or relationship-building, or something else entirely.

It is important, then, to answer the question: Why does this organization exist? What, specifically, are we here to accomplish?

The congregation I was serving at the time of the protest holds Compassion, Inspiration, Community, and Justice as values to guide who they are and what they do. It is an ongoing process to clarify how those values inform activity both within the walls of the congregation and out in the community.

Goals and values exist on multiple levels, from the most abstract “meta” level to the smallest of mundane details. That is why it is important for each group to do their own visioning work. But each group interprets those values differently, and chooses different places to focus. And so does each individual.

We are the ones. We must figure it out for ourselves, together. All of our voices and experiences are essential parts of this community, and essential parts of the resistance. It’s worth knowing what your own goals are, and how they fit into the work of community.

It is my greatest hope that the violence and despair we see these days is the last gasp of a harmful system. It is my most fervent prayer that the animosity and vitriol we encounter around and within our communities is simply the wound uncovered and lanced, ready to begin to heal. But I cannot be certain.

And so I turn to my own faith. I turn to my experience of community coming together again and again to show one another that love and commitment can overpower fear. I turn to the faith of the people who came before me, and the strength of those who walk beside me and show me the way.

What is our goal? And are our actions accomplishing that goal?

Love and compassion are the ground underneath us. Even when fault lines cause that ground to shift, we return again and again to the fierce and tenacious spirit of the Love that will not let us go—the indelible shape of justice which calls us deeper into the work of building, into the risk of reaching out and the promise of a faith grounded in history, but calling us forth to a new vanguard.

Attached media: https://web.archive.org/web/20211109013404/https://www.questformeaning.org/podcasts/18_09/01.mp3