The concern was real. After what happened during the “summer of hate” in 2017, and with reports of possible voter intimidation on election day, the idea was simple: show up at voting precincts as a calming, pastoral presence. No campaigning. No protests. Just clergy and faith leaders being visibly present to promote peace, hospitality, and moral courage.

But even as we shared a common goal, we also had to get clear on what role we were actually playing in this effort. Were we just offering information? Were we partnering with election officials? Were we empowering voters to lead?

As I reflect on that experience, it would have been helpful if I had known about the Spectrum of Public Participation—developed by the International Association for Public Participation (IAP2). It outlines five ways groups like ours can engage the public: Inform, Consult, Involve, Collaborate, and Empower.

Using our interfaith voter presence as an example, here’s what each role would look like.

1. Inform – “Here’s what we’re doing, and why.”

At its most basic level, our group’s job might be just to inform the public and the voting community.

For instance, we might create flyers or handouts that explains:

• Who we are
  
• Why we’re showing up at the polls
  
• What we will and won’t do (e.g., we’re not part of law enforcement, we’re not monitoring voters—we’re simply there as a peaceful presence)

This level is about transparency. We’re not asking for feedback—we’re just making sure people understand what’s happening.

2. Consult – “We’d love to hear your input.”

Maybe your group wants to do more than just show up—you want to listen to community members about what they need.

This could look like hosting a community forum ahead of the election to hear from voters:

• What have their past voting experiences been like?
  
• Where do they feel most vulnerable or anxious?
  
• What could clergy presence look like that feels helpful—not performative?

You’re not making promises to change everything, but you’re asking: What do you need from us? That’s consultation.

3. Involve – “We want you at the table with us.”

Let’s say you take it a step further and involve community members—especially voters from marginalized neighborhoods—in planning the pastoral presence.

You invite them to help draft your code of conduct for precinct volunteers. Maybe they review your materials or role-play scenarios to prepare clergy for what they might encounter.

At this level, you’re not just listening—you’re shaping the process together.

In order to increase involvement, lower or remove barriers for full participation, by offering transportation, childcare, stipends, etc. to community members. 

4. Collaborate – “We’re building this with you.”

Collaboration is where co-ownership kicks in. When collaborating, be ready to share power. While your group may still play a central role, it’s more about being one of many trusted partners.

Maybe you work directly with local election officials, community organizers, and even voter protection lawyers to design the entire precinct support effort.

• You share decision-making.
  
• You build training materials together.
  
• You check in regularly and revise based on what’s working.

Everyone brings something vital to the table—and the plan wouldn’t function without everyone’s voice.

5. Empower – “You decide what happens next.”

Empowerment is the deepest level of public participation. It’s where you hand over real decision-making power. Offer support, resources, and amplification—but let others be the center and lead.

In our voter support scenario, this might mean the community members themselves—particularly those who’ve experienced voter suppression—lead the entire effort. The clergy and faith leaders serve as supporters, not directors.

They set the goals. They decide who shows up and how. The power rests with those most affected.

So… Which Role Are You Playing?

Here’s the thing: none of these roles is inherently better than the others. They’re just different—and they each have their place depending on the context, timing, and goals of your effort.

What doesn’t work is pretending to empower people when you’re really just informing them. Or calling something collaboration when no one else is helping make decisions.

The key is to be honest about the role you’re playing—with yourself, your partners, and your community.

The Role We Played…

Reflecting back on the election season last November, community members served mostly in a consulting role, telling the Clergy Collective that they wanted a pastoral presence at voting precincts. Since some members of the Collective were also members of marginalized communities feeling vulnerable, we involved them in planning our pastoral presence. We collaborated with Election Defenders, which provided training on de-escalation, communication, the OODA Loop, and more. We also informed our faith communities and the voting public of our peaceful presence on election day. 

Bottom Line for Organizers

If you’re a community organizer gearing up for civic engagement, the Spectrum of Participation can be helpful to get your bearings.

Start your planning meetings by asking:

• “Are we just here to share information, or are we open to input?”
  
• “Do we want community members helping design this?”
  
• “Who really gets to make the final decisions?”

When you get clear on your role, you build trust. And trust is the bedrock of real, lasting change.

Credit: This framework is adapted from the Spectrum of Public Participation, developed by the International Association for Public Participation (IAP2). It’s a powerful tool—worth bookmarking and revisiting.

Recently, my heart was cut to the quick when I reread Martin Luther King Jr.’s “Letter from a Birmingham Jail.”

Particularly convicting was the first of two confessions by King:

“First, I must confess that over the past few years I have been gravely disappointed with the white moderate. I have almost reached the regrettable conclusion that the Negro’s great stumbling block in his stride toward freedom is not the White Citizen’s Counciler or the Ku Klux Klanner, but the white moderate, who is more devoted to “order” than to justice; who prefers a negative peace which is the absence of tension to a positive peace which is the presence of justice . . .”

I identify as one of those “moderates” that King described.

In response to King’s confession, I make my own confessions:

I confess that I too have been more devoted to “order” than to justice, not realizing that “order” is often just a thin veneer that masks and perpetuates systemic injustice.

I confess that I have preferred a negative peace which maintained my privilege and ease over a positive peace which draws me into the tension, pain, and struggle that is the work of justice.

I confess that I have been more worried about what some people might say about me if they saw me working alongside members of “Black Lives Matter,” “Standing Up for Racial Justice,” and other more “radical” groups in the cause of resisting white supremacy, than what my conscience would tell me if I did not.

I confess that I have been more concerned about the profanity used by some counter protestors on that day than the profane oppression that my black brothers and sisters and other minorities have faced for years.

I confess that I was too scared to participate in the non-violent, direct action organized by my ministerial colleagues like Seth Wispelwey and Brittany Caine-Conley. They led a group of faith leaders, including Dr. Cornel West, Rev. Tracy Blackmon and Lisa Sharon Harper, to Emancipation Park. This small group stood and linked arms in front of the park. They were willing to risk arrest, to be physically harmed and even killed in order to offer a peaceful, non-violent witness to the love of Christ even as hate, invectives and violence swirled around them. They were among the first responders to assist victims when James Alex Fields drove his car into the crowd, killing Heather Heyer and injuring many others.

I confess that my heart was relieved to hear that my ministerial colleagues specifically stated that there was no judgment regarding those members who chose NOT to engage in direct action. All roles of witness and support were needed and valued.

I confess that I what little courage I had was bolstered by my CBF colleagues, the Reverends Will Brown, Nick Deere, Kenny and Laura Davis, Matt Tennant (and others I might have missed), who showed up and contributed in their unique ways to witness and minister in the name of Christ.

I confess that as I worked at First United Methodist Church to coordinate media and social media communications for the Charlottesville Clergy Collective, I was inspired by all the volunteers who served as medical dispatchers, medics, legal observers, jail and hospital liaisons, mental health counselors, and so many other roles.

I confess that during those crazy, tense hours, I didn’t care if those volunteers were Christian, Jews, Muslims, Buddhists, atheists, lesbians, gay, bisexual, transgender, queer, socialists, anti-fascists, or whatever. All I saw and cared about was that they were human beings willing to put their lives on the line to make sure others were safe.

I confess that I was moved to tears when some of them returned pepper sprayed, tear gassed, and bloodied, seeking medical care. Many of them then returned to the mayhem to continue their work.

I confess that I was slightly taken aback when the men’s restroom at First United Methodist was converted to a uni-sex restroom so that more people could use it regardless of gender.

I also confess that the uni-sex restroom quickly became a non-issue for me and for everyone else in that building.

I confess that my understanding of cooperation expanded exponentially that day. I’m reminded of Jesus’ words to his disciples in Mark 9:40 and Luke 9:60: “Whoever is not against us is for us.”

They say that confession is good for the soul.

I pray that my confession may lead to my repentance and to a deeper commitment to God’s work of justice for all human beings.

On July 8, a group affiliated with the Ku Klux Klan came to my town, Charlottesville, Virginia.

I’m part of the Charlottesville Clergy Collective, a group of faith leaders who have been meeting to discuss racial issues in our community. With the announcement by the Klan rally, the faith leaders decided to organize a response.

Since then, I’ve been pondering about how God is at work in a world that is filled with discord, strife, and violence.

What Is the kingdom of God Like?

Jesus’ parable of the mustard seed in Mark 4:30-32 came to mind. This parable comes in the midst of Jesus explaining what the kingdom of God is like — it’s like a tiny seed that grows into a large bush that gives shelter to birds.

It’s a familiar parable. Many have interpreted it along these lines: God can make small things into big things.

However, according to Pliny the Elder, the mustard plant is such a fast-growing plant that “once sown, it is scarcely possible to get the place free of it, as the seed when it falls germinates at once.”[1]

In other words, the mustard plant is basically a weed, like kudzu.

According to one biblical scholar, “The point is … that [the mustard seed plant] tends to take over where it is not wanted, that it tends to get out of control, and that it tends to attract birds within cultivated areas where they are not particularly desired.” [2]

Mustard seed plants are dangerous in gardens. They’re deadly in grain fields.

The kingdom of God is like a weed that attracts birds where you don’t want them?!

Is it any wonder that Jesus’ disciples also had a hard time understanding Jesus and his parables?

The kingdom of God as an overgrown garden

I once heard about a man who bought a house with an overgrown garden. The weeds had long since taken over the garden and it was a mess.

Slowly the man began to clear the weeds, till the soil and plant the seeds.  He continued weeding the garden and kept the birds, the deer and the bugs away.

Finally, he made it into a showcase garden.

One day the minister came to visit, and when he saw the beautiful flowers and plants, he observed, “Well, friend, you and God have done a marvelous job on this garden.”

To which the homeowner shook his head and replied, “You should have seen it when God had it by himself!”

This is an amusing joke.  But what if the kingdom of God is more like the overgrown garden than the worked-over, man-made showcase garden?

What if the kingdom of God is like an overgrown garden where wheat and weeds coexist and grow in ways that human beings cannot control?

The kingdom of God: Beautiful, Scary, and Challenging

What a different way to think about the kingdom of God.

I must confess that this way of thinking is beautiful, scary, and challenging.

It’s beautiful because, to me, it is a vision of John 3:16: “For God so love the world”…a love that radiates out from our Jerusalems and our Judeas, to our Samarias and all the way out to the ends of the earth.

It’s scary because it confronts me to consider those who are very different from me and even those who are antagonistic towards me, as included in the all-embracing love of God.

It’s challenging because it is messy. I like my religion neat and orderly. I’m used to planning and controlling. It’s hard to let go of my desired outcomes and let God’s mysterious rule reign supreme.

Chaos and Messiness

So, on the day of the Klan rally, over four hundred people from various faith communities gathered at a church next to the park to pray, to march, and to participate in other events such as a community concert.

As the communications coordinator for the Clergy Collective, my plan for that day was to blend in with the crowd and take pictures to post on social media.

The next thing I knew, my arm was linked with five other faith leaders.

Unwittingly, I found myself leading three hundred members in a march from the church into the park.

Instead of blending in with the crowd, I was thrust onto the front line!

Instead of me taking pictures, people took pictures of me!

So much for my well-laid plans!

But when we arrived at the park, we entered one of the loudest, most chaotic assemblages of humanity I’ve ever experienced.

Altogether, over one thousand people gathered, comprised of our group, as well as anarchists, socialists, white nationalists, families, musicians, Black Lives Matter activists, other racial justice groups, and even hell-fire and brimstone preachers. People marched, sang, shouted, chanted, banged drums, blew horns.

Some shouted obscenities at the Klan and the police.

Pretty soon, we were mixed in with all these people.

What a mess!

In biblical language, it was weeds and wheat all entangled together! That’s another image Jesus used to describe the kingdom of God.

As I now reflect back on that day, I can’t help but wonder: could this also be what Jesus had in mind when he described the kingdom of God?

I don’t know.

But here’s what I do know.

Mustard Seeds Planted

In the aftermath of July 8, I do know God planted these mustard seeds.

Seeds of connection:  I feel closer to all the faith leaders who participated in our public response.

Seeds of clarity: I do know that we are not called to fight against flesh and blood, against individuals in the Klan. God calls to fight against principalities and powers. God calls to fight systems of injustice and oppression that we are all complicit in.

Seeds of love: Many of the faith leaders reminded us that we are also called to love even the Klan members while hating any racist attitudes that are still in ourselves.

Weeds and wheat were not only in the park. 

Weeds and wheat grew in each of us.

As I look back, God planted mustard seeds in me and others that day.

I pray these seeds will grow in my life in ways that I can’t understand or control.

As they grow, I pray that a new creation will be born in me, through me, and even in spite of me.

May they grow into sprawling mustard trees whose branches spread out to embody the wideness of God’s mercy.

Maybe that’s what the kingdom of God is like.

_________

[1] Pliny, “Natural History” 19.170-171; Rackham et al. 5.528-529.

[2] Dominic Crossan, “A Closer Look at the Mustard Seed,” http://www.beliefnet.com/Faiths/Christianity/2000/07/A-Closer-Look-At-The-Mustard-Seed.aspx.

In the past, I intellectually understood why we need to set aside time to remember, acknowledge and celebrate the achievements of black people and culture in the United States.

However, for most of my life, I thought Black History Month was really more for black people and their history.

Attitude change toward Black History Month

That attitude began to change as I started to volunteer for the Charlottesville Clergy Collective. We’re an interfaith and interracial group of religious leaders committed to addressing racism in our community.

We’ve gathered for monthly for breakfast in the last three years. Over food and conversation, we’re beginning to break down the walls that divide black and white faith leaders.

We’re beginning to build bridges of trust as we listen and learn each others’ stories and experiences over lunch, pulpit exchanges and book study groups.

Through organizing community events, interfaith services, and public witness demonstrations, we’re beginning to learn how to work together to achieve common goals.

Building friendships

In time, we’re building friendships that can withstand the messiness of diversity, the challenges of racial work, and our own struggles and blind spots.

I’m grateful for the friendship of Dr. Alvin Edwards, pastor of Mt. Zion First African Baptist Church, for founding the Collective and for his openness to work with people across many divides.

I’m grateful for the friendship of Rev. Brenda Brown-Grooms, co-pastor of New Beginnings Christian Community. She’s teaching me that life is too short for beating around the bush and not speaking the truth in love.

I’m grateful for the friendship of Apostle Sarah A. Kelley, pastor of Faith, Hope and Love International Healing and Deliverance Center. She’s teaching me the power of persistence in the midst of systemic injustice.

I’m grateful for the friendship of Dr. Lehman Bates, pastor of Ebenezer Baptist Church. He challenges us with questions regarding the purpose of our activities in order to identify the cause, the condition, and the cure for systemic racism.

From “their” Black history to “our” common history

These and other faith leaders in the Collective have become my sisters and brothers in this work. Their lives and their congregations’ lives are becoming interwoven with mine.

I feel a connection with them as we become “one body,” so that when one part of the body suffers, the whole body suffers (1 Corinthians 12:26).

Through these deepening relationships and the sharing of our common humanity, I’m beginning to understand experientially that “black history” is really our history.

So when Sarah Kelley talks about her family being displaced from their home when white city residents voted to raze the African-American Vinegar Hill neighborhood, that’s no longer just black history, that is our history. And it informs how we respond to the gentrifying proliferation of luxury housing along the West Main corridor in Charlottesville.

During our Cville2Jtown Pilgrimage last October, when Gayle Jessup White talked about her enslaved ancestors as we read aloud the 360 names of enslaved Africans at Monticello, that’s no longer just black history, that is our history. And it informs how we respond to the use of “black face” by our politicians and the fight for a living wage at the University of Virginia.

When Dr. Karenne Wood reminded us that the land on which we’re living, working, and playing was once inhabited and sustained by the Monacan tribe for 15,000 years, that’s no longer just  “their” history, that is our history. And it informs how we respond to the proposed Atlantic Coast Pipeline and compressor station built on Monacan tribal settlements and in the historic African-American community of Union Hill in Buckingham County.

When Mark Charles presented the history of Christianity’s contribution to white supremacy and the oppression of native and black peoples, that’s no longer “their” history, it is our history. And it should inform how Christian pastors address their congregations’ complicity in establishing or perpetuating racist structures or attitudes.

Creating a common memory

Georges Erasmus, an Aboriginal leader from Canada, is cited by Mark Charles: “Where common memory is lacking, where people do not share in the same past, there can be no real community. Where community is to be formed, common memory must be created.”

So how can we create a common memory?

Even if we live in integrated neighborhoods, we often live within the segregated silos of our memories and our histories apart from the memories and histories of our neighbors of color.

Several weeks ago, the Charlottesville Clergy Collective organized a dinner gathering called “Conversations toward Reconciliation” in which over 200 people from 31 different faith communities gathered to share a meal and begin conversations around history and racial justice.

Our hope for that event (and subsequent events this year) is that it will help participants to engage with their own congregations in conversations about race. We hope to encourage them to learn and record stories of the role their congregations played in the history of race in Charlottesville.

In the process, may they will build relationships with members of other faith communities to support, encourage, and learn from one another as we all do this work.

I see this as one way that we can begin to create a common memory, a common history among some of the faith communities in town.

I anticipate that this will be challenging work, and some participants will face resistance from within their own faith communities.

But I also pray that those participants in this journey will experience a deeper connection with one another, a connection that embraces our shared humanity and forges a common history.

When February comes around next year, I’ll still be glad to celebrate Black History Month.

Yet I long for the day when every month will be Black History Month in our hearts, minds, and spirits!