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Shouting against injustice is harder than lamenting it from afar. But it gets easier.

I arrive early to set up for worship. I work in the dark, the sanctuary like a womb ready to birth us into the world, to form us into a body—into Christ’s life. The Presbyterian church from which we rent worship space assembles its chairs in rows facing the stage, directing the gaze of the congregants toward the altar and pulpit. Each week we move the chairs to form a semicircle. We prefer to look at each other during worship. Each person is a holy altar; every mouth proclaims God’s word. Our eyes flicker with the Spirit’s life.

A sandwich can be a subversive act.

Churches need volunteers. Those volunteers need something in return.