2020 Berry Street Essay: The Reverends Danielle Di Bona, Joseph Santos-Lyons and Kimberly Quinn Johnson

On The Brink: Why Celebrate, Sowing Restoration, Challenge
200th Berry Street Essay
Delivered by The Reverends Danielle Di Bona, Joseph Santos-Lyons and Kimberly Quinn Johnson
Virtual Ministry Days
June 24, 2020

The Reverend Danielle Di Bona
On the Brink: Why Celebrate?

It is an honor to be sharing this space with the Rev. Joseph Santos-Lyons, the Rev. Kimberly Quinn Johnson, and the Rev. Theresa Ines Soto, three brilliant colleagues and friends who are visionaries in our faith and who have the skills and love to improve the faith through challenge and change. We who sit before you believe that we are held in the arms of the ancestors, most of whom we will hold in our hearts today. And, we will lift up and remember those whose influence, care, love and support helped us along the way to this Berry Street Lecture. They are Jim Brown, the Rev. Marjorie Bowens-Wheatley, Ruth Alatore, Danielle Gladd, Alyce Gowdy-Wright, the Rev. Orlanda Brugnola. There are so many more.

Now, listen closely, my friends.

I am honestly surprised to be sitting here today. After almost 30 years of “being in the struggle” I come to you today with what might be called a reputation. Somewhat of a pot stirrer. A questioner of all things that block the way of freedom and faithfulness and change. One who questions authority at every turn, assuming that the authority is a danger to those of us who claim the identity of People of Color.  One who stands in the face of tradition and says “no” knowing that the tradition is one that has stepped on the neck of those of us who are original inhabitants of this land, and whose ancestors were stolen from their land. I come by that reputation honestly.

Stepped on the neck. I wish we were in Providence where I could see your faces and, hopefully, watch you squirm in your seats.

It is June 3rd, 10 days after the murder of George Floyd, a black man, murdered by police in Minneapolis. Another black man murdered by police. Another unarmed black man murdered by police. Day upon day of protests in the city streets of this country. Vicious responses by the police, who I remember were to serve and protect us.” Overflowing, heated, righteous anger that lead to destruction of property. And we watched, as white supremacists incited violence and destruction with the hope of promoting some kind of race war. We, my friends and colleagues are in deep trouble.

I am, admittedly, an iconoclast and I believe that often what, we as a society, we as a denomination, cherish are exactly the things that keep people of color, poor people, women, disabled people,  lgbtq people oppressed. They are tools for the majority to fall back on to hold on to the power and privilege granted to them by the color of their skin.

It is not clear to me why the 200th anniversary of the Berry Street Lecture is such a big deal. Especially in light of where we are as a people, as a nation, as bystanders in this corrupt, immoral, murderous society we live in, swim in and breathe in.

Is the fact that Unitarians and Universalists can claim written words for 200 years something to celebrate? Why? How has 200 years of the written word made us a better religious community. A more equitable, just association. Have the Berry Street words of these past 200 years empowered Unitarian Universalists clergy to move away from a white supremacy culture that assumes that the white leader, the white minister, especially if he identifies as male, is always the “right fit.” Have the Berry Street words empowered those who are in ministry to call out those who are besmirching the ministry by their power grabbing and selfishness.

It has been noted that many Berry Street lectures, given during momentous events in this country’s history, were silent on these events. During the civil war, there was no mention of it in the Berry Street lectures. During the Vietnam war and all that that brought with it, there was no thoughtful discussion in the Berry Street. Reconstruction after the civil war……no engagement. Women’s suffarage,

Assn Lincoln, Kennedy, civil rights uprisings and protests,  BAC/BAWA, 9/11

1918 epidemic……not mentioned in the Berry Street

Two hundred years….the longest and oldest lecture series in the United States. So many missed opportunities to add to the common square, to influence the direction of this country, to bring the moral standing of our faith into in conversation that would shape the moral fabric of this country.

We must consider that throughout the history of the United States, the Berry Street has been absent.  At best, a footnote in our history. At worst, irrelevant to both Unitarian Universalism and the public dialogue.

And…..while my mostly white siblings are lifting up the 200th anniversary of the Berry Street Lecture, let us not forget that this year is the 300th anniversary of the first people brought to these shores to be sold as slaves and let us not forget that, at the same time, there is a celebration right outside of Providence RI, of the 400th landing of the Pilgrims on the shores of my people, the Wampanoag, One good way to eliminate the existence of a people and their story, their history, is to overshadow the  400th invasion of Indian land with the false dichotomy of a celebration of 200 years of words. Or the celebration of Independence Day, or the day to remember war dead, or Thanksgiving.

We’ve all heard the saying “actions speak louder than words.” My beloved colleagues and friends, the time for words is past. The time for action is past due.  We as a faith have the power to rise up against police killings of black bodies. We have the power to rise up against the land grabbing and the desecration of Indian lands. We have the power to rise up against the brutality toward our lgbtq siblings. We have the power to rise up against discriminatory practices against our disabled siblings.

We even have the power to rise up against the illness and disease and putrid decay of our own faith’s failings. It is the responsibility of religious leaders….ministers in our congregations….religious professionals all…..to refuse to accept anything that will diminish our faith so that we can do what we are called to do. Make the systemic changes that will save our black siblings, that will save our Native siblings and all other siblings of color, that will save all who have been brutalized by the systems of oppression and colonialism.

So, are we Unitarian Universalists doomed to the trash bin of history? Are we becoming irrelevant in the realm of liberal religion? Possibly, and here is why.

Unitarian Universalists hold onto the belief that we are the people on the hill (Beacon Hill, Boston for those of you who are not from MA.) With that belief comes the assurance and certainty that we hold the golden ring of membership in the club, which anyone would want. Consequently, as a whole, we see no reason to change. Who wouldn’t want to join us? Who wouldn’t want to be just like us.

The Rev. Kimberly Quinn Johnson will challenge us to “court a little danger.”  I second that…..court a little danger and be willing, no excited to make some big changes in ourselves, in our faith.

Are we Unitarian Universalists doomed to the trash bin of history? Are we becoming irrelevant in the realm of liberal religion? Probably not, and here is why.

As the Rev. Joseph Santos-Lyons points out, the number of religious professionals of color has grown exponentially. When DRUUMM would hold worship at GA, we could make a circle in a relatively small room, with room to spare and I knew everyone in that circle. This is no longer true, thankfully. I relish walking into a POC gathering and not knowing the majority of people. Numbers matter. And as the POC community gets larger, it gets stronger and is more able to challenge the faith into recognizing our part in white supremacy culture to allow us into authentic change and relevancy.

Let us rescue our safe havens and move outside of them to be not safe, but strong.

And so, with that, I invite you to now hear the words of these visionaries, Joseph, Kimberly, Theresa.

Reverend Joseph Santos-Lyons
On The Brink: Sowing Restoration

On the Brink
All that we have ever loved
and all that we have ever been
stands with us on the brink of
all that we aspire to create:
a deeper peace,
a larger love,
a more embracing hope,
a greater generosity of spirit,
a deeper joy in this life we share.
—Leslie Takahashi

It is an honor to be with you, and alongside my wonderful colleagues. I feel the presence of ancestors around us. Those who have tended these fires. Especially ministers of color. Thirty years ago this felt impossible.

SOWER OF PARABLES

As a child of the Northwest, and raised in the UU church, I have paid attention to the lessons of cultivation and harvest. Raised among evergreen forests, I thought all places on earth were just as abundant. But as every child of color is soon taught, I learned that many corners of the world are not. Through prejudice, colonization, misogyny and corporate greed, we know instead scarcity, want, and
exploitation. My path has taken me deep into community, into organizing, into the planting of seeds, seeds of love, seeds of resistance, seeds of liberation. Seeds that sometimes I know I will never fully reap. This has shaped my life’s intentions and formed my call to ministry to serve on the margins of where we might not typically find Unitarian Universalism. Thirty years ago I was a seventeen year old in my youth group, actively rabble-rousing in YRUU. Our church had hosted the recent Pacific Northwest conference and gained notice with a record two hundred young people. At the time, our stats showed that 90% of youth would leave the church as young adults. Back then, I was raw, passionate, and fueled by burritos. I had my first interaction challenging UU authority. Our District Board was handing down new rules unilaterally and I was pushing back on the stereotyping of youth. In the end, we won a seat at the decision-making table and youth had a meaningful say.

In these early exercises of leadership development, I learned to memorize hundreds of names, spellings and stories of young people whom I was organizing into our programs. I grew in particular with organizing fellow young people of color – the first iteration of the DRUUMM Youth & Young Adults of Color network – many of whom are beloved colleagues today. I would never trade those years of road trips, couch surfing, phonebanks, art activism, campside singing, cut and paste newsletters, facilitating and mobilizing direct actions. There is discipline and spiritual practice in the countless hours of forging relationships and trust. It is remarkable to me how we have formed a lasting generation of faith leaders of color and I am grateful for the struggles we have been through side by side.

THE CULTIVATION OF TRUST

Around fifteen years ago when I was on the cusp of ordination, I escaped being one of the statistical 90% and stayed in the UU Church. I was able to keep my center through my relationships with peers, adults who kept inviting me in, and in particular our organizing of seminarians of color – a union numbering 30 which at the time was more than the number of settled ministers of color. These
colleagues were and still are my community of care who have supported me. I could smell and taste the culture shifting, and I was propelled by it. I was honored to have my preliminary fellowship in my hometown of Portland, Oregon, yet it was also one of the lowest points of my young clergy life. I had been contacted by an Oregonian reporter who had a new beat on race and culture. She had followed my faith based organizing in Oregon before seminary, and my anti-racism work and writings. Yet when the article ran, with what I thought was a very un-provocative headline, “Unitarian Universalists find their ranks aren’t universal,” I received blowback from several key colleagues. I was sanctioned by the UUA and told by one church I was unwelcome.

I felt blindsided and traumatized. Thrown under the bus. I had contradictory feelings of confusion, humiliation, as well as betrayal. Part of me was very much afraid. I feared for my future livelihood, and the loss of the only religious home I have ever known. I was on the brink of being pushed out. In the end, after much proverbial soul-searching, I stayed because I felt profound ownership over my faith. That it was mine to fight for. But I felt the risk and dangers of responding with angry bitterness and a slash and burn response.

I decided to go through an intentional process of restoration. And I don’t mean reverting to some earlier nostalgic relationship. I mean restoring in the sense of a new iteration, a new covenant, drawing from our lived experience and hopefully more meaningful. It is not a state that you can fully engineer, but the process of getting there can be healing, and sows seeds of promise for the future. The alternative – of walking away, of calling out people, of refusing to invest in their humanity – means nothing can be sown, and the promise is denied. I started by making lists of people to talk to, mentors, colleagues and friends. I also made a list of people who trusted friends let me know may be harboring concerns or worse, actively talking behind my back. I reached out to everyone I could. Our Portland church and we agreed to have a listening circle with all staff. I participated in conversations at the UUA, and with colleagues who offered
feedback as well as support. I owned up to what I could have done better, and I also challenged misunderstandings and named assumptions. The church agreed to covenant with me and recognize me as an affiliate minister – a relationship that has grown stronger and wouldn’t have been possible if bridges had been burned or I just walked away.

RESTORATION AS SPIRITUAL PRACTICE

The ministry has its valleys and peaks. Through the years, I went through this and other heartbreaking challenges. I was fired, I had frustrating disagreements with colleagues. As my community ministry grew with APANO, the Asian Pacific American Network of Oregon, and OPAL Environmental Justice, I also experienced being bullied, dehumanized on social media, and contended with anonymous feedback that sought to disparage me. I felt the burnout, and the questioning of my purpose.

We all have a front row seat to a whole range of crises and conflicts that can really take a toll on us. And even among us. There is a breaking of trust, a trust that is often unspoken and forged through the practice of our office of the minister. This severance of bonds can feel seismic at the time. Like it can never be repaired. That experience with the UUA and the backlash, taught me profound lessons about restoring trust. I have failed and done wrong in my life and in my ministry. I’ve had to do the hard work of acknowledging my mistakes, of listening to how my actions have affected others, and contemplating my own attitudes and behaviors. I have had to dig deep to listen with more humility, to recognize my ignorance, and make new commitments of change and restitution.

What is the promise of restoring broken trust? In this moment of pandemic and politics, climate chaos and racism, we have broken trust with each other. We have broken trust with the earth. We are seeing the world on fire right now, from Minnesota to Hong Kong. Now more than ever it feels like our very survival hinges on restoring trust between all living beings.

As I’ve reflected on other difficult moments, large and small, I have sharpened my belief in humanity and in the potential and power of building practices of restoration. Of sowing seeds. And there are countless examples that surround me.

I hear colleagues and leaders resist the essentializing and demonizing of other people. Strong prophetic voices like Loretta Ross, Grace Lee Boggs, Arundhati Roy, bell hooks, adrienne maree brown have rejected the idea that people are disposable, even people who do you real harm. We are encouraged to invest in each and every relationship as though they are necessary for survival. All around me, I see people approaching neighbors with kindness and optimism, offering grace, and pondering peoples context. However hard things are, many work to be the flower in the cracks.

GLOBAL FIELDS, LOCAL SEEDS

Today I have returned to the Philippines, to be close to my wife’s family, and to build on ministries that were part of my early formation nearly twenty years ago. I recently hosted a group of Khasi Unitarians, many of whom I met a generation ago as a youth organizer traveling on foot and bus through the hills of Northeast India. I have also had the occasion to take a train to Penang Malaysia to
reconnect with a seminary mentor, and have been building relationships with U*Us in Hong Kong, Singapore and Indonesia.

As I am renewing, reconnecting and reflecting on Unitarian Universalism in Southeast Asia, I have come to appreciate more deeply the gifts of our faith, particularly our ability to affirm and promote a high degree of self determination and interdependence in our religious life. The faith communities here are more fundamentalist in my experience, and deeply influential to governance and communities ways of life. People’s faith reveals the DNA of their society. The fastest growing churches are the far-right evangelical Christian and Mormons in the Philippines, and reactionary conservative forces are gaining among the Buddhist and Muslim religious communities in Myanmar, Thailand, Indonesia and Malaysia. Ideas of democracy, the rule of law, and human rights, struggle to evolve under the weight of colonial history and neoliberal capitalism. With authoritarian governments on the rise seemingly everywhere, there is a synergy with these more dogmatic and rigid religious institutions. And yet like the flower in the cracked pavement, I have found UU churches grow in extremely
impoverished and fascist contexts. Unitarian Universalism models a way of life that is healing, pluralistic, and just. It holds a promise to global interdependence and localized, intentional conversations for decolonization and just transitions. The tragic murder of African-American George Floyd is eerily similar to the story of Kian de los Santos, a 17-year old young man from the slum areas of the Philippines who was caught on CCTV begging for his life from police officers. Caught in the government’s War on Drugs, he’s heard on camera begging “ Please let me go. I have school exams tomorrow.” When he was executed, his family’s only hope for survival was extinguished.
Thirty years from now, my eldest daughter will be 44 and my youngest 42. I pray they have gained wisdom from our building the beloved, intergenerational, multiracial, and international community. I pray they are boldly living in a time where they are leaders of industries, no hesitation or shame over their talents and visions. I pray they are in control of their bodies, no fear or threat of harm as they determine their own futures. I pray they are tending to their families, chosen and by blood, with care and the resources they need to thrive.

But this will not happen by ambition or aspiration alone. We cannot just want or imagine this into being. I have come to believe that the goddess is in the details. A discipline and spiritual practice of organizing is needed to bring it into harvest. Through one on ones and spreadsheets. Through understanding our unique self-interests and introducing people to one another. Through the setting up of
email lists, sending calendar invites, and keeping contact information up to date (with permissions of course). Through doing the best we can with what we have, even when we may not have much. I am moved by my experiences here in Southeast Asia of the tireless dedication to create, to generate, to restore, in the face of terrible oppression and extinction level events. As UU ministers, what is asked of us today? In these troubling existential times and what can feel like a drought of meaning and inspiration, we can serve as a deep well of healing, restitution and growth. We can and will be restored through building connection and trust. Each time we choose to respect instead of demonize, be generative instead of extractive, humanize instead of criminalize, we are living out our Unitarian Universalist faith. Our future depends on our capacity to act with such intentions, sowing the seeds in each relationship with discipline, tenderness and care that will bring new life to bear. It is these webs of existence that hold us, that care for us, that pick us back up and help us to do
better. We can share spiritual strength that holds people back from the abyss, turn the corner that allows all of us to see a vibrant horizon.

1 Notes on Berry Street: Channing urged upon his colleagues a “bond of union” among liberal Christian ministers,
within which they might meet to exchange practical ideas for strengthening their ministries.

The Reverend Kimberly Quinn Johnson
On the Brink: Challenge

I know what an honor it is to be asked to deliver the Berry Street Essay. To be invited this year, on the 200th anniversary of this celebration is a particular honor. And to be invited in the company of these two esteemed colleagues: The Rev. Dr. Danielle Di Bona and the Rev. Joseph Santos Lyons makes this invitation all the more precious. And still, for a year, this invitation has felt like a weight. It has hovered—an ominous threat clawing at the edges of my awareness. I have been in professional ministry for barely five years – what could I possibly have to say that is worth listening to? What could I add to this 200-year lineage? And if you are imagining that I am only being modest here; I’m not. These questions, reflections of my deep insecurity have been echoed back to me out loud by colleagues—both directly and indirectly. Some probably well-meaning. And some probably not. There is a lot of expectation bound in this address. This oldest and longest continuing lecture series in North America. Usually, traditionally, essayists have a whole year to work on this. For a profession where the workflow typically allows one week to write something new—to deliver a new message—a whole year is an extravagant amount of time. The expectation is proportionately high. How can I craft a perfect message that speaks to this time? A message that rises above the divisions. A message that is universal and timeless, while at the same time, being real and relevant. How can I speak to and for all the communities to which I am accountable? Can I offer a word that speaks a truth in my heart and in the hearts of others: my colleagues, my community, all of the people whom I serve and whom I serve with. Will my words be understood? Will they be received with grace? These days, to speak publicly, can feel scary and dangerous—like traversing a minefield. Sometimes we know where the dangers lie, and we can navigate gingerly around them. But this is not always the case. Sometimes, we enter into a situation for which we are unprepared. A word or phrase or idea is misunderstood or taken out of context. An idea that fails to fully grasp or to wholly express the complexity of an issue. One wrong move, one wrong word, and you are persona non grata. On the outs. No longer down. Disinvited from the cookout. Still other times, knowing where the dangers lie, we offer a truth with challenge—confronting institutions, systems, structures, and beliefs. And we brace for the blowback. I intend this message as a gentle challenge—for myself and for you—to court a little danger. I intend this as encouragement to confront institutions and systems. I intend this as provocation to question structures and beliefs. I intend this as an invitation to step outside of the ring of comfort, into ‘truth-telling,’ so that we may approach each other with love and honesty and truth. Feminist activist and cultural critic, bell hooks, advises us that “The practice of love offers no place of safety. We risk loss, hurt, pain. We risk being acted upon by forces outside our control.”[1] In part, this risk implores us to resist being threatened by acknowledging and affirming difference. Far too often, in UU communities, rather than embraced, difference is ignored, pushed aside, or repackaged into a commodity. Or, difference is met with resistance and hostility.

I serve on the Organizing Collective Board of BLUU (Black Lives of Unitarian Universalism). BLUU’s mission: We harnesses love’s power to combat oppression and foster healing as a spiritual and political imperative. We know the power of love to be life-changing, inclusive, relational, uncomfortable, unconditional, and without end. The mission of BLUU could not be more universal. We are clear, however, in our work that this kind of justice making and liberation through our faith requires that we center the experiences of Black people: in this faith, in our communities, in our country, and in our world. And so, we work to provide support, information and resources for Black Unitarian Universalists. We work to expand the role and visibility of Black UUs within our faith. Sometimes, this means creating sacred spaces that are exclusive to Black people. Yet, while our mission is clear that we are far from a ‘separatist organization,’ the insistence that our work demands centering the experiences of Black people in this world is met with hostility and suspicion. This hostility and suspicion are often articulated as pain or confusion. Would-be-allies bemoan that they are excluded from conversations among people of color. They wonder how they can learn about race and racism if they are not allowed unfettered access to us. Defenders-of-the-faith proclaim that such spaces, recognizing difference, are inconsistent with Unitarian Universalism. How can we affirm our shared humanity if we recognize difference?

This critique masks a deep and abiding sense of entitlement. Buried (but not very far below the surface) in this resistance to spaces that exclude White people, is a sense that White people are entitled to the presence of BIPOC people. There is an assumption that people of color ought to be available to teach; to validate; to sooth; to reassure that liberal white people are the good ones—on the right side of history, culture, and society. This entitlement demands to know: How dare we create and maintain something that white people don’t have access to. I don’t experience the same outraged objection at the reality of UU spaces that are entirely white. Sure, there is lots of hand-wringing. There is frequent lamenting the lack of diversity in our congregations. There is the perennial question: why aren’t there more BIPOC people here. Despite this, there is not the complimentary clamor suggesting that all-white congregations, all-white committees, all-white covenant groups strike at the very core of what it means to be Unitarian Universalist. There is no complimentary concern that these all-white spaces threaten our very identity as Unitarian Universalists. Perhaps there should be. Forty years ago, Audre Lorde, who described herself as a “black, lesbian, mother, warrior, poet,” opined:

“it is not those differences between us that are separating us. It is rather our refusal to recognize those differences, and to examine the distortions which result from our misnaming them and their effects upon human behavior and expectation.” She adds: “Institutionalized rejection of difference is an absolute necessity in a profit economy which needs outsiders as surplus people. Whenever the need for some pretense of communication arises, those who profit from our oppression call upon us to share our knowledge with them. In other words, it is the responsibility of the oppressed to teach the oppressors their mistakes.”[2]

We, UUs, are so fond of misquoting Francis Dávid: “we need not think alike to love alike.” Let me add this cautionary from Lorde: “The need for unity is often misnamed as a need for homogeneity.” Regardless of the provenance of the sentiment: We do not need to think alike to be faithful to Unitarian Universalism and to each other. And we do not need to ignore our very real and obvious differences to realize unity. I will go further, to say that the attempt to ignore difference obscures history and cuts off opportunities for us to bring the vibrant mosaic of our fully-lived selves to this faith. Lorde warns that, “too often, we pour the energy needed for recognizing and exploring difference into pretending those differences are insurmountable barriers, or that they do not exist at all. (And as a result), we do not develop tools for using human difference as a springboard for creative change within our lives.” Rather than ignore differences we can develop tools: skill and capacity, for using difference as a springboard for creative change within our lives and within our communities. We are, indeed, on the brink of something potentially amazing. This title is an homage to the Rev. Leslie Takahashi, and her eponymous meditation in Voices from the Margins—an homage to both the work and the person. Rev. Takahashi was the very first person I met at seminary. I was early, and I was sitting by myself in a corner of the lounge. But I was not alone. There was another student, in another corner of the lounge—also keeping to themselves. And when Rev. Leslie walked through, I imagine she must have been confused about the silence. She suggested that we introduce ourselves to each other. She told us that we would need each other. And that we may as well get started. That other student was Theresa Soto.

Colleagues, the truth—now as much as ever—is that we need each other. As Rev. Takahashi writes:

All that we have ever loved
And all that we have ever been
Stands with us on the brink
Of all that we aspire to create:
A deeper peace,
A larger love,
A more embracing hope,
A deeper joy in this life we share.[3]

We can create communities of care that get one another through. Communities of care that look like being gentle with ourselves and others—holding reasonable expectations and extending grace. Communities of care that look like creating space for others to fail, because when we create those spaces for others to fail, we are clearing space for our own failures. Communities of care that look like supporting each other, and creating opportunities for others to thrive. In our communities, there is a yearning to lean into a new normal—whatever this new normal may look like. Let’s not be so quick to rush to normalcy. I get it. We want an even keel. Organisms tend toward homeostasis, and we are no different. But I think what Audre Lorde is inviting us to consider—and what I am asking us to do —is to hang out for a while in our discomfort; squirm a little. To be creative. When I lead workshops that I expect will be challenging, I remind people of the safety/comfort zone. This is where our training, skills and talents have carried us and are put to good use. It’s nice to be comfortable—confident. But there is no incentive for change when we are comfortable and confident. There is little to encourage growth in this comfort zone. Outside of this safety zone, there is an outer limit, beyond which is the danger/panic zone. There is little growth here either; because we are too stressed mentally, physically, or emotionally to be open. In the danger zone, we are in survival mode. We can’t catch our breath. We can’t think clearly. We can’t move. Our amygdala, that lizard brain, is in overdrive. Our walls are up. and all we want is a return to safety—a new normal. But between the two: safety and danger, there is a sweet spot where we are open to learning and change and growth. I dare you to join me—join us—in this sweet spot. As individuals, it will be different for each of us. And it will shift, widen and narrow at times. As a community of faith, let’s find it together—drawing each other into deeper and more authentic relationship. Relationship, as Joseph advises, grounded in trust. Relationship that is supple enough to withstand all the ways that we fall short. Relationship that is open to restoration. Relationship, that lures us—entices us—to action. It will take more than ambition and aspiration. It will take more than study and examination. Communities of care, that carry us forward together, will require action.

All that we have ever loved
And all that we have ever been
Stands with us on the brink
Of all that we aspire to create:

If we are to tip forward together, we will need to eschew safe spaces, instead embracing risk. We will need to embrace our differences. We will need to create communities of care, grounded in love and respect for each other and ourselves. We will need to live into the discomfort that this causes.

All that we have ever loved
And all that we have ever been
Stands with us on the brink
Of all that we aspire to create:
A deeper peace,
A larger love,
A more embracing hope,
A deeper joy in this life we share.