For most of my twenties and early thirties I’ve been passionate about community transformation within urban neighborhoods. This call has sent me to work in a number of U.S. cities alongside several dedicated individuals who are finding creative ways to use their gifts in service to strengthening and developing communities. Overtime, I’ve come to understand that the way we talk about “community" and the way we talk about “development” looks drastically different depending on where we’re sitting. For some, the work unfolds like a game of Monopoly. Those who hold the most assets (usually real-estate) control the board. Success is ultimately determined by economic gains and speed informs the way decisions are made. For others, the work of developing community looks more like creating a patchwork quilt, where neighbors are the patches and everyone’s invited to sew a stitch. Success in this scenario is determined by how well the disparate fabric squares come together, what new and useful creation (the quilt) emerges, and who shows up to thread the needle. As one can imagine, this approach is necessarily slower and guided by relationship.
From my vantage point, both ways are correct and important. We need visionaries on the top willing to take risks on big bets, and we need stewards on the bottom calling forth the neighborhood seers and inviting them to join the quilting circle. Easy right? Hardly. Cities across the world are dealing with the complicated dynamics of changing neighborhoods. Gentrification is considered a bad word in some sectors, while social justice organizations and human service professionals are accused of being a nuisance by far too many development corporations. At the center of this challenge we find groups of people who feel misunderstood, silenced, and threatened—either by the division and fragmentation of their social fabric or by the exposure of their power. To me, this feels much deeper than a top down vs. bottom up discrepancy. Instead, I think we’re dealing with a fundamental clash in value systems and a pervading ideology that makes it all too easy to discount our human lives and stories in favor of so-called progress. The irony here is that when we’re talking about community development, we’re inherently talking about the flourishing of people and the vibrancy of neighborhoods. What are we doing if we’re not taking those lives and stories into account!? If leaders with decision making power fail to see the humanity in their blueprints and masterplans, we’ll get it wrong every time. If grassroots advocates fail to see themselves as active agents, our efforts will always fall short. There has to be a better way.
What if that better way started with radical truth telling—the truth about who we are as individuals and who we are together. There’s an endless number of books and podcasts at the ready—many of them about “community building”—that teach us new techniques for growing our influence, using story to brand our cause and persuade a crowd, and getting our ideas to scale quickly. But many of these tactics still keep us tied to an us vs. them dynamic. While we might achieve acceptable outcomes, the way we get there still requires some level of power play, and in the long run these approaches rarely yield lasting fruit.
What if we started with a different set of questions? What if we asked: “What do I believe is true about this group of people? What do I believe is true about me?” Might we discover a new way forward? Might we uncover that our own deeply held beliefs and bias are coloring our efforts? Might we listen with renewed ears? Might we find that deep down we’re all longing for the same thing? A desire to be known, cared for, and connected to each other and the places we inhabit?
I can’t talk about this better way without talking about Jesus; because it’s His way.
For those with privilege and power the lie we’re inclined to believe is that the only way to keep our influence is to grip tightly and keep dissenting voices at bay. We’re tempted to hide our weakness because we think fallibility diminishes our authority. But Jesus shows us something different. He was given the ultimate authority from God and had the ability (and right) to wield it like fire. Yet He held this authority with great reverence, giving of himself to invite others to hold and proclaim this great power too. Can we learn to wield our mighty swords like Jesus did? More like a beacon and less like a box cutter?
For those on the margins feeling disenfranchised the lie we’re tempted to believe is that we have no power or influence and therefore nothing to offer. But Jesus has something to teach us here too. Scripture is overflowing with stories of God using ordinary people to do extraordinary things. The meek, the weak, the sick, the broken—God uses them to advance His mission to make all things new. The culture might tell us we have nothing to offer, but God says, “You are my beloved on whom my favor rests.” Are we willing to step into that promise? Can we trust that in our weakness He is strong? Can we learn to step into the authority God entrusts to us by the gift of the Holy Spirit?
I’m beginning to learn that if we want to bring about community transformation, the process must start deep within ourselves. As we grow more rooted in relationship with the One who created everything, perhaps we’ll find that our relationship to the rest of His creation will grow and change too. Maybe we'll begin to see each other as brothers and sisters, friends on a journey together, hearts longing for the flourishing of one another and the places we dwell.
For me, that feels like a hopeful process towards the real neighborhood renewal I long to see. I long to see a group of corporate developers sitting at the table with a group of local elders discussing the merits of pit barbecue. I long to see some research and policy professionals training local artists how to work with city council. I long to see a group of high-schoolers appointed as block captains. I long to see a group of stay at home moms invited to reimagine the programming of our public parks. This is the kind of community transformation I wish to be a part of, and I’m choosing to trust that if God has planted these stories in my heart, he might long for them too.
May each of us long for this kind of transformation.
May we see this transformation start in ourselves.
May we see this transformation grow in our relationships.
May we see this transformation overflow in the places we live.