On a warm July afternoon at Powderhouse Park in Somerville, several hundred neighbors, organizers, elders, youth, people of faith, and no faith at all gathered for Good Trouble Lives On—a national day of action to defend our civil and human rights and to honor the living legacy of Congressman John Lewis. Grounded in my work as an organizer and activist for making love and justice real, and representing both Sanctuary UCC and Safe Medford, I was honored to open the event with a reflection on our purpose and to offer a closing blessing. The event was masterfully organized by Mystic Mashup Indivisible. What follows are the words offered—grounded in the sacred call to love our neighbor, practice democracy, and never stop making Good Trouble.
May these words stir your spirit, strengthen your resolve, and send you back into the streets, the voting booths, and the beloved community—ready to speak up, show up, and help redeem the soul of our nation.
My beloved community—
Welcome to Good Trouble Lives On.
Welcome to Powderhouse Park.
Welcome to the work.
Thank you to the organizers of the movement – and especially our local Mystic Mashup Indivisible, who made this happen, here. Thank you to Safe Medford, for signing on to support and sponsor this gathering. And thank you to each and every one of you for showing up – OMG in this heat – with your hands and hearts ready to make some good trouble.
We are gathered here—not because we’re angry (though we have every right to be). Not because we’re afraid (though there’s plenty to fear in these times). Not even because we are resisting something destructive (though we are doing that too).
We gather here today—shoulder to shoulder, soul to soul—to protest. For sure! But we gather here today not just to protest! We gather here today to proclaim. That we believe. Still. That a better world is possible. That democracy is still worth defending. AND – That love is still the most powerful force for change this world has ever known.
As a spiritual leader and a person of deep faith, I stand here not to convert, but to invite you to. connect—and to remind us that the most sacred thread that runs through all of our traditions—and even through the hearts of those who claim no faith at all—is the call to love our neighbor.
Love your neighbor. Welcome the stranger. Do justice. Love mercy. Walk humbly. That’s not just scripture—that’s the blueprint for a just society.
And let’s be clear: Loving your neighbor is not a sentiment. It is a practice. It means showing up—not just in times of crisis—but at the PTA meetings, the zoning boards, the city council hearings. It means getting out the vote—not just in presidential years, but in school committee elections. It means learning our neighbors’ names—and also learning the policies that shape their lives. It means we care about who gets evicted and who gets elected. It means we care about who’s included at the table—and who’s been told, over and over again, that there’s no seat for them. It means we don’t just say Black Lives Matter—we act like it in our budgets, in our ballots, and in our backyard. That’s what neighbor-love looks like in public.
That’s what John Lewis was all about. He believed in nonviolence, but don’t mistake that for passivity. He believed in discipline, in training your soul for the long struggle. He believed in the kind of fierce, faithful hope that marches straight into the teeth of injustice and won’t back down. He said, “
“Freedom is not a state; it is an act. It is not some enchanted garden perched high on a distant plateau where we can finally sit down and rest. Freedom is the continuous action we all must take, and each generation must do its part to create an even more fair, more just society. The work of love, peace, and justice will always be necessary, until their realism and their imperative takes hold of our imagination, crowds out any dream of hatred or revenge, and fills up our existence with their power.”
John Lewis taught us that Good Trouble isn’t random. It is not reckless. It is rooted. It is prayer with its sleeves rolled up. It is faith with its feet in the street. It is democracy practiced with courage and care. And Lord knows, this moment calls for it.
We are living in a time when book bans are making a comeback, but assault weapons still roam free. When voting rights are under attack, and history itself is being whitewashed. When some politicians trade truth for power, and pretend that cruelty is strength. Lewis warned us about these leaders long ago. He said, “This nation is still a place of cheap political leaders who build their careers on immoral compromises.” But he also told us—faithfully, fiercely—that we must live as if the Beloved Community is already here.
And that, my friends, is why we gather. Because every time we do—every time we come together in truth, in music, in movement, in hope—we are creating that community.
When we gather around communion tables or kitchen tables—When we gather in churches or mosques, in synagogues or sanctuaries, at protests or parks—When we gather across race, gender, generation, and belief—We are creating sacred ground. We are healing what has been fractured. We are testifying with our bodies that the people are still here. And we are not done yet.
This, too, is what faith looks like: The faith that what we are moving toward is already on the horizon. The faith that our acts of courage and compassion matter, even if we don’t see the harvest. The faith that we are not fighting alone—because we are marching in the footsteps of ancestors and elders who dreamed and bled and sang and organized for our freedom.
So to every speaker who comes up after me—Bring your fire. Bring your joy. Bring your honesty. We need your witness.
And to all of you standing here today—don’t just be moved by this moment. Be mobilized. Let this not just be a gathering—it must be a beginning. A recommitment. A re-rooting in the call to live out love—not just with our hearts, but with our hands. When you leave this park today—don’t leave empty-handed. Leave with a name. Leave with a neighbor to check on. Leave with a campaign to join. Leave with the intention to register others to vote, to hold the line on truth, and to stand up for the dignity of every child, every family, every stranger who becomes neighbor.
Because this is what democracy looks like. And you are what hope looks like in motion. Let us leave here, as Lewis would want us to, prepared to speak up, speak out, get in the way, and get into good trouble—necessary trouble—to redeem the soul of America.
Amen. Ashe. And let the people say: Let’s go make some trouble.
Closing Blessing – Good Trouble Lives On
Beloved community,
As we go from this place,
May the road rise to meet your courage.
May the wind carry your voices far and wide.
May your feet stay ready for marching,
your heart stay open to loving,
and your spirit stay fierce for justice.
May you make good trouble,
necessary trouble,
the kind that lifts the lowly,
interrupts the injustice,
and helps redeem the soul of this nation.
Go in power.
Go in peace.
Go in solidarity.
And don’t you dare stop until all of us are free.
Amen. Ashe. And onward, together.
