On Advocacy, Mission Drift, and Good Bones

During Congress’ August recess, members of the Office of Social Justice and the Climate Witness Project prepared for a handful of advocacy meetings with legislators. I attended four of these meetings—two on the topic of immigration and two with the Climate Witness Project to discuss climate action. It’s challenging to know what all of this work will accomplish; on one hand, congressional staffers frequently say how important it is to meet with your legislators but, on the other hand, our asks (bold legislation to mitigate the effects of climate change, a pathway to citizenship for undocumented immigrants) are ones advocates have pushed for a long time with limited results.

Much of justice work is like that: the stakes are high and the progress is slow. In my first two and a half months as the Justice Mobilizing and Advocacy fellow at the OSJ, I have seen close-up how this work can feel: exhausting, daunting, demoralizing. Just last week, at a local advocacy meeting, a man expressed frustration about the state of creation care. “Sometimes it feels like nothing is happening,” we commiserated, “How can we go on?” 

The answers everyone shared were inspiring, and a much-needed reminder of what faith-based advocacy means.

Lately, a colleague at the OSJ has been diligent in reminding us that “mission drift happens every thirty days.” It’s alarming that it takes mere weeks to stray from one’s philosophy, that without persistent realignment, we can quickly get blown off course. I would argue that in faith-based advocacy, this is especially insidious; it can be easy to give in to despair on the one side, self-aggrandizement on the other. 

My colleagues and I spent a large portion of a recent meeting sharing why we feel compelled to do the work that we do. The answers everyone shared were inspiring, and a much-needed reminder of what faith-based advocacy means. When we commit ourselves to justice in the name of Christ, we commit to laboring toward a perfect shalom we will never experience in our earthly lives. But beautifully, graciously—the story does not end there. One day we will see the justice we seek fully realized, and relentlessly pursuing that justice is an act of hope and faith in Christ.

We tirelessly proclaim that this is not the way it is supposed to be, we are bridging the already of the Kingdom and the not quite yet.

With the ongoing debate over the reconciliation package, we are at a key point in immigration and climate legislation. We have the opportunity to use this moment to protect creation, advocate for the health and safety of those vulnerable to natural disasters and the effects of climate change, seek legislation that reflects the Christian mandate to welcome the foreigner. With so much at stake, I felt almost paralyzed going into our advocacy meetings. How much can our voices actually matter? 

Turning to Scripture comforts me: my job is to speak truth in love (Ephesians 4:15, NIV), to defend the rights of the poor and needy (Proverbs 31:9, NIV), and to trust that, no matter the result of my work, all things hold together in Christ (Colossians 1:17, NIV). Sometimes justice work does not make sense: it is emotional, messy, complex. But when we do it, when we tirelessly proclaim that this is not the way it is supposed to be, we are bridging the already of the Kingdom and the not quite yet. We are repeating, with audacious hope, Maggie Smith’s question from “Good Bones:” “This place could be beautiful / right?” And trusting that one day, with the fanfare of trumpets and a chorus of angels, it will be so.

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Photo by Kenrick Mills on Unsplash