Interrupting Injustice: Words Matter

Rev. Dr. Anna Howard Shaw Quote: "...hold fast to that which God had given you; let no power, no injustice, no obstacle, no scorn, no opposition, let nothing extinguish the flame... never take your truth down to the world's level."

A colleague of mine, Jenny Smith, wrote a poem—a poem she didn’t want to write. She said it felt too big, too heavy. And yet, she wrote it anyway. Because sometimes, silence is a luxury we can’t afford.

Her poem, posted on her Facebook page, begins with this quiet confession:

i don’t need

to jump into this

news cycle

but this morning

my body reminds me

there is

so

much

harm

in our

collective body

Jenny’s words hit differently this week. The world feels raw and weary. Stories of exploitation, abuse, and corruption seem endless. We’re watching the most vulnerable among us pitted against one another—as if justice, food, and health care were choices we must compete for instead of shared human rights. There is so much harm in our collective body—our shared humanity groaning under the weight of systems that wound and stories that still haven’t been told.

As I read her poem, I was struck by how embodied it is. “My body reminds me,” she says. Because injustice isn’t just something we read about. We feel it. In our bones. In our breath. In our heaviness. In our longing for something better.

humans disappearing

hearts manipulated

beliefs demolished

moral injury rampant

bodies assaulted

spirits broken

The words are sparse, but the truth is overflowing.

And as I sat with her words, I felt it too—deep in my own body. The memories stirred. I remember what it was like to be silenced. To be afraid that telling the truth would make me the problem. To carry something that didn’t have a name for years, until one day the world started to whisper, Me too.

It is both devastating and liberating. Devastating, because I realize how many of us carry that same ache. Liberating, because I know I'm not alone.

So yes — everything feels so big right now. And it is so important to do the work of interupting the injustices we see. Words are so fundemental. Because every time we speak, write, or preach the truth, we push back against the silence that once kept us captive.

we ache for

accountability

repair

beloved community

Even when the pain feels overwhelming, the calling of faith—and of humanity—isn’t to turn away. It’s to stay. To feel. To listen. To name the harm. And then to do something.

our work continues

today as we feel

the pain in our

collective spirit

and we again

resist evil

organize

feed siblings

interrupt injustice

practice presence

love

For preachers, writers, teachers—for anyone with a voice—these are the moments that test us. Words matter. The pulpit, the platform, the poem—these are sacred spaces where we can either comfort the comfortable or challenge the powerful.

Interrupting injustice starts small. It starts in our bodies, our prayers, our neighborhoods. It looks like feeding a neighbor, speaking up, refusing to turn away. It looks like naming the harm and holding hope at the same time.

Because our work continues.

Even when it hurts to say the words.

Even when we don’t want to write the poem.

Even when the story we carry feels too tender to touch.

Love compels us to keep going.