quad cities interfaith

Opening Remarks at Quad Cities Interfaith's 2016 Fundraising Breakfast

As its president, I spoke first at Quad Cities Interfaith's annual fundraising breakfast on November 10, 2016. Quad Cities Interfaith empowers people to create change in their community and create racial and economic justice. This is what I said...


Good morning.

I am Rev. Clark Olson-Smith. I am the pastor of St. Paul Lutheran Church in Clinton, Iowa. And I am the president of Quad Cities Interfaith.

Quad Cities Interfaith turned 30 this year. That’s thirty years of creating a more just society.

Today is not a day to celebrate those 30 years. We did that over the summer. But today, I do want to remember one thing: Quad Cities Interfaith was born in crisis. A jobs crisis. A housing crisis.

Why remember the crisis of 30 years ago? So we can remember who we still are today.

We do not live at the mercy of our anxiety. We are people of hope.

Here is a principle of community organizing. We take the world as it is, not as we want it to be. I don’t know about you, but until the other day, I was living with some illusions. Those are gone now. Losing them was painful, but now I can begin again, with you, at the starting point of organizing. Reality.

From reality, we look with eyes of faith toward a future firmly in the hands of the God of compassion and justice. So we do not despair. Instead, we come together to act powerfully for God’s future. The beloved community.

Hope is more than a feeling. Hope is a choice. It’s a verb. Hope is an act of defiance.

Hope is building community.
Hope is deeper relationships across our differences.
Hope is strengthening your congregation.
Hope is developing your leadership and growing your public life.
Hope is exhausting ourselves doing sacred work for justice and compassion.
Hope is what happens as we organize for power.

I want to thank you for being here today. We’re going to hear about the hope that’s happening right now, because of Quad Cities Interfaith.

Thank you for your generosity. We have work to do. We can only do it together. The time and money you give today matters more than ever.


Make a tax-deductible gift here: http://qcinterfaith.org/

2016: though the vortex

I shared this spiritual reflection at the Gamaliel of Iowa/Illinois Leadership Retreat in Rock Island, Illinois on January 7, 2016.

Living in reality

My son Amos just had his first Christmas. It was my daughter Susannah’s third.

Before the holidays, my father-in-law asked me what changed since Amos was born. I said, “We used to do tag-team parenting—my wife could tag out and I could tag in, or the other way around. But now, we parent man-on-man. There’s no tagging out. It feels like I have zero time for myself, and sometimes I’m just angry and resentful about that.”

And guess what my father-in-law said?

“Good. You’re living in reality.”

Change. Loss. Grief. It’s part of the same package. The same reality. Even with the changes we call good. They're layers of the same onion. Change. Loss. Grief.

I bring this up because, here we are talking about transformation. A transformational narrative. Pathways to societal change. Restructuring our organizations. Shifting priorities. Shifting decision-making. Shifting relationships.

Let’s peel a layer off that onion.

How does all of that make you feel? At the Gamaliel National Leadership Retreat in December—leaders and organizers from 17 states across the country—we were feeling everything. Confused. Excited. Terrified. Enlightened. Resolute. Suspicious. Hopeful. All the feels.

And that’s good. It means we’re living in reality. That’s transformation. Real transformation. Transformation is such a pretty word. A clean word. But in reality, it’s the onion.

It burns.

We’re people of faith. So we believe there’s reality and then there’s reality. Are you with me? I’m talking about revelation. A peak behind the curtain of we thought was real. An invitation to live in the deeper reality.

Change. Loss. Grief. That’s the real reality. We have to say no, before we can say yes.

We resist loss, not change

Here’s one of the laws of physics in that real reality. People don’t resist change. They resist loss.*

We don’t resist change. We resist loss.

Loss. And it’s stinky, weepy friend, grief. Change. Loss. Grief.

Sometimes it’s easier to construct a fake reality than live in the real one. Say we’re stretching for the next new thing while we’re really still clinging to the old. Denying the messy middle between the end and the new beginning. We deny the loss as a way of dismissing the negative emotions. Pay no attention to the reality behind the curtain.

Change. Loss. Grief.

Can I go deeper? Pain. Uncertainty. Fear. Powerlessness. Loss of identity. Shame. Who do you think you are? Unworthiness. Vulnerability.

Swirling vortex

Do you know Rev. David Gerth? Go to Gamaliel National Leadership Training. Weeklong. That’s where Rev. Gerth introduced me to the swirling vortex. That’s what the swirling vortex feels like. That gut-churning list.

Will press show up to this event?

How will this organization—this person—respond to my agitation?

Am I worthy of more power?

Hollywood gives us language to talk about the swirling vortex. It’s Alice in Wonderland—through the looking glass, or down the rabbit hole. The Matrix—red pill or blue pill. With all the messy, risky, painful, chaotic uncertainty. Change, loss, grief.

And what do those movies tell us? The swirling vortex may have many names, but there’s only one way to get from one reality to another. Even Hollywood says so: Love is not a victory march, and neither is liberation.

We are people of faith. How do we get out of this human-constructed reality—free-market military-prison-poverty-church-racism-sexism-industrial complex? How to we move into God’s real reality—the beloved community?

Faith languages, holy stories

Our languages of faith and our holy stories talk about the swirling vortex too. They also say there’s only one way. Through. The swirling vortex is really a door, a path, a portal to God’s reality. Hollywood is just ripping us off.

I’m a Lutheran pastor. I tell stories of death and resurrection. Of losing our lives to save them.

Others tell stories of liberation via wilderness wandering and a harrowing chase across a muddy Red Sea.

Others name peace as woven from the struggle of surrendering to God’s gracious will.

Others invite us to redefine God.

How do you name it? The swirling vortex. Change. Loss. Grief. The way to the real reality. The most gracious, spacious reality.

And the deepest truth. That letting go and braving the vortex—as we actually do it—is really a gift we are receiving, not an achievement we’ve won and have any right to brag about.

Leaving All Saints

Listen. I’m telling you this from the swirling vortex. I’m in it right now.

I used to be the pastor of All Saints Lutheran Church in Davenport, Iowa. Three weeks ago, I was, but I’m not anymore.

In our Lutheran bureaucratic language, I “resigned without call.” But what I’m saying is, I quit my job and now I’m unemployed and I’m not sure what will happen next.

People who know me know I do not make rash decisions. Leslie knows. Leaving All Saints was not a rash decision. I spent a lot of time in prayer and in conversation with my wife and others I trust.

But when it came down to the reality of life coming at me, clarity came suddenly and abundantly. I was not the one to lead All Saints into its next chapter. And the most transformational thing I could do…was leave.

And whatever leaving meant for All Saints (a congregation I love), or for me and my family, or for my reputation with my bishop, or for my role as president and work with Quad Cities Interfaith—whatever it meant, I needed to live in reality. The real reality. And it was now or never.

So I woke up one morning in November—Amos wasn’t even 6 months old yet—and I started making phone calls. And that initiated a series of scary, shitty days.

And also, hope, peace, new life.

Two ways to fail

Friends, as I see it, there are at least two ways we can fail. The first is fear. We can find the swirling vortex—the change, loss, grief—and we can refuse to jump. I think you know what I mean. The danger of fear gets a lot of air time around here, so I’m not going to say more about it.

There’s another danger. The second way we can fail. It’s also fear, but fear masking as arrogance.

We can pretend jump into the swirling vortex and sing our own praises. Or we jump but on the way down, we grab hold of the the diving board and claim we’re still falling. That’s what happens we don’t really get real. We refuse to really get vulnerable with each other. We deny the loss. We dismiss the grief.

Be. Listen. Feel.

“Be the change you want to see!” But don’t let the slogan go to your head!

Yeah, be the change. And also, take off the armor. Surrender the blame. Listen for the loss, your own and others. Let the grief just come. That’s the only way to really receive the gift of we’re striving for. It’s the only way to find gratitude. To change the world—not just any old way—but with wholehearted love.ϯ

I don’t have this all figured out, but I’ve learned this.

There are people who have willingly surrendered much more than has ever been taken away from me. People who have willingly laid down more than I have yet found a way to let go of.

All for my sake and for the sake of this whole world. For all. So together we can live—and taste in some real, if sometimes small ways, freedom, belonging, honest work, growth, friendship, dignity.

When I stop in awe and gratitude and honest confession about my failings, I can finally behold this revealed truth for what it is—that I am not the source of the change I am striving for.

We are not the source of the change we’re striving for.

Put a toe in that swirling vortex. Throw yourself, your organization, your enemies into that powerful love.

I can’t tell you what the most transformational thing you can do is. You have to follow the call of love for you. I can only invite you to follow me.

And receive the new, transformed world that’s already being born.