John Woolman's Undyed Coat

In the 1750s, a prosperous New Jersey shopkeeper named John Woolman closed his ledger book, stepped out from behind his counter, and began walking away from his thriving business. Not because it was failing — because it was succeeding. The more his trade grew, the more entangled it became with the labor of enslaved people, and Woolman could no longer reconcile his Sunday prayers with his Monday profits.

He began traveling on foot through the American colonies, visiting Quaker meetinghouses and the parlors of slaveholders alike. He wore an undyed coat — refusing dyes produced by slave labor — and ate simply, often declining fine meals served by enslaved hands. For nearly twenty years, Woolman walked from farm to farm, sitting across the table from wealthy Friends, gently asking them to look at the human cost of their comfort.

He didn't shout. He didn't condemn. He simply made it impossible for people to look away.

By the time Woolman died in 1772, the Society of Friends had begun formally disowning members who held slaves — decades before the broader abolition movement gained strength.

Isaiah 58 draws a sharp line between the fast that impresses and the fast that transforms. God tells Israel their worship rings hollow while the oppressed remain in chains. The fast God chooses loosens bonds, shares bread, and shelters the wandering poor. Woolman understood this. He traded a comfortable religion for a costly obedience — and became exactly what the prophet promised: a repairer of the breach.