The Long March Home

In 2015, a small congregation in Portland voted to become a sanctuary church for undocumented families. The decision cost them. Within six months, they lost forty percent of their giving units. Their denomination threatened to revoke their affiliation. Neighbors filed noise complaints about the children playing in the parking lot.

Pastor Elena, who had championed the vote, told me she woke every morning that first year with a stone in her stomach. "I kept reading James 1:12," she said. "Blessed is the one who perseveres under trial. And I realized the blessing wasn't waiting on the other side of the hard thing. The blessing was becoming the kind of people who could sit with discomfort and not abandon what love requires."

Three years later, that church had not recovered its budget. But they had built a legal aid clinic, a community garden, and a network of mutual aid that stretched across the city. The people who stayed discovered something Rachel Held Evans once named beautifully — that faith is not certainty but faithful presence.

Perseverance in the progressive tradition is not gritting your teeth through personal hardship. It is the stubborn, communal refusal to stop showing up where justice and mercy demand you be. The crown of life James promises is not a reward for endurance. It is the transformed life that endurance itself creates — a life stretched wide enough to hold the suffering of others alongside your own.

When the easier path is silence, staying loud is its own kind of holy.