From Your Associate Executive for Racial Justice

“Stories are the communal currency of humanity.” — Tahir Shah

“There is no greater agony than bearing an untold story inside you.” — Maya Angelou

Storytelling is one of the oldest and most sacred practices of the human community. It is how we pass down wisdom, remember our origins, and give shape to our collective identity. Within communities of faith, storytelling is not merely about recounting events—it is about proclaiming God’s activity in human history. From the parables of Jesus to the testimonies of our ancestors, stories have served as vessels for truth, memory, and revelation. They connect head and heart, past and present, word and Spirit.

At the beginning of October, we were blessed by the gift of Michele Minter in storytelling. She shared the virtually unknown story of the effects of structural and systemic racism in the city of Cleveland and the journey of faith of a Presbyterian church and its surrounding community. Among many protagonists, the Rev. Bruce Klunder, a PC(USA) minister, joined the civil rights movement in sharing the silenced stories and struggles of his church and its surrounding community, shedding light on social injustice, and raising awareness of the ills of structural and systemic racism (You can read an article about this presentation HERE or watch the YouTube HERE).

The purpose of storytelling in the life of the church extends beyond remembrance; it is a ministry of meaning-making. Through stories, congregations rediscover who they are and what they are called to do. When we tell the stories of our struggles and our faith, we bear witness to God’s sustaining grace amid injustice, loss, and renewal. Stories become a mirror for reflection and a window toward transformation—they help us see both where we have fallen short and where hope still takes root.

Ben Okri, a Nigerian and British poet and novelist, wrote, “Stories can conquer fear, you know. They can make the heart bigger.” As I continue to listen, meet, connect, and learn about and from you, I have heard many stories. Some are filled with joy. I have witnessed the active commitment of college students working towards justice and engaging in acts of repair in the state of Michigan. The same sentiment I experienced from youth and young adults collaborating and seeking ways to support one another and their presbyteries in the state of Ohio. Others share stories of disillusionment, harm, sadness, and disappointment. Others share the pain of not being heard, of systematically and historically being censored and silenced. In committees and one-on-ones, I have heard the recounting of stories where members of our community engaged in acts of violence, uttered words that communicate hate, and actions and decisions that nurture fracture and fragmentation, and further alienation.

Even in that reality, I have witnessed presbytery leaders, executives, and stated clerks seeking ways to support one another and their presbyteries, exploring ways to serve faithfully while fostering spaces and opportunities for imagination and creativity. I observed how commissioners fellowship and worship together, seeking ways to be better listeners and learning ways to become faithful partners to those who have been mistreated. I have had the blessing of learning about, from, and with a dedicated Synod staff that is committed and dedicated to service, justice, and supporting this body.

In the ongoing work of justice and racial justice, storytelling becomes a sacred act of resistance and restoration. When communities of faith create spaces for people to tell their truths—especially those historically silenced—they make room for healing and accountability. Each shared narrative breaks down barriers of ignorance and indifference, allowing empathy to grow. In listening deeply and telling courageously, the church reclaims its prophetic voice, reminding us all that redemption is not abstract—it is lived and spoken, one story at a time.

As we gather with loved ones at the end of November, what stories are we sharing? Who are the recurring protagonists? What are their ascribed roles? Who are we leaving out? Who do our stories want to keep silent, forgotten? Anthony de Mello, an Indian Jesuit priest, once wrote, “The shortest distance between a human being and truth is a story.” Often, we like telling a refined, reenvisioned, or palatable version of stories, keeping us from truth that can remind and connect us with our humanity to then see the humanity in others.

As we look into welcoming and celebrating the season of Advent, what are our expectations? What is our hope? Our stories communicate our focus, interests, and comfort. Conversely, our storytelling and the parts of the story we choose to focus on or leave out also communicate a message of comfort or discomfort, welcoming or rejection, inclusion or exclusion, room for growth or commitment to the status quo. As we prepare ourselves for the season of Advent and encounter each other and our loved ones gathering during the holidays, may we allow room for courageous storytelling, where truth can be given life, and where our fear can dissipate. Consequently, creating spaces of awareness, tenderness, kindness, compassion, and love. May the Holy Spirit continue to move.

Let us pray:

Gracious and Eternal God, You are the Author of our stories and the Keeper of our collective memory. Thank You for the gift of voices that tell truth, reveal grace, and inspire change. Help us to listen with open hearts and to speak with courage and compassion. May the stories we share build bridges of understanding, heal what has been broken, and bear witness to Your justice and love in this world. In the name of the One whose story redeems us all—Jesus Christ—we pray. Amen.

Paz y bendiciones (peace and blessings)! 

Rev. Ruth-Aimée Belonni-Rosario

Associate Executive for Racial Justice

ruthaimee@synodofthecovenant.org

248-752-3697