Collective Power in a Shifting World

By Dr. Charles W. Ferguson

“If you want to go fast, go alone. If you want to go far, go together.” – African Proverb


Introduction: When the Ground Shakes

We are living in a time when it feels like the very ground beneath us is shifting. Familiar systems are collapsing. Old certainties no longer hold. The news cycles are filled with war, white nationalism, climate catastrophe, political extremism, and economic anxiety. And beneath it all is a quiet epidemic that rarely makes headlines: isolation.

We are surrounded by people but starving for connection.
We scroll endlessly but rarely feel seen.
We work harder but feel emptier.
We achieve more but belong nowhere.

Our world is filled with noise and novelty, but the soul still craves what the algorithm cannot provide: belongingCare. Presence. Partnership. Power shared in common.

And yet, we’ve been taught—conditioned even—to pursue everything alone. Individual success. Individual dreams. Individual salvation. Even in many faith spaces, the gospel has been privatized: your breakthrough, your blessing, yournext level. We’ve been told that strength is about doing it all yourself. That dependence is weakness. That we should compete instead of collaborate.

But if the past few years have taught us anything—from pandemics to protests to personal grief—it’s that we were never meant to survive alone.

I remember moments when I tried to carry it all by myself—wearing strength like a mask while crumbling underneath the weight of expectation. And I also remember the sacred moments when community saved me. When a kind word, a shared meal, a silent presence, or a collective vision reminded me that I was not alone—and that I didn’t have to be.

The truth is, collective power is not only our resistance—it is our remedy.

It is how we have always survived. Enslaved ancestors built networks of care beneath the lashes of oppression. Civil rights organizers planned in basements and prayed in kitchens. Black mothers, queer artists, laborers, elders, youth—all found strength in the “we” when the “I” was not enough.

Even now, amid the noise of this digital age and the rugged grip of hyper-individualism, the Spirit is whispering again: It is not good for you to be alone.

This post is a declaration:
The power is still with the people.
Not just in marches and megaphones, but in the ordinary miracle of showing up for one another.
Not just in emergency, but in endurance.
Not just in protest, but in proximity.
Not just in anger, but in affection.

The ground is shaking—but so is the silence. So is the apathy. So is the lie that you’re better off by yourself.

We don’t need more self-help or solo acts.
We need to rediscover the sacredness of our togetherness—to organize, to accompany, to imagine, to resist, and to build… together.

Because together, we have always gone farther.
And this shifting world still needs what only we can offer.


Scriptural Bridge: The God Who Moves With the People

From the first pages of Scripture, God does not simply call individuals in isolation—God calls people into community with purpose.

  • When God delivered Israel from Egypt, it wasn’t Moses alone who walked into freedom—it was a nation of slaves turned into a people of promise.
  • When Nehemiah rebuilt the walls of Jerusalem, he didn’t do it with charisma—he did it by rallying families to stand shoulder-to-shoulder, each one building their section.
  • When Jesus began His ministry, He called twelve—not to follow Him in private, but to learn how to walk togetherin the way of the Kingdom.

Ecclesiastes 4:9–12 declares:
“Two are better than one… for if they fall, one will lift up the other. But woe to one who is alone and falls and does not have another to help… a threefold cord is not easily broken.”

The witness of Scripture—and of history—is clear:
God’s greatest works are revealed not through isolated greatness but through unified faithfulness.


The Lie of Individualism

There is perhaps no lie more dangerous than this: you are better off on your own.

From capitalism to colonial theology, we’ve been told to grind alone, win alone, pray alone, and suffer alone. Even in church, we hear messages about my blessing, my calling, my breakthrough. But Jesus never called anyone to follow Him in solitude.

Individualism leaves us disconnected, disoriented, and disposable. It feeds systems of injustice that profit from our division.

But when we remember our interdependence—when we reclaim our sacred connection—we become unbreakable.


Historical Glimpses of Collective Power

History shows us what happens when the people move together:

  • Montgomery Bus Boycott: Ordinary people walked together for 381 days and changed the nation.
  • Bayard Rustin & the March on Washington: Behind the scenes, Rustin organized thousands into a unified movement.
  • SNCC & Freedom Schools: Young people created grassroots educational hubs for justice and transformation.
  • Combahee River Collective: Black lesbian feminists gave us a model for intersectional, liberating solidarity.
  • George Floyd Uprisings: Mass protests, mutual aid, and community care showed that collective grief can become a movement.

We remember Ella BakerFannie Lou HamerFred Hampton, and Grace Lee Boggs—visionaries who knew that the power wasn’t in one leader.
It was in the people.


Biblical Foundations: The Sacredness of Togetherness

In Acts 2, the early church shared everything in common. They sold possessions, broke bread, prayed, and grew together.

  • In Exodus, manna fell equally for all.
  • In Deuteronomy, Jubilee restored the land and the people.
  • In Jesus’ ministry, healing happened in community.

Jesus did not build empires.
He built tables.

And He invites us to do the same.


The Modern Challenge: Disconnection in a Connected World

Though we live in a hyper-connected world, we are suffering from spiritual and relational disconnection.

Capitalism tells us to compete.
Social media tells us to curate.
Empire tells us to isolate.

But our bodies and spirits long for true community. Presence over performance. Shared meals over shallow scrolling.

Reclaiming collective power means reclaiming presence as sacred.
It means showing up for one another—in real life, in real time, with real love.


A Prophetic Call to Rebuild the Village

The time has come to rebuild the village.

Not a return to oppressive traditions—but a forward leap into radical care, shared power, and spiritual resistance.

  • The church must become a community of healing, not just a service.
  • The neighborhood must become a place of kinship, not just proximity.
  • Movements must become ecosystems, not just moments.

We rebuild by listening.
By feeding each other.
By trusting the Spirit’s voice in the collective.
By dreaming out loud.
Together.


Conclusion: The Power Is Still With the People

The world may want us to forget. But history, Scripture, and Spirit remind us:
We still have each other.

And that is enough.

So let us build.
Let us pray.
Let us protest.
Let us protect.
Let us gather around new tables and plant seeds of new systems.

Because the power is not in performance—it’s in partnership.
The hope is not in hierarchy—it’s in the village.
And the future belongs not to the few—but to the faithful collective.

We are still here. And we are still powerful. Together.


Closing Prayer: A Prayer for the People

God of the Village, Weaver of Community, Keeper of the Collective—

We thank You for the power of “we.”
For the sacred stories that live in our neighbors.
For the hands that hold us when our strength runs dry.
For the voices that rise in unison when justice demands an answer.

Forgive us for believing the lie that we must walk alone.
Heal us from the wounds of isolation.
Break every system that teaches us to compete when You have called us to commune.

Build the village again in us.
Stitch together our broken places.
Make us bold enough to show up for one another.
And wise enough to know that Your Spirit moves strongest when we move together.

Make our circles wide.
Make our tables long.
And make our love loud enough to shake the foundations of injustice.

In Jesus’ name,
Amen.

Liberation and the Pulpit

By Dr. Charles W. Ferguson

“The Spirit of the Lord is upon me, because he has anointed me to bring good news to the poor.”
— Luke 4:18 (NRSV)

Introduction: A Sacred Platform or a Silent Stage?

There was a time when the pulpit stood as the loudest microphone in the community. It was not just the centerpiece of Sunday worship—it was the epicenter of cultural commentary, moral courage, and communal healing. It was where we heard the truth spoken in a world built on lies. The pulpit served as a spiritual lighthouse during slavery, Jim Crow, and every social storm that followed. It did not shrink from confrontation. It did not settle for vague encouragement. It spoke with fire, because the world was on fire.

But today, something feels different.

The sanctuary is still full. The lights are still on. The organ still hums. But too many pulpits have fallen quiet—not because the Spirit has gone silent, but because many have traded prophetic authority for political safety. In a time when Black lives are once again questioned, women’s bodies are legislated, queer identities are erased, and poverty is criminalized, the question must be asked: Where is the pulpit?

The silence is deafening.

When I was a child, I was blessed to grow up under one of the most militant and majestic voices in the span of the Black Preaching Tradition: Dr. Charles Edward Booth. Every Sunday, he declared war on low self-esteem and spiritual apathy. He dared us—especially the children—to walk taller, speak louder, and believe deeper. With his bass, God-like voice, he would thunder through the sanctuary, calling out over the heads of adults to speak directly into our young souls:

“Who are you?!”

And we answered, strong and proud:

We are God’s children!
We are beautiful African American children!
I am a beautiful African American princess!
I am a beautiful African American prince!

That wasn’t just liturgy. That was liberation. We were being baptized in dignity. Trained in truth. Formed in a theology that didn’t separate identity from divinity.

That is the kind of pulpit we need again.

We don’t need more performers. We need prophets.
We don’t need more pleasantries. We need power.
We don’t need more noise. We need liberation.


The Black Pulpit: A Historical Seat of Resistance

To understand the power of liberation preaching, one must understand the historical role of the Black pulpit. It has always been more than a place to declare biblical truths. It has been a fortress of resistance, a cradle of dignity, and a platform of protest in a world determined to erase Black lives.

From hush harbors during slavery to storefront churches during the Great Migration, the Black pulpit was the only platform where Black people could stand and speak as fully human. It was where scripture was read through the lens of survival. Moses was our model. Pharaoh was the system. Exodus was the dream.

In the Civil Rights Movement, the pulpit led the march. From Jarena Lee to Richard Allen, from Pauli Murray to MLK, the pulpit was the newsroom, protest site, therapist’s office, and planning room—all in one.

It didn’t just exegete the Word. It exegeted the world.

It declared not just what God said, but what God demanded in Selma, Chicago, Ferguson, or Flint. It refused to be quiet. It called for dignity. It empowered the disinherited. That pulpit birthed movements. And it must rise again.


The Contemporary Compromise

If the pulpit was once a weapon of mass construction, today it often feels like it’s been traded for a spotlight. Some preachers perform. Some institutions sanitize. Some sermons sell—but they do not save.

ICE and Empire

Even now, as ICE raids terrorize families and immigrants hide from a government funded to harm them through the “One Big Beautiful Bill,” too many pulpits are silent. Sanctuary ought to mean refuge, not neutrality.

Policy and Prosperity

That same bill cut critical funding for the poor—Medicaid, SNAP, clean energy—while padding the pockets of the rich. But the pulpits of empire never mentioned it. Where are the prophets?

Division and Digital Violence

Social media has made the pulpit seem optional—replaced by influencers, memes, and tribal hot takes. Yet pulpits remain powerful—if they dare to speak.

Silence is not neutral. It is consent.

As James Cone said,

“Any message that is not related to the liberation of the poor is not Christ’s message.”

Preaching that avoids poverty, racism, and injustice is not gospel—it’s anesthesia.


The Theological Mandate

Jesus didn’t start his ministry with a miracle. He started with a manifesto:

“The Spirit of the Lord is upon me… to bring good news to the poor… liberty to the oppressed…”

That was his pulpit mission. And it must be ours.

True gospel preaching names systems. It uplifts the broken. It agitates the empire.

As Katie Cannon said:

“Doing the work our souls must have is never without consequence.”

James ConeDelores WilliamsHoward Thurman—they taught us that Jesus belongs with “those with their backs against the wall.” Not the powerful. Not the sanitized. But the crucified.

To preach otherwise is to deny the very one we claim to follow.


Reclaiming the Pulpit: A Prophetic Call

To reclaim the pulpit is to remember:

  • Preach the whole gospel: Not just salvation, but liberation.
  • Center the margins: Let the wounded shape the Word.
  • Confront power honestly: If it’s offensive to empire, that’s confirmation.
  • Hold the line: If it costs you, it’s probably gospel.

This is not about popularity. It’s about faithfulness.

If the church is silent while the world burns, what is our witness worth?


Conclusion: The Fire Is Still There

February 13, 1998, I stood in the pulpit for the first time as a 16-year-old preacher trying to make sense of the burning in my spirit. I didn’t know much, but I knew one thing:
Preach the Word.

That mandate has not changed. It has grown stronger.

Because the more I learned about Christ, the more I saw how they tried to whitewash Him—and me. The attempt to erase us, to make us disappear from theology, from history, from public witness—that’s a crime against humanity.

I will not let my heritage be co-opted.
I will not let my calling be diluted.
I was not called to be a slave preacher or a chaplain to the empire.
I was called to Kingdom duty.

To preach liberation, not greed.
To proclaim truth, not tradition.
To stir the fire, not suffocate it.

The fire that fueled Moses still burns.
The fire that filled the upper room still roars.
And the fire in the pulpit must burn again.

We don’t need more noise.
We need voices.
Prophetic. Bold. Unapologetic.

So rise, preacher.
Rise, church.
Reclaim your holy ground.

Because the world is burning, and the people are watching—
And the fire in the pulpit might just be what sets them free.

Closing Prayer: A Prayer for Prophetic Fire

Gracious and Liberating God,
We come to You with trembling hands and burning hearts,
asking for a fresh anointing,
a holy boldness,
and a renewed commitment to Your truth.

Ignite in us the same fire that lit the mouths of prophets,
the same courage that stood in Pharaoh’s courts,
the same power that rolled away the stone.

Forgive us, O God, for the times we chose silence over conviction,
comfort over calling,
fear over faith.

Remind us that Your gospel has always been for the bruised, the buried, the beaten,
and that the pulpit is not a pedestal—it is a place of power,
meant to heal, to liberate, and to raise the dead to life.

Make us unafraid to preach the hard truths.
Make us unwilling to bless systems You came to overturn.
Make us ready to proclaim freedom, even if it costs us everything.

Let our preaching shake foundations.
Let our pulpits roar with justice.
Let our churches rise in righteousness.

We ask all this in the mighty, liberating, justice-bringing name of Jesus Christ.
Amen.

To My Son on His 11th Birthday: A Legacy of Love and Uniqueness

This Friday, my son CJ turns 11 years old. It feels surreal even writing that. Eleven. A number that somehow holds both innocence and strength, both growth and grounding. He’s growing into himself in a way that’s both beautiful and humbling to witness.

When CJ was born, I was flooded with emotion—some joy, some anxiety, all love. I didn’t have my own father in my life growing up, so stepping into fatherhood wasn’t just new territory—it felt like stepping into the unknown without a map. I didn’t know if I’d do it “right.” I wasn’t sure what I had to offer beyond love and a willingness to be present.

But every day, CJ teaches me that presence has power.

Every time I watch him interact with others—his kindness, his humor, his curiosity—I feel affirmed. Not because I’ve done everything right, but because somehow, God is allowing me to get this part of life right. Being CJ’s dad has been the greatest blessing of my life, and the most healing experience of my journey.

There is no amount of money I wouldn’t spend. No distance I wouldn’t travel. No mountain I wouldn’t climb for this boy. But more than anything, I want to give him something money can’t buy: the kind of advice I wish I had received from my own father.

So on this 11th birthday, I want to leave these words for CJ—words that I hope will live in his heart long after I’m gone:


To my son, CJ—

Do whatever it takes never to let this world make you feel less than.
Stay true to who you are, no matter the cost.
Your uniqueness is your superpower—don’t let anyone dull it to make themselves comfortable.

Never allow this world to strip you of your joy.
Laugh often. Cry when you need to. Dance when there’s no music.
Be the kind of person others can trust, and the kind of soul people hold in high regard.

Don’t take yourself too seriously, but never take this life for granted.
Every moment is sacred—make it count.

Live up to your own name, not the expectations of others.
You were not born to meet the imagination of people who don’t know your story.
You were born to fulfill purpose.
To walk with confidence in who you are.
To blaze a path that no one else could because no one else is you.

And when the noise of the world tries to drown out your voice, remember:
Your father sees you.
Your father believes in you.
And your father loves you—unapologetically, endlessly, and without condition.


CJ, being your dad is the greatest legacy I will ever carry. But my truest prayer is that you walk in a legacy of your own making. One that honors your name, your God, and your unique place in this world.

Happy Birthday, son. The world is better because you’re in it.
And I’m better because I get to be your father.

With all the love I have,
Dad