The Role of Faith in Social Movements: A Conversation with Rev. Kelly Brown Douglas

Jonathan Beasley: We live in a moment marked by immigration raids, deep political division, and what some describe as a growing sense of fear. In recent months, we’ve seen faith leaders gathering outside detention centers, clergy marching in freezing temperatures, and congregations asking what it means to stand with those who feel targeted or unseen.

In moments like this, faith can either retreat into private comfort—or step into public life.

For Rev. Kelly Brown Douglas, faith isn’t an abstract set of beliefs. It’s something that shapes how you see the world—and how you respond to it. It shows up in the faces of children. In the fears of parents. In the questions we ask about who belongs and whose dignity counts.

I’m Jonathan Beasley, and this is The Harvard Religion Beat.

Today I’m speaking with the Rev. Kelly Brown Douglas, who’s an Episcopal priest, author, and professor at Harvard Divinity School. We’ll be talking about moral imagination, sacred dignity, and why she believes hope isn’t just something we feel. It’s something we do.  

Rev. Douglas, your life bridges pastoral ministry, academic theology, and public justice work. What early experiences, in church or community, shaped how you see faith as something public and not just personal? 

Kelly Brown Douglas: When I think about where I am now and how I've gotten to where I am now, it always goes back to a pivotal story, really, from my childhood. I grew up in Dayton, Ohio. And Dayton, Ohio, was and continues to be a very segregated city. And so growing up in Dayton, African-Americans lived on the West Side of town.

And I'll never forget. I was maybe seven or eight years old, no more than that. And it was a rainy, cold evening. And I was going downtown with my parents, and I was sitting in the back seat of the car. And I remember as we got to the so-called inner city, looking out the window, we stopped at a stoplight. And I looked out the window, and I saw what in my mind's eye were a brother and sister about my same age. They weren't dressed for the weather.  

And it brought tears to my eyes. And I vowed to myself in that moment, as a seven or eight-year-old, that I would one day come back and get those children. Now, in my mind's eye, that meant that I would get older, they would stay young, and I could literally come back and get those children.  

But one thing that I know for sure, as I got older and obviously recognized that that wasn't going to happen, and I began to think of various ways to get back to those children, even at that age. And I thought, OK, as a teacher, a lawyer, et cetera. But as I got older and realized that, obviously, they get older, I continued to hold, as I do today, myself, accountable to those children.  

So that started me on my quest, and it ended up, of course, being a theological quest. I stayed in the church. I've always loved the church. And so eventually, women were able to be ordained in the church. And I was ordained and always have understood that ordained ministry is a ministry of accountability to those who are born into manger realities, because that's the center of the faith. So that's how I got …

JB: That's how you started your quest. What an amazing story. Thank you for sharing that. You've spoken about moral imagination as central to how faith shapes public life. What does moral imagination mean for you, and why does it matter for movements for justice today?  

KBD: Yeah, our moral imagination is that, I think, which pushes us beyond what is. I always think when we think of religion, we think that we have asked and answered a question. And that question being, is there more to life than this? The religious person says, yes. We ask it in a variety of ways, and we answer it in a variety of ways.  

And we ask it always, not just once. We ask it over and over again. And particular issues, particular concerns, particular situations bring that question to mind each and every time.  

And so in this instance, in response to your question about the moral imaginary, I'm always asking the question, is there more to justice than this? Is there more to who we can be than this? Are we better than this?  

Our moral imagination always points us beyond the more. It always points us, as I believe, to the justice that is God's. And so we have to open up our moral imagination so that we can see beyond the limited, biased, politicized sometimes belief systems of justice and realities and understandings of justice and of our very humanity.  

That's what our moral imaginary does. It pushes us to the more. And then as it does that, we hold ourselves accountable to that. And I always believe that we have to live into the more, make it real in our very presence somehow. We've got to step into the breach between our unjust present and what I like to imagine as God's just future. And our moral imagination is that which pushes us there.    

JB: Live into the more. I love that. In your book, Stand Your Ground, you examine how religious ideas can sometimes be used to justify violence or to challenge it. What did you see in U.S. culture at the time that made that theological intervention feel necessary?

KBD: Yeah, well, at the time of the writing of Stand Your Ground, what pushed me into that book was all that was happening surrounding the murder of Trayvon Martin. And I was old enough. I had made a son that, at that time, was about Trayvon Martin's age.

And what I really couldn't reconcile was the silence of far too many faith communities. And so I had to figure out what was happening. And I had to figure it out not simply as a question of faith, but I also had to figure it out as a question for who I was as a mother, as a parent, and how in the world I was going to continue to keep my son safe. And that was the pressing question for me. Why was my son a trigger of violence for other people?

And so it sent me on a quest to figure that out and to figure out if, again, the source of this question your faith is always seeking understanding, to figure out, again, if my faith really had something to say about it.

JB: In Resurrection Hope, you write and you wrestle even with how people keep going in the face of suffering. How does that kind of hope help movements endure and speak honestly about injustice.

Faith in the Jesus who was crucified on a cross tells us that the arc of the universe bends toward justice. That's what compels people to fight. Hope isn't just as I often say, it's not a rhetorical palliative to make you feel better. Hope is not a noun. It's a verb.  

You see hope in the movement toward justice. That's what gives me hope. And there's always been, always been this thread of hope, especially a thread of hope through a Black faith tradition that I claim.  

The faith tradition that has brought me here, the faith tradition of my ancestors, of those people who I've talked about, and even Resurrection Hope, who fought for freedom, when they knew that they would never experience freedom, but they fought for freedom that they knew would occur, that would happen because they believed in the freedom that was the justice of God. And so they fought. They're my hope. They are the sign that there is a God. They're the sign that there is an arc that bends toward justice. So if that's the case, then we have to get on the arc. Because it doesn't bend by itself, right?  

JB: That's right.  

KBD: And it doesn't matter. It can bend toward justice up here somewhere, but it doesn't matter up to our earthly present if we don't get on the arc and be that sign that bends toward justice. So I think that's what brings together faith and justice movements. And hope isn't abstract. It's this strong belief. And how do we know? Because we have signs of it in our past, as well as in our present. And people can say, well, but here we are again. But this I do know to be true, that I am only, what, three generations or so away from slavery. And look at where we are. That's because of a hope of a people.  

JB: Going back to what you were saying about getting on the arc and speaking of getting on the arc and speaking of present day here, we're seeing faith leaders stand with migrant communities from Minneapolis, to Maine, clergy mobilizing amid ICE raids, protests, sanctuary efforts, and even just general support from faith and religious communities. What do you think this moment around immigration in particular here reveals about faith's public role?  

KBD: Yeah. Well, it calls us to live into that which we believe, all right? And so it seems to me, particularly, I can talk from my vantage point as a Christian, that we have—Christian faith tradition, as far as I know, is the only faith tradition with the crucifixion at its center. And that ought to mean something. And Jesus landed on that cross not because he was afraid to speak. He landed on that cross not because he prayed too much. Prayer helped him, but that's not what got him there.  

Jesus landed on that cross because he made an uncompromising witness to the future, that is God's just future, and he witnessed against anything that stood in opposition to that future, that is the justice of God. And he understood, and this is what the cross makes so clear, that if we really want to understand the radicality, if you will, of that justice, then we have to understand that from the perspective of the people who are on the underside of what we call justice in our world. 

And so who are those people? Today, those people are immigrants, who we would dare to act like, are something other than sacred children of God. And everybody that has breath is a sacred child of God, and their dignity deserves to be respected, period. And so if we are in any way, shape, or form to live in to who we claim to be as faith leaders, then we absolutely have no choice but to stand with those people whose sacred dignity, and in this day it's immigrants, as well as trans persons and other persons.  

And so we are compelled to stand with those people and to protect and fight for and witness to their dignity and witness to our faith. It's not about political partisanship. It's about being partisan for the values of God.  

JB: In your February Martin Luther King Jr. Day sermon at the Cathedral of St. John the Divine, you spoke about how despair becomes normalized in public life, and how dangerous that is for democracy and for just the human spirit. How do you see faith helping people refuse despair, without denying the real suffering and fear that so many communities are living in right now?

KBD: Yeah. And you're right. I think first, just to say a bit more about despair. Despair like, or even more than fear, is a tool, is a weapon.

They cultivate despair. They cultivate a culture of helplessness so that we all think there's nothing we can do, so that we think that any protest is futile, that any response is futile. And so despair and fear in this regard go together. Because if they can weaponize fear, if they can make you afraid, if they can intimidate you, well, there you are deep in despair. There's nothing I can do.  

Our faith tells us differently. Our faith is that which helps us to stand up against despair. Because we know that there is always, well, more. And we know that we are never, never alone when we stand on the side of the values of God.

JB: When you step back and look at this moment, as a theologian, as a pastor, what feels most important for people of faith to hold on to right now?

KBD: The humanity of those people whose dignity is being attacked. And I always say this. And even in these moments, every major religion, we're led to believe, has some form of the golden rule: do unto others as you would have them do unto you. I think there's an even more poignant aspect of that golden rule, and that is to not withhold from another that which you would not want withheld from yourself. If you would not withhold or want withheld dignity and respect from yourself, don't withhold it from another.  

And so in this time, I think the most important thing to hold on to is that. And the dignity and respect for all human beings. And to see that in the faces of the Liams, the little five-year-old boy. See that in the faces of the gentlemen who's dragged out of his house in his underwear. See that in the faces of Keith Porter, Alex Pretti, Renee Good. Seeing them, their sacred humanity. And if we see that, then who we have to be in a time such as this.

As we wrap up, I want to ask about your teaching here at Harvard Divinity School. After everything we’ve talked about—dignity, moral imagination, hope—what do you most hope your students carry with them when they leave your classroom?

KBD: Yeah. You know what, I always say this is—it's not about the right answers. Never. I hope that my students leave asking a different set of questions. That's my hope.  

JB: Is that something that you identify at the beginning of a semester or something like that where you and talk about that, or is that something that they hopefully just pick up on during the course of the class?  

KBD: Yeah. Well, I hope that the way I teach really relays. That it's not about right answers. It's about asking different questions from different vantage points and different perspectives. And I certainly make clear to them that I don't have all the answers at all. Nowhere near it, and that I'm not there to create sycophants and people who think the way I think. And in the course of the class, they will come to see that, because of them, I continue to raise different sets of questions. And so what I do say to them in the beginning is that we're on a learning journey together.  

JB: Yeah. Quest.  

KBD: Yeah. That's exactly right. And each class that I have had the privilege of teaching here has made me better, and has further opened my moral imagination. And their questions have pushed me.  

And in fact, most recently, I quoted a student from the class in an article, and as well as an AAR lecture. Because they always see different things differently. And so it's about, I hope, them leaving with a different set of questions.  

JB: Rev. Kelly Brown Douglass, thank you so much for sharing this.  

KBD: Oh, thank you.  

JB: Appreciate it.

For Rev. Douglas, hope isn’t abstract. It begins with a child at a stoplight—with a young girl who saw children in the cold and decided she would be accountable to them for the rest of her life.

It carries through the grief of a mother asking why her son could be seen as a threat. Through a theologian tracing how faith has been used to justify violence—and how it can also confront it.  

And it shows up now—in clergy standing in sub-zero temperatures, in congregations opening their doors, in communities refusing to let fear or despair have the final word.  

In a moment when headlines are filled with division and uncertainty, Rev. Douglas returns to a simple conviction: dignity is not optional. Sacred worth is not up for debate.  

Hope, she says, is not a noun. It’s a verb.  

The Harvard Religion Beat is presented by the Office of Communications at Harvard Divinity School. It is produced and hosted by me, Jonathan Beasley, and it is edited by Tyler Sprouse.  

Thanks for listening. Until next time. 

Show notes: 
Edited by Tyler Sprouse.
Banner photo of Kelly Brown Douglas by Ron Hester
Intro and outro music: “How Did This Happen,” courtesy of Extreme Music (Art House 3).