Stacking Chairs and Renewing Civic Life

Michael Prihoda

One book. One hour. A dozen Americans. A few shards of hope streaking through the dimming sky. 

Before I get too poetic, let me rewind. Last week, to continue the Institute’s year-long partnership with President Lincoln’s Cottage, I co-led a virtual New Civic Path book circle with a staff member from President Lincoln’s Cottage. It was yet another ripple in a growing chain reaction sparked by the book circles The Patterson Foundation first launched last summer across Florida.

Folks showed up from across the country—Vermont, Idaho, Michigan, Maryland, Indiana, and elsewhere. And those shards of hope? They weren’t the lightning strikes outside my window threatening to down my Internet connection. They were the moments of possibility that emerged as we wrestled with how each of us might work to rebuild the connection and sense of community society yearns for today.

Two things people said especially stuck with me.

The first? “Each of us is descended from a survivor.” 

We’ve both come a long way and have so much farther to go. In that legacy comes responsibility to carry the baton we’ve been passed by previous generations. To run the next leg of the race. To do what we can while we’re here to make a difference. 

The other? “Do it afraid.” 

When the conversation turned to what our individual contributions might look like, one gentleman shared how he had sold his small business to pursue creating fine art. He particularly hopes to create art that engages people around American history in a way that helps us reimagine our future. Doing so was a leap of faith. He admitted he was nervous about taking the risk, forging a path with many unknowns. But he said the nerves weren’t going to stop him. He was moving ahead with the nerves. He was going to, as he said, “Do it afraid.”

I may never see these folks again. But what they shared remains. The space we created together mattered. Even if the connection was for a just moment before we all signed off Zoom to land back in our desk chairs or couch cushions. 

Indeed, how heartening it is to know there are others across the nation now dedicated to this new civic path—however it might look in their families, workplaces, or communities. 

The day after the book circle I found myself returning to a moment I often conjure when I consider why I’m here, what I’m meant to do with this beautiful blink of a life. I once sang in a gospel choir in St. Paul, Minnesota. At the end of each rehearsal, our director closed us out by saying, “Go in love, go in peace, and stack those chairs.” 

Because how we “go” matters. In love, in peace. But we have to get some stuff done too. We have to stack those chairs and leave a place better than we found out.

It’s spaces like that virtual book circle with President Lincoln’s Cottage that remind me others are out there, trying their hardest to go in love and go in peace. Working to stack the chairs that need to be stacked. 

I often wonder if it’s still worth it to stack those chairs. I often feel tired, even eroded, by our challenges. But now, when I do, perhaps I’ll remember those faces in our circle. And remember who I’m stacking those chairs with. Who I’m stacking those chairs for. Not my fellow Americans. Just my fellow humans who think we can do a little better, be a little better, stack a few more chairs

Maybe too I’ll remember that, on the days when fear creeps in and the chairs look a little more fearsome, when we aren’t sure we want to touch the chairs anymore… it doesn’t mean we don’t stack them. 

It just means we do it afraid.