No is Part of Yes

a bit of improv for challenging times

Happy Friday, Blue Roomies… and welcome to new subscribers, especially a big group of new folks from Birmingham! Here are a couple of posts to bring new folks up to speed: all about the Blue Room and what goes on here, while MaryAnn Through the Years is more about me personally.

This week I’ve been having a ball as part of Independent Presbyterian Church in Birmingham’s Religious Arts Festival. At Wednesday's lecture we explored how to find joy even in difficult times. We leaned heavily into my work on improvisation as a spiritual practice; for me, the principle of Yes-And has been a powerful strategy and mantra when life hands me challenges that I never would have chosen and can’t wriggle out of. Yes-And doesn’t mean we endorse everything that comes our way, but rather than pushing fruitlessly against things we can’t change, we’re invited to take the next faithful step, however small, toward greater wholeness, justice, or peace. Or maybe if none of those are possible, we can perhaps find a shard of joy to hold onto.

With a lot of us struggling amid the onslaught of news, and many folks figuring out how to disagree productively and dissent effectively, I’ve been thinking about what role saying “No” plays in a life oriented toward Yes-And. This snippet from God, Improv, and the Art of Living has been on my mind (lightly edited):

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There are times when No isn’t just necessary, but the most faithful and creative response. Isn’t refusing to get up from a lunch counter or boycotting the city buses a powerful act of resistance? The civil rights movement and other acts of protest have always been punctuated by moments of saying No. No, we will not go to the back of the bus. No, we will not be second-class citizens anymore.

There is a place for No, but it’s a No that’s fueled by a much stronger Yes—a thirst for justice, liberty, and freedom.

When I first started learning improv, I thought saying Yes meant going along with whatever my scene partner initiated. It’s important to accept the premise of a scene; if a person points an improv gun at you, you can’t say, “That’s not a gun; that’s a banana!” But saying doesn’t mean you need to consent to be robbed either.

Andrew Connors is a pastor and community organizer in Baltimore. For decades there, members of the religious community and other organizations have come together to advocate and agitate for justice, racial reconciliation, and economic opportunity. Andrew is also a student of the civil rights movement, which influences the organizing work he does today. It’s hard, incremental work.

I asked him how he understood the interplay of Yes and No, both in his work and within the struggle for civil rights. He told me,

Well, we’re all a part of power structures, and those power structures assume they have our consent when they act in certain ways. So a lot of what we do comes down to withdrawing our consent—bringing people together to say with one voice, “You can’t proceed without our Yes, and we no longer give that to you.” People in power are always shocked that people have the power to withdraw consent.

Andrew added that organizations do a lot of analysis and discernment to decide what kind of change to push for, and how quickly to do that. Sometimes the Yes seems out of reach, so the answer is No, or Not Yet. “Although sometimes for people of faith,” he said, “it’s important to voice opposition to injustice, even if you know you can’t win.” That, too, is part of withdrawing consent, of saying No. Even if we can’t stop the powers that be, we can be forceful in our opposition to oppression and unchecked power.

This opposition is an improvising move—taking what life offers and responding faithfully to it. The No isn’t an end in itself, but one of the tools we wield to forge a deeper Yes.

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In her Magnificat, Mary, the mother of Jesus, provides a template for this kind of No-wrapped-in-Yes. After becoming pregnant with Jesus under strange and miraculous circumstances, Mary is so moved by the power of God that she sings—not a gentle lullaby, but prophetic words:

God has shown strength with his arm;
God has scattered the proud in the thoughts of their hearts.
God has brought down the powerful from their thrones, and lifted up the lowly;
God has filled the hungry with good things, and sent the rich away empty.
(Luke 1: 51–53)

Ben Wildflower, artist and creator of this feisty image of Mary!

Mary’s song is one of defiance, a defiance we will hear echoed centuries later in African-American spirituals and protest songs. It is “We Shall Overcome”; it is “Where Have All the Flowers Gone?” It is a dissent against the way things are, a counter-testimony to the dysfunction that passes for normal in our world.

Mary sings this song because her pregnancy itself is God’s act of dissent against worldly power. God didn’t choose a queen, a wealthy noblewoman to bear the Messiah. God chose an unmarried peasant girl. God assessed the demands of the world, and the expectations that a king would come in strength and might and prestige, and said, No, I’d just as soon not. And in her song Mary echoes this divine No. No to the proud and their haughty ways. No to hunger that goes unfed. No to suffering unrelieved. No, no, no.

Mary trusts that there’s a larger, more brilliant, more interesting Yes still being revealed. It’s the improviser’s job to find that Yes—and sometimes No helps us to get there. Rather than stopping the action in its tracks, No fosters creative tension and provides the catalyst that keeps the action moving forward.

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Steady on, friends.

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What I’m Up To

Our Art of Onward series continues, with another installment coming next week. In that post I’ll be sharing some spiritual sustenance, a practice of “breathing in” for the work of creative world-building. Free subscribers can upgrade to supporting subscribers for just a little more than 50 cents per post. If you’d like to join us for the Art of Onward but are unable to pay, please get in touch. Members and friends of Trinity Presbyterian, Herndon are eligible for complimentary gift subscriptions; just ask.

Edward Goode and I had a great conversation on Monday about Bowling Alone, how to heal social isolation, and what role religious communities can play. I’ve loved reading your comments about the ways our chat inspired you to make some simple, local moves toward connection. Let’s keep going!

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Link Love

I shared two videos with the group on Wednesday evening. The first is a promo from Danish TV that feels aspirational, but even in our polarized times, I choose to believe it’s possible to disrupt the rigid categories we sort one another into:

The second is a bit of creative improv from an ICU nurse that took all the little plastic caps and toppers she uses in her work to create something beautiful: