Alfred Adler once said the problem isn’t religion itself—it’s what humanity has done to it. I can’t think of a quote that feels more relevant to what we’re witnessing in society today.

I’ll be honest: I haven’t been to church in years. I was raised in the church, and I even went to seminary. I spent four years studying scripture deeply and passionately. But seeing how scripture has been twisted and weaponized in recent years? It’s nothing short of disturbing.

I’ll never forget my final year in seminary. I took a required capstone course and chose one focused on social justice, taught by Dr. Olson. I was genuinely excited—I knew the topic would challenge and inspire me. In a class of over 20 students, only four of us were women. But by that point, I had found my voice and understood it mattered just as much as anyone else’s. I didn’t hesitate to speak up and share my perspective on what we read.

Our final assignment was to write a sermon on social justice, drawing from everything we’d studied throughout the semester. I loved that class. And I was especially moved by those who held onto the idea that social justice is “the impossible possibility”—a dream worth chasing, no matter how hard or complex.

As the weeks went by and the deadline for my final paper—the sermon—approached, I found myself searching for inspiration. I wasn’t sure where it would come from, but then one day, while driving in my car, it found me.

I have to admit, I’ve always had a deep love for Broadway musicals. Ever since I saw Les Misérables in New York City in seventh grade, I’ve been moved by the powerful stories and messages embedded in musical theatre.

That day, as I was driving, I was listening to the incredible Broadway singer Sarah Brightman. When the song Memory from Cats began to play, I was unexpectedly captivated. Though I had heard the song countless times before—even live—it felt completely new to me in that moment. Maybe it was because of the assignment that had been weighing on my mind, or maybe it was just the way the lyrics hit differently in light of the themes of social justice we’d been exploring in class.

Whatever it was, that moment became the spark I needed.

“The memory is fading
Touch me
It’s so easy to leave me
All alone with the memory
Of my days in the sun
If you touch me
You’ll understand what happiness is
Look!
A new day has begun.”

It was the lyrics “Touch me” that especially caught my attention. They immediately brought to mind the story of Jesus healing the leper in Matthew chapter 8. In that passage, a man with leprosy approaches Jesus and says, “If you are willing, you can make me clean.” Jesus reaches out, touches the man, and replies, “I am willing. Be clean.”

Reflecting on those verses through the lens of the song, I was struck in a new way by the significance of touch—especially for those deemed “untouchable.” Jesus didn’t need to touch the leper to heal him; he could have simply spoken the words. But I truly believe he chose to touch him because the deeper healing came from that act of connection, of compassion, of restoring dignity. It was a powerful reminder of what it means to see—and embrace—those who are so often overlooked or cast aside.

Tonight, as my family gathered in the kitchen making homemade pasta and listening to Broadway tunes, the familiar melody of Memory began to play. Instantly, my mind was transported back to that capstone class on social justice. As much as the music moved me, what I felt most deeply in that moment was grief.

Grief over how the very scriptures I once turned to for moral guidance have been twisted—used not to heal or embrace, but to exclude and further marginalize the untouchable. I was reminded again of Alfred Adler’s insight: the problem isn’t religion itself, but what humanity has done to it. I’ve never felt the truth of that more than I do now.

And yet, even in the heaviness of that realization, I can’t let myself lose hope. I return to what I learned in that class—that true social justice is the impossible possibility. And because of that, I know I must never stop fighting for it.