Where decisions are made, representation matters

Presbytery of Chicago offices in Elk Grove Village. Photo: Gerald Farinas.

Today, I had the chance to serve in my still somewhat newish role as a commissioner on the Commission for Preparation for Ministry (CPM) in the Presbytery of Chicago—in the Presbyterian Church (USA).

This group helps guide and care for people who are studying in seminary or pursuing ordination to become ministers of Word and Sacrament.

It’s quiet, behind-the-scenes work—but it shapes the future of our churches in powerful ways.

At this meeting, two candidates came before us. Each one was at a different place in their journey.

One was near the end of the process and filled with hope and energy—after major setbacks. The other was still in the early stages, full of thoughtful questions and excitement.

We also discussed a third person—someone whose path is more complicated and full of challenges. The conversations we had were deep, honest, and pastoral.

As I listened and learned, I couldn’t help but look around the room. Aside from our Korean American moderator, I was the only person of color present.

And that hit me hard. Harder than I thought.

It’s not that our presbytery is doing nothing. People of color are serving as elders and ministers here in Chicago.

But very few are in these leadership spaces—spaces like CPM, which help oversee how candidates move through the ordination process.

Why? For many, it’s about time and energy. For others, it’s about comfort and safety. These spaces haven’t always felt welcoming. And for a long time, they simply weren’t meant to be.

The truth is, CPM has a complicated history.

It wasn’t always just a support system—it was often a gatekeeping body.

It was used to decide who deserved to be a minister. Too often, it favored the “right” kind of candidate: white, male, straight, and educated in a certain way. It could delay or block people who didn’t fit that mold—people of color, women, LGBTQ folks, second-career seekers, or anyone whose theology or background didn’t line up with the dominant norms.

It was, frankly, often abused. Not always intentionally, but in ways that caused real harm. People with strong calls from God were told they weren’t ready—or worse, that they weren’t worthy.

That legacy doesn’t just go away.

So today, even as I take part in work that has changed for the better, I can still feel the weight of that history.

And I can see the need for greater representation—at every step of the process.

When those sitting at the table come from similar backgrounds and hold similar assumptions, we risk falling back into old patterns.

We risk missing out on the richness of God’s call—how it can show up in places and people we might not expect.

We risk silencing voices that the Church desperately needs to hear.

Representation isn’t just about fairness. It’s about faithfulness.

The Church belongs to the whole people of God. If we want future pastors who can serve a changing, diverse, and hurting world, we need people on CPM—and every commission—who can recognize and affirm different kinds of leadership.

This matters even more now.

We live in a time when there’s a growing backlash against diversity, equity, and inclusion (DEI) efforts. These values are being attacked and stripped away in many places, even in churches.

And yet, at the same time, church attendance is declining. Seminary enrollment is shrinking. Many younger people, especially those from marginalized communities, no longer see the Church as a place that welcomes them—or that wants them.

If the Church is going to survive, we can’t just double down on tradition or stick with what feels safe.

We need to listen more deeply.

We need to widen the path.

We need to do the hard work of making leadership more accessible—not less.

That’s why I’m here.

Yes, I’m still learning the policies and procedures. Yes, I’m new to this kind of service. But I also bring something just as valuable: lived experience.

I know what it feels like to be the only one in the room.

I know what it’s like to feel unseen or misunderstood.

And I know how important it is for others like me to see someone who looks like them, speaks like them, and believes like them, sitting at the table.

CPM has changed a lot—and continues to grow.

But the work of undoing its gatekeeping legacy—people still think negatively of CPM in many places—takes time.

It takes people willing to step in, even when it’s uncomfortable.

It takes voices that have been pushed aside, now claiming space to lead and shape the Church.

I hope more of us will take that step. Because the future of our Church won’t be saved by playing it safe.

It will be saved by answering the call—and by making sure the door is open for everyone else who hears it too.