Johns, Jimmy Johns, and Jane
This week, Crossroads Church hosted another Train the Trainer session for the Michigan Human Trafficking Task Force. It was the first since I stepped down as chair of the board—a role I held for four years beyond my term limit. (Blame COVID, bad luck, and my inability to say no to this work.)
Also, Jane White.
Jane White was my North Star in human trafficking advocacy. Tough on crime, relentless in her pursuit of justice, and yet, somehow, a beacon of compassion. When she passed, I was left holding our shared story, wondering how to carry it forward without her fire.
One of the first things Jane ever told me was about arresting her own youth pastor as a young police officer. Turns out, nothing shatters your faith in “good Christian men” like slapping cuffs on one. That experience planted in Jane a deep suspicion of faith leaders—one she never quite let go of, and honestly, who could blame her? Given the number of wolves in shepherd’s clothing we’ve all seen, she had every reason to keep her guard up.
It became my personal mission to earn her trust—not just as a colleague, but as a friend. And somehow, I did. Jane trusted me and my husband, Scott, to an extraordinary degree. We helped Jane and the Board shape the bylaws of the Michigan Human Trafficking Task Force, our church took over fiduciary responsibilities from Michigan State University, and Scott was roped into being treasurer indefinitely (we still blame Jane for that). Gaining her trust as two pastors? That was no small feat. It meant everything.
Jane built something remarkable: a victim-centered, evidence-based, trauma-informed task force, bringing together over 100 agencies—including law enforcement, federal agencies, safe houses, and yes, even faith-based organizations (though not without a healthy dose of side-eye from Jane at first). She worked on every front, from advocating for victims’ rights to training the very people who would prosecute pimps and johns.
And somehow, through all of this, she still showed up to our monthly meetings at the Ingham County Police station armed with donuts, Jimmy John’s sandwiches, and a powerhouse advocate ready to school us on the latest in anti-trafficking efforts. She embodied Dorothy Day’s words: “Everyone wants a revolution, but nobody wants to do the dishes.” Jane did the dishes. And the laundry. And probably built the damn kitchen while she was at it.
One of Jane’s sacred acts of trust was charging me to teach the session “Secular and Faith-based Collaboration.” If that sounds like herding lions while blindfolded, you’re absolutely right. It’s hard work, requiring time, devotion, and an uncomfortable willingness to call out sacred cows and confront the elephants in the room (who, for the record, tend to be wearing very expensive suits). I remain deeply grateful for the trust Jane, Scott, and I built, and I believe that kind of trust can be replicated—if people are willing to put in the work.
I could tell a thousand stories about Jane. Conversations about ethics, justice, victims, zucchini bread, and Heaven. Every one of them mattered. I miss her terribly.
Today, for reasons I can’t quite explain, I found myself reading her obituary. Maybe I wasn’t ready to absorb it when she passed, but as I read, I was floored. This woman I worked alongside, this woman I sat beside as she received a United Nations Award, this woman I sang with in her final days in Hospice—she was a force. The world is not the same because she was here.
When Jane died, I sent her daughter a poem that she loved: Maya Angelou’s When Great Trees Fall.
When great trees fall,
Rocks on distant hills shudder,
Lions hunker down
In tall grasses,
And even elephants
Lumber after safety.
When great trees fall in forests,
Small things recoil into silence,
Their senses
Eroded beyond fear.
When great souls die,
The air around us becomes
Light, rare, sterile.
We breathe, briefly.
Our eyes, briefly,
See with
A hurtful clarity.
Our memory, suddenly sharpened,
Examines,
Gnaws on kind words
Unsaid,
Promised walks
Never taken.
Great souls die and
Our reality, bound to
Them, takes leave of us.
Our souls,
Dependent upon their
Nurture,
Now shrink, wizened.
Our minds, formed
And informed by their
Radiance, fall away.
We are not so much maddened
As reduced to the unutterable ignorance of
Dark, cold
Caves.
And when great souls die,
After a period, peace blooms,
Slowly and always
Irregularly.
Spaces fill
With a kind of
Soothing electric vibration.
Our senses, restored, never
To be the same, whisper to us.
They existed. They existed.
We can be. Be and be
Better. For they existed.
Jane was a great tree, and we are all still adjusting to the silence left in her wake. But we can be better, because she existed. We must be better, because she existed.
So how can we continue this work? We do the work. We keep showing up and we recommend:
- Most important take care of yourself somehow. Action and Contemplation are inextricably bound. Find someone to support you as a therapist and or spiritual director. We are dedicated to offer ways for advocates and helping professionals to stay healthy in mind heart and body. Scott and I offer individual spiritual direction (click here), trainings, retreats see our upcoming (events here). We encourage you to work with somebody to stay centered and healthy if you intend to do justice with joy.
- Educate ourselves and others about human trafficking—its realities, its signs, and its solutions.
- Support victim-centered organizations with our time, money, and voices.
- Advocate for stronger policies that protect victims and hold perpetrators accountable.
- Foster collaboration between secular and faith-based groups, despite differences, to ensure the best possible care for survivors.
- Push for ethical leadership and accountability, calling out abuses of power wherever they exist.
- Engage in mentorship, training, and community outreach to prevent trafficking before it happens.
- Refuse to look away, to give up, or to let fatigue win. Jane never did, and neither should we.
Jane showed us what relentless advocacy looks like. Now it’s our turn to carry it forward.