Column: When Community Becomes a Verb
By Antionette Kerr | Davidson Local
A friend said something this week that stuck with me: “This is what it looks like when community becomes a verb.”
She was talking about what’s happening right now in Davidson County. While federal programs are on pause and SNAP benefits are frozen in the crossfire of Washington’s shutdown, local folks aren’t waiting for permission to care. They’re moving—feeding, calling, showing up.
Food pantries across the county are preparing for lines to grow longer by the day. Shelves that were once comfortably stocked are now being stretched thin. And yet, somehow, people keep finding ways to fill the gaps. Churches are rearranging their outreach schedules. Neighbors are dropping off groceries for families they’ve only met once. One local pantry worker told me, “We’re not sure how long we can keep up, but we’re sure not stopping.”
That’s what happens when “community” stops being a talking point and becomes an action word.
Presented by:
Lexington (NC) Alumnae Chapter of Delta Sigma Theta Sorority, Inc.
Grace Episcopal Church
Greater Lexington Area Ministers Association (GLAMA)
First Presbyterian Church Race Unification Committee
St. Stephen United Methodist Church
Davidson Local
JLD Community Solutions
Lexington Chapter NAACP
Lexington Community Ministers Conference
First Reformed United Church of Christ
Ebony Community Collective
Working Films
We’ve gotten so used to hearing the word “community” in slogans—Community First, Community Strong, Community Bank—that we forget it’s supposed to do something. It’s supposed to respond when systems fail. It’s supposed to care when headlines move on.
This is what “community” looks like. The same volunteers who staff our soup kitchens are also helping with housing referrals. The same churches that serve meals are checking in on seniors. The same reporters covering the crisis are pointing readers to where they can help. (That’s us—because journalism, when done right, is part of the verb too.)
Community is the hands bagging groceries. It’s the voices making phone calls to donors. It’s the people who say, “I’ve got a little extra, take some.”
Washington may have shut down, but Davidson County hasn’t.
If you’re looking for a way to help, you don’t have to go far. Call a pantry. Drop off canned goods. Share a meal. Donate your time. Every small action says something louder than politics ever could: we take care of our own.
Because here, “community” isn’t a place you live.
It’s something you do.
