By Bethany Johnson-Javois
In May 2025, more than 41 million people relied on SNAP to help put food on the table. That is not simply a data point. It is a mother navigating rent and groceries. A senior stretching medication. A child trying to focus in school rather than on hunger.
It is also something less visible: a stabilizer. SNAP dollars circulate in local grocery stores. They reduce pressure on emergency rooms. They allow rent to be paid on time and classrooms to function more smoothly. When SNAP contracts, the ripple effects extend far beyond the checkout line. What appears to be a federal savings does not eliminate cost. It relocates it—onto churches, community organizations, philanthropy and families already carrying heavy burdens.
That is why the recent cuts matter. They did not fall from the sky. They were debated, drafted, negotiated and signed. They reflect decisions about budgets, about priorities, about whose needs are treated as urgent and whose are considered negotiable.
Policy is never accidental. It reveals what and who we are willing to protect and what and who we are willing to risk.
For the first time in more than 50 years, sweeping reductions to this hunger-fighting program are being implemented. These changes land in the middle of an affordability crisis defined by rising housing costs, expensive childcare, escalating health care and increasingly precarious work. Instability will increase for children, seniors, survivors of domestic violence, immigrants and families already living close to the economic edge.
Some will understandably describe this moment as erosion … a fraying of the safety net families have relied upon for decades.
But erosion is not the only frame available to us.
SNAP was designed more than 50 years ago for an economy with lower housing costs, more stable employment and less extreme income volatility. Today, rent consumes far greater portions of household income. Childcare rivals mortgage payments. Health care deductibles alone can destabilize a budget. Millions of workers patch together multiple part-time or contract jobs without predictable hours or benefits. When income fluctuates week to week and essential costs rise faster than wages, a program developed for a different era strains under modern pressures and conditions.
As this moment exposes the strain on a program built for another era, it also invites a more expansive question: what would it mean to move beyond food assistance toward food sovereignty — where communities have greater ownership over how food is grown, distributed and accessed? In practical terms, that means building systems rooted in local control, shared responsibility and durable community power, alongside public policy that does its part.
The government has a role. It should protect, stabilize and invest. But communities cannot afford to build food systems that rise and fall entirely with political cycles. Lasting food security requires both strong public commitment and strong local infrastructure.
Across the country, churches are already experimenting beyond traditional food pantries. Community gardens are often the visible entry point. We build relationships. We recognize land as sacred and fruitful. We connect neighbors.
But gardens are not the destination. They are prototypes.
Some congregations are leveraging their land, commercial kitchens, purchasing power, and convening authority to support regional farmers, incubate food entrepreneurs, host buying cooperatives, and strengthen local supply chains. Others are collaborating across congregations to pool resources, share learning and advocate for policies that stabilize families for the long term. Networks of Black churches are advancing food sovereignty models that integrate economic development, health equity and community ownership.
This is not charity rebranded. It is infrastructure thinking.
Churches are community-rooted institutions. We steward assets. And despite popular opinion, churches still hold the trust of millions. We gather people across generations. Increasingly, congregations recognize that we are not only spiritual resources but economic and civic ones. When aligned and combined intentionally, we can anchor local food ecosystems in ways that are relational, adaptive and resilient.
Local innovation, however, cannot replace public policy. And public policy is shaped by participation.
We must be honest: there are obstacles that discourage civic engagement. Fatigue. Confusion. Long lines. Distrust. Administrative barriers that disproportionately impact communities already carrying the heaviest burdens. These dynamics influence who participates and whose voice shapes policy.
Discouragement is understandable. Withdrawal is consequential.
If we believe every person bears the image of God, then policies affecting food security are not peripheral concerns. They are spiritual matters.
Acts 1:8 calls us to be witnesses beginning in Jerusalem — the places closest to us. If families in our own communities are losing food stability and we remain disengaged, our witness is incomplete.
This moment calls for clarity and courage.
Remember what SNAP has made possible for millions of families. Remember the effects of these cuts we deliberately acted upon. Remember that budgets communicate values and hold those in leadership accountable at all levels.
Then build. Build locally. Build collaboratively. Build systems that are more durable, more adaptive, and more just.
And when it is time, activate your village to engage civically and vote. Even when it is inconvenient. Even when the process feels frustrating. Even when obstacles are placed in the way. Show up anyway.
Faithfulness is not passive. Participation is not optional. And evolution requires engagement.
SNAP is changing. The question is not only what is being reduced. The question is whether we will allow this moment to thin our imagination—or expand it.
The opinions expressed in this commentary are those of the writer and not necessarily those of the AFRO.