Why I turned my board room into a dojo

As a minister of Word and Sacrament in the Presbyterian church, my vocational journey has focused upon words — studying, teaching, preaching and saying the right words. Words in ministry are important, of course, but I often have felt something was missing.

This may be because my lived experience as an Asian American woman did not seem to show up in the theological texts deemed essential by church tradition. Over time, I became deeply suspicious of them as they were frequently weaponized against people whose bodies were different from the men who wrote them — bodies like mine.

I work in a campus ministry at the University of Wisconsin-Madison, and more than half of our ministry community identifies as LGBTQ, based on demographic surveys. I have seen how words from toxic theologies have harmed people’s relationships with their own bodies.

At a competitive school like ours, I also see how many students move through their days stuck in their heads and largely disconnected from their bodies. Piling more words onto them has limited impact simply because they are oversaturated by lectures and discussions.

A few years ago I was exploring somatic spirituality through a grant project. I wondered, what if spiritual formation was centered on our bodies?

In our campus church building there are a lot of rooms: spaces for small groups, large groups, board meetings, classes — all for gatherings centered on words. I wanted to create a space where people would let the words go and literally move their bodies in a spiritual formation practice.

In 2023, I decided to transform our board room into a dojo, which means “a place of the way” in Japanese and refers to a space for practicing martial arts. We replaced a bunch of tables and chairs with wall-to-wall tatami mats and added a shoe rack.

In the Pres House Dojo, we move beyond words, recognizing that we cannot think or talk our way into being more loving, faithful and just people; we must practice being those things in our bodies. Our starting point is rooted in the promise that God created us good and that we are “fearfully and wonderfully made.” Therefore, we can learn to listen to our bodies’ inherent wisdom.

We move to strengthen our embodiment of the fruit of the Spirit: joy, peace, self-control, patience and more. By repeatedly exploring how our tissues and muscles feel as we move and interact with others, we are transformed into more gracious, merciful and hopeful people.

For the past couple of years, I’ve led small groups in embodied faith. It’s delightful to see the way students’ bodies shift when they enter the space; instead of sitting down at tables and chairs, they take off their shoes and step onto the mats with bare feet. This signals they are entering a sacred space.

Through a series of individual and partnered movements, we pay attention to what we are experiencing during moments of awkwardness, laughter, discomfort, tears, boredom. Our way of engaging with one another opens up as we have no furniture to shape our interaction and instead are faced with being fully present with each other’s bodies. We practice embodying our values through uncomfortable circumstances so that we are more prepared to also embody them outside the dojo in our daily lives.

Many students were skeptical of a small group not focused on reading or talking. But after trying it, many said it was meaningful in different ways.

“I was really apprehensive of embodied faith at first. My first impression was that it was something very far out there and not something I would be interested in. After attending regularly, however, I was surprised by how grounded the work actually felt,” one student said.

“I was surprised how often I would recall practices we did in embodied faith in my daily life.”

Another student said that specific practices made them feel more grounded, and one reported that it was helpful in their trauma recovery.

It also bolstered confidence: “I feel more capable of not only growing my faith through my mind but also using my body as a way to practice my faith and grow spiritually.”

In addition to these groups, I also lead tae kwon do classes. I began my own martial arts training in college and realized there were many parallels with a faith community — in each there is a structure, a liturgy and a way of moving with others.

The practice is designed to shape students in the five aims of tae kwon do: courtesy, perseverance, self-control, integrity and indomitable spirit. The ultimate goal of practicing tae kwon do is total mind and body unity; showing up in the world, fully embodying what we believe.

It was a natural progression to invite students to engage in martial arts training in the dojo as an embodied, spiritual discipleship.

We still have many programs at Pres House where engagement is primarily through words, but the dojo has provided space for movement-based spiritual practices. It also has inspired other ideas, such as the Nap Dojo during final exams. Students are provided blankets, ear plugs and eye masks so they can practice sabbath by actually lying down to sleep.

We have hosted other groups such as the Interfaith Fellows at UW-Madison, where a Hindu student shared her own spiritual practice by leading yoga classes.

I’ve found that the dojo is especially meaningful for students whose identities have made them targets because their bodies do not match those in power. The dojo is a place to experience healing in their tissues and build muscles of resiliency as they learn to move and live into the promise that God delights in their whole being, just as they are.

And don’t worry, our board of directors found a new place to meet. They’ve been happy to give up their space for something so transformative in our students’ lives.