The Forgotten Majority
Why God Is Drawing the Working and Middle Class Back to the Ancient Path Hidden in the Soil
By Josh Singleton | Founder and Lead Cultivator, The Neighborhood Garden Project
When I look at this garden, I see more than raised beds and flowers. I see a place prepared long before the people arrive. The tables sit waiting, not empty but expectant — a quiet invitation for the weary to breathe again. Nothing here demands attention or performance. The soil isn’t asking anyone to prove themselves. The plants aren’t waiting on volunteers to justify their worth. The garden keeps growing because that’s what it was created to do. It stands open, steady, and ready for whoever comes. And the ones who are coming are not the ones I predicted. They are the ones who have carried the weight of our communities for decades — the Working Class and the Middle Class — finally stepping into a space that doesn’t take from them, but restores them.
And I am one of them. I, too, am part of the Middle Class. I have spent years carrying weight I could never name, longing for a place that didn’t need me to perform. The garden became that place for me. God asked me to create a space that would offer rest to the community, and over time, He revealed who this space is truly for. Here, I learned to work restfully, to breathe again, and to wait with expectancy for those seeking the same peace and rest.
What God is revealing in this garden is something I never could have predicted when this assignment first began. We have never vetted anyone based on finances — the garden has always been open to every story and every background. And I didn’t expect only the poor to come. But I did assume more people would arrive looking for food for their table than for their soul. I thought the soil would first draw those seeking practical provision — fresh produce, herbs, vegetables. But instead, people are showing up with a different hunger entirely. Most don’t even know why they’re coming until they arrive. They think they’re here for gardening, for community, for a project — and then the peace meets them. The garden reveals what they didn’t know they were looking for. And the ones who keep returning are the Working Class and the Middle Class. They are not wealthy. They are not impoverished. They are the backbone of nearly everything that makes families, churches, and communities function. The Working Class carries the visible load of society through long hours, physical labor, and the grind that keeps cities operating. The Middle Class carries the invisible load through emotional labor, scheduling, logistics, caregiving, and the unending weight of responsibility. Both groups have been overlooked, overextended, and quietly exhausted for decades.
The Working Class shows up with bodies worn down from physical strain — but their emotional fatigue runs just as deep. Decades of silence, pressure, and grit have shaped them. The Middle Class arrives with souls worn down from emotional strain — and eventually their bodies absorb the weight too. One group’s fatigue shows up first in the body, the other in the soul, but both are carrying burdens never meant to rest on human shoulders.
Their exhaustion isn’t about poverty. It is the wear and tear of a lifetime spent giving strength to everyone else while rarely having a place to be restored. You can see it in their posture, their breath, the quiet resignation in their eyes. Many now carry the weight of Type 2 diabetes — not because of income, but because of the long-term erosion of rhythm, rest, and identity. Their bodies are revealing what their souls have held for far too long.
These are the people the garden welcomes. People who have been reliable for everyone, but restored by no one. People who have held their families, workplaces, and communities together — and have never had a place to lay down the weight. The garden meets them precisely where the world has failed them.
The garden doesn’t resist the world’s systems. It simply offers another way. An older way. An ancient way that has been quietly and faithfully waiting for us to return. The garden is not a place where people come to be useful. It is a place where people come to become. Identity rises here. Bodies rest here. Souls exhale here. The Working Class lays down physical strain, the Middle Class lays down emotional strain, and both rediscover the same truth: rest is not a reward. Rest is a return.
To understand why these groups are drawn here, we must look at Jesus. His followers came from across the economic spectrum — fishermen like Peter, Andrew, James, and John; a tax collector like Matthew; wealthy women like Joanna and Susanna who funded His ministry; and respected leaders like Nicodemus and Joseph of Arimathea. Jesus challenged the elite and the poor. He dismantled the categories we use today — “helpers and helped,” “resourced and needy.” He formed people from identity, not economic status.
But today, even the Church has slipped into performance. Instead of forming people, we count attendance. Instead of knowing hearts, we measure heads. Instead of cultivating disciples, we chase church growth. Pastors carry pressure to produce. Members hide behind activity. The metrics look healthy, but the hearts are neglected. No one meant for this drift — but drift it did. And now people who love God deeply are carrying weights God never asked them to carry.
This is also where we must speak plainly. Much of our modern “helping” has been shaped by a savior complex — the belief that if we don’t fix people, nothing will change. But Jesus never carried that posture. Jesus did not die for us in the way we often repeat. Jesus died for His Father. His life was anchored in one truth: “I only do what I see My Father doing.” His obedience wasn’t fueled by pressure or performance. It was fueled by alignment. He healed when the Father moved. He withdrew when the Father led Him away. He fed crowds when the Father revealed it. He walked past crowds when the Father was silent. Jesus moved from discernment, not need.
Another part of this drift is that many nonprofits have moved from assignment-driven to ego-driven. What begins as obedience slowly becomes a structure leaders feel they must defend, justify, and control. Vision becomes brand. Calling becomes career. Discernment becomes strategy. Ego begins guarding what God never asked them to guard. Boards make decisions based on optics instead of obedience. Executive Directors carry themselves like owners instead of stewards. When ego leads, storehouses close and identity erodes. The organization may grow in number but shrink in Spirit. A nonprofit centered in ego becomes another system of pressure instead of a place of formation.
And this is why volunteering in most places has lost its meaning. What once overflowed from calling has become obligation. People “volunteer” because they feel guilty or pressured or want to fill their time with something that looks meaningful. But obligation never produces transformation. Volunteers are used to keep the machine running, not to cultivate people. And when something is rooted in obligation instead of identity, burnout becomes inevitable. People show up for a season and disappear — not because they don’t care, but because they were never nourished.
And this scarcity mindset shows up just as strongly in funders. Instead of sowing deeply into true assignments, they spread thin dollars across dozens of projects and then ask every organization the same fear-based question: “How will this be sustained once the grant cycle is over?” We call it stewardship, but it is really scarcity. It is rationing disguised as wisdom. It is trust withheld and leaders tested endlessly to prove themselves worthy. This doesn’t create transformation. It creates dependence, pressure, and fear. Scarcity from the top produces exhaustion at every level beneath it — and the system calls it accountability.
We built nonprofit systems that do the opposite of Jesus’s way. We answer every need, respond to every request, measure every output, and try to meet every expectation. We carry burdens Jesus Himself refused to carry. We feel responsible in ways Jesus never felt responsible. The modern nonprofit world has formed itself around pressure, guilt, and metrics — not presence, guidance, and alignment. When we try to “save” people through our own effort, we burn ourselves out and keep others small. Jesus never rescued through striving. He revealed the Father through rest.
The garden breaks that cycle simply by offering rest. Rest makes room for identity. Identity makes room for formation. Formation makes room for fruit. And fruit testifies without ever needing to be measured. When the Working Class and Middle Class find rest, everything inside them begins to realign. Strength returns. Clarity returns. Agency returns. They step into calling not from depletion, but from overflow.
And here’s the mystery: God never gives the visionary both the calling and the resources at the same time. He gives the vision first. Then He sends the people. Then resources flow through relationships. This is Kingdom economics — not scarcity, not grant cycles, not institutional fear. Provision flows through alignment. Storehouses open through discernment.
This is what I see in the garden: the Working Class and Middle Class — the true backbone of America — finally finding a place where their souls can rest and their identities can rise. Once restored, they become some of the most powerful cultivators of transformation you will ever meet. When the backbone awakens, the whole body becomes strong again.
And here is the truth we must name openly: almost no nonprofits exist for the Working Class and Middle Class. The poor are served. The wealthy are honored. But the people who carry the weight of society — who work the longest hours, shoulder the most responsibility, and absorb the deepest strain — rarely have a place for restoration. And yet these are the people God keeps drawing into the garden. Not because the garden excludes anyone, but because rest calls to the weary, identity calls to the overlooked, and presence calls to those who have spent their lives holding everything together.
The garden is open to every class, every story, every background — but the ones most consistently drawn to the soil are the Working Class and Middle Class, the true backbone of our communities, finally finding a place where their souls can breathe.
The garden is not about growing food. It is about cultivating people. Restoring identity. Dismantling the savior complex. Awakening the overlooked. Forming communities like the one Jesus created with Peter, Matthew, Joanna, Susanna, James, John, Nicodemus, and Joseph of Arimathea. Rebuilding the world from the inside out. Slowly, faithfully, relationally. One person at a time. One garden at a time. One revelation at a time.
