We designed a simple structure that will feel familiar to anyone who’s been to a faith gathering: song, a greeting of neighbors, quiet meditation, readings of civic scripture (great American texts, some well-known, like the Preamble to the Constitution; others little-known, like Judge Learned Hand’s speech on the true spirit of liberty), then a sermon, followed by a long (8-10 minute) collective silence adapted from Quaker meeting, in which anyone moved to share a reflection may rise briefly and break the silence before restoring it, and finally, another round of collective singing.

We found a great location on short notice: the basement reading room at Seattle’s Elliott Bay Book Company. We put out a call on Facebook, describing in very spare terms what we intended. We found an acquaintance who could lead us in song. Then we prepared for the possibility that just a handful of people would really show up on four days’ notice (and we thought that would be just great).

When Saturday morning came, over 220 people had crammed into the reading room. It was standing-room only. In this low-ceilinged underground space lined with old books, it felt like we were at a resistance meeting. In a way, we were. But the resistance was not only against the most-feared aspects of a Trump administration; it was also against the sense of helplessness and disorientation that had brought so many there.

My wife Jená Cane, co-founder of Citizen University, opened the proceedings, and I followed with the tentative norm-setting of a first-time pastor. Well before I got to my sermon, which was called “A Divided Heart,” tears were flowing. A young woman in a hijab read from Susan B. Anthony’s statement at trial. A daughter of Korean immigrants read Judge Hand’s speech. A Japanese American woman read Langston Hughes’ short poem “Refugee in America” (“There are words like Liberty / That almost make me cry / If you had known what I knew / You would know why”).

During the silences, the feeling of so many people choosing to be quiet together was profound. Those who rose during the Quaker silence included a son of undocumented immigrants, women from small towns who’d come to the city not as elites but as outsiders who needed refuge, and a Trump supporter who noted that Kellyanne Conway was the first woman to manage a successful presidential campaign.

The second Civic Saturday, held on Thanksgiving weekend and moved to a larger location (an actual church), was also packed. And as word has spread, people around the United States have asked us to bring it to their communities.

Our answer has been: Maybe. But far better would be for you to start your own. Because the insight we got from this experience was not about the magic of our formula but about the magic of making a club. Any kind of club.