Smuggling Grace

For at least eleven years, I feel like I have started many blog posts and sermons by talking about how overwhelming the news cycle is. At this point, that observation almost sounds trite. It risks becoming one of those phrases that gets repeated so often that it loses its impact, like “we’re living in unprecedented times” or “out of an abundance of caution” during the COVID era.

But the truth is that we are living in a unique moment in human history. At a moment’s notice, or with a simple glance at a phone, we have access to information about suffering, violence, disasters, and crises from all over the world. And I think two things are true at once:

On one hand, these stories can feel incredibly close. They can be overwhelming, especially when we encounter many of them at once. Until very recently in human history, people simply did not have access to this much information about what was happening across the globe.

On the other hand, these stories can also feel very far away, too. It is easy to become numb. It’s easy to forget, at least emotionally, that there are actual people behind these headlines. These people have names, faces, relationships, fears, hopes, and stories. Of course, we do not need to look halfway around the world to find suffering. We encounter it in our own neighborhoods, our own communities, our own families, and often in our own lives, too.

But I was thinking about all of this recently while hearing news reports about countries trading “strikes.” Yes, that is technically accurate language. It describes something that is happening. But are those the words that people would use if they were living through those strikes?

That phrase feels distant from the human realities on the ground. Nobody wakes up in the middle of the night thinking, “A strike occurred.” They wake up wondering where their child is. They wonder whether their home will still be standing in the morning. They wonder whether today is the day that ordinary life suddenly falls apart. They wonder whether the next loud sound means they should run.

Behind the language are people who are frightened, grieving, searching, hoping, enduring, and barely surviving. The news cycle does not always help us remember that.

So what do we do?

I think we remember what the language leaves out. We remember that people exist in the margins and in the rubble. And I think there is also enough suffering within our own communities and relationships to bring that close to us and allow us to feel it. We can remember the people behind the headlines elsewhere, too.

The truth is, we are more connected than we often realize — something that is also true in our globalized era. Their lives are not as distant from ours as they may seem. We can choose to act in ways that reach our neighbors here and people who live seemingly far away.

And we can stay connected to the values that matter most to us. These are unique times. But we are not as powerless as we sometimes think.

—Renee Roederer

–Photos by Renee Roederer

I think baby tapirs are some of the cutest beings imaginable. It would be a dream come true to cuddle with one.

This 10 day old cutie has the zoomies.

I recently encountered this poem by Andrea Gibson:

every time i ever said i want to die
A difficult life is not less
worth living than a gentle one.
Joy is simply easier to carry
than sorrow. And your heart
could lift a city from how long
you’ve spent holding what’s been
nearly impossible to hold.
This world needs those
who know how to do that.
Those who could find a tunnel
that has no light at the end of it,
and hold it up like a telescope
to know the darkness
also contains truths that could
bring the light to its knees.
Grief astronomer, adjust the lens,
look close, tell us what you see.

Grief astronomer.

That title really grabbed me.

When we think of grief — and processing it — we often imagine an inward journey. But when we think of astronomy, we often imagine observations that move outward, exploring that which is vast.

Grief astronomer.

Are there times when our grief feels like… the cosmos?

Can we explore beyond our inner world, observing expanse that exists beyond grief? Connecting with people and resources beyond us?

If we adjust the lens — whatever that might need to be — does grief change shape? Do we see it differently?

Grief astronomer, adjust the lens,
look close, tell us what you see.

—Renee Roederer

Once a month, a wonderful therapist and I lead a program called Mindfulness Moments. Every time we come together, I’m reminded that we are able to be present and imaginative pretty much anytime we want.

Yes, some moments are easier than others. And many things pull us away from that way of being. But we can make space for it. We can be deliberate about it. We can choose it.

During our last gathering, she said something really simple, but it stayed with me:
“As you take this next breath, do it with curiosity.”

I love that.

Like mindfulness itself, there are times when we are more curious than others. But we can practice curiosity intentionally as well.

Do you want to try that today?

—Renee Roederer

I opened the envelope with some trepidation, but soon discovered good news: I had passed all four of my ordination exams.

These exams involved a great deal of studying, along with long hours actually taking the tests. This was one of the last major milestones before I could seek an ordained position within the Presbyterian Church (USA). I was relieved and elated.

There were several people I wanted to tell, but the person I most wanted to call was David.

He had been my pastor growing up, and in my young adult years, I had been welcomed deeply into the life of his family as a chosen family member. He had also been steadfast in encouraging me as I moved toward ministry. I left him a voicemail sharing the good news.

Between that message and the call I received later, I was able to tell several close friends. I felt like a door was opening.

But then, a few hours later, I got the best call. David absolutely gushed with pride for me.

Of course, he was happy about the accomplishment and all that it represented. But what I remember from that day is much more than his words. I remember more than him saying he was proud of me.

I remember how over the top it was. And yet it was completely genuine.

Even then, I knew what a deliberate choice that was. David was aware of a lot of what I was carrying at that point in my life. Decades later, things are very different and have resolved beautifully, but at that time, there were significant tensions in my family. Eventually, I would even keep my own ordination service secret so that it would not be disrupted by those conflicts.

What I remember most is that David wanted to make absolutely sure that I knew someone loved me deeply, believed in me, and was proud of me.

Not long ago, I found myself thinking about that call again. It’s that deliberate choice that stays with me. It’s a choice to let people know that they matter. It’s a choice to celebrate them generously. It’s a choice to tell them that you value who they are and what they bring to the world.

It reminds me that whenever I can, I want to do it, too.

—Renee Roederer

IIs anything giving you joy right now? A little burst of glee?

By the way, it’s okay if that’s not your reality at the moment. Goodness knows, our collective reality contains many layers of struggle.

But what if it’s a tiny thing? It doesn’t have to be a swell of “to the Moon and back.” Maybe it’s “to that cup of coffee and back.” “To that phone call with a friend and back.” “To the adorable thing my grandchild said and back.” “To a delicious enchilada and back.”

Cultivating space for joy — or frankly, allowing it to surprise us — can be an act of resistance. And our joy can create space for others, too, compounding their own little delights.

So if you’ve got it, even something small, let it have its own gravity.

—Renee Roederer

Over the weekend, Washington Post reporter Meryl Kornfield shared details from a report created by Jeremiah Schofield, a former senior executive at the Social Security Administration who is serving as a whistleblower. He reported that officials from DOGE had developed a plan to force immigrants to self-deport by using Social Security records to declare 2.7 million of them dead. This included U.S. citizens and lawful permanent residents. Doing so would have cut them off from wages, banks, benefits, and other financial systems. The idea was that if people were erased electronically, they would either leave the country or go to a Social Security office, where they could then be arrested. Ultimately, the plan did not move forward, but at one point, 6,100 mostly Latino immigrants were reportedly moved into the Death Master File. [1]

Senator Andy Kim of New Jersey traveled back to Delaney Hall on Saturday, an ICE detention center in Newark, where he has repeatedly been barred from entering to inspect conditions and speak with detainees. Still, from the windows, women were waving to get his attention. They pointed to a woman lying on one of the beds in a fetal position, visibly unwell or in pain. This facility has one full-time doctor for approximately 850 detainees. [2]

In my state, there are reports that detainees in an ICE detention center have initiated a hunger strike due to poor medical conditions and barriers to accessing attorneys. There are also reports of people being denied life-saving medications that they need.

In the last couple of weeks, three women have died mysteriously at the Huron Valley Women’s Prison, which is near where I live. After years of complaints and advocacy regarding mold and poor conditions, many of the women living there are certainly distressed by these deaths. Additionally, Disability Rights Michigan, a statewide disability advocacy organization, reported in April that women in this prison were regularly missing meals and necessary medications because there were not enough wheelchairs available. Following that important investigative work by Disability Rights Michigan, the prison obtained more wheelchairs. But of course, for reasons that remain unknown, women are dying.

What is going on behind detention and prison walls? So many abuses remain out of view.

I was recently thinking about what Holocaust survivor Elie Wiesel recounts in his book Night. When a prisoner watched a young boy die, he cried out:

“For God’s sake, where is God?”

Wiesel heard an inner voice respond:

“Where is He? He is there, hanging on the gallows…”

Many people may be asking the same question in these days. And certainly, many would answer that question in a myriad of ways, even as they hold different understandings of what we mean by God.

However we might approach that question, or wherever we may ultimately land, one thing seems clear to me:

If God is anywhere, God is in the detention center.

But for that conviction to offer any comfort — and certainly for it to lead toward liberation — we must also be there, or use our voices, or provide tangible support to those who fear being taken away and placed there.

How will we participate in comfort and liberation?

— Renee Roederer

[1] [2] The first two paragraphs were informed by Heather Cox Richardson’s daily writing, with this information shared in her June 6, 2026 post.”

–Photos by Renee Roederer

Brains are wild.