On Sunday, November 21 at 7pm, the Interfaith Round Table of Washtenaw County will be holding a very meaningful event over Zoom, entitled, “IRT’s Celebration of Thanks: Joyful Perseverance.” With COVID numbers and flu numbers up on our county, we’ve had to pivot our event to be virtual. But we expect that it will be a meaningful experience with music, interfaith reflections, and conversation around a very meaningful theme. What does it mean to uplift joy and perseverance at once?
I was interviewed by journalist Lisa Barry this week, and I’d love to share the radio segment. And since we’re virtual, we don’t have to be local. Want to join us?
Here it is:
Art&Soul: The Art of Wellbeing — A local celebration of gratitude and joy for Thanksgiving
–Renee Roederer
Goodness and Mercy
Surely goodness and mercy shall follow me all the days of my life.
Many years ago, while speaking on Psalm 23, one of my most formational people shared that this phrase can evoke imagery of sheep dogs — as if goodness and mercy continually guide us and lead us, not always in front of us, but often from behind us. We are followed by goodness and mercy in ways that shape our path.
They are behind us, following us.
I find this interesting because we don’t always choose to follow goodness and mercy.
Sometimes, we follow other instincts.
Perhaps we need them working behind the scenes.
Goodness and mercy can reveal
what is most true,
what is most needed,
what is necessary for change,
what is expansive for growth,
what is invited for healing, and
what is possible, even when it feels as if no pathway is possible.
Guilt and shame are never good guides.
We don’t need these to hem us in.
We need goodness and mercy.
These form us best and cultivate the best pathways.
Behind us,
Shaping what is before us.
Rooted
I looked up and watched several leaves float down from the sky. They were falling in real time from very tall trees.
“They’ve never been untethered before,” I thought with some sadness, because for some reason, I tend to anthropomorphize things. I watched them fall to the ground.
I kept walking and pondered how intertwined root systems existed underneath my feet, unseen as I walked along this pathway with trees on either side.
Sometimes, we’re more connected than we think we are.
Slime Mold Can Map Out the Entire Tokyo Subway System
It’s not a plant, animal, or fungus. It’s just one, giant cell.
This is not a sentence I ever thought I would write, but… slime mold is amazing. It’s a single cell organism, and it can do so much. It travels in exploration, and it can find the most efficient route between food sources. We don’t really know how.
Slime mold can also solve mazes.
It doesn’t have a brain, and this seems to indicate that there are multiple ways to have intelligence. We can learn from forms of nature, including slime mold.
Enjoy this video.
Our Expanding Universe
We have never once —
not even one time! —
charted a path that has been taken previously.
Nope, never.
Not even one time!
In the history of our lives,
In the history of humanity,
In the history of the earth as we know it, and
In the history of our solar system,
We have never repeated the same rotational pathway.
Not even once.
We have never resided in the exact same physical space we inhabited
two minutes ago,
two years ago,
two millennia ago, or
two zillion millennia ago.
Why?
Our universe is expanding.
The earth is not traveling the exact same path,
year by year, around a static sun.
We are charting new pathways on November 15, 2021,
which are entirely different
from the pathways of movement and physical space
we forged collectively on November 15, 2020.
BECAUSE
The sun is not standing still.
It has never done so.
It is shooting forward
(as if we could know in the cosmos which way is forward?)
through the Galaxy,
in an ever-expanding universe!
So tell me again. . .
. . .why do we think our lives cannot change and adapt?
. . .why do we think we have to stay in the same rut?
. . .why do we think “But we’ve always done it that way!” is an accurate or appropriate argument?
Perhaps, grounded to this very earth,
with our eyes to the skies, and
with our feet firmly planted,
we might just accept that our personal universe
Can
EXPAND
Too.
We
Each of us is unique and particular, distinct and differentiated,
yes
(and these are great gifts)
But in every moment,
each person is a We.
Every single one of us is a Collective —
we are Plural
not only in a myriad of
thoughts,
feelings,
memories, and
impulses,
each as plentiful and contradictory as the next —
but also
We represent internalized others.
We are a nexus of relationships, embodied.
Who is always rooted in Whose.
Whose —
not possession or ownership.
not fate or determinism.
Whose —
belonging,
collective calling,
sacred possibility.
Sacred actuality.
We only need to awaken to it.
Let The Trees Speak to Our Roots
I had a total geekout about these trees.
When I walked out of the gym, I just stood there, stunned that so many gorgeous fall leaves were present in one place.
Beyond the worthy geekout, however, these trees also remind me of something. I think they’re a valuable symbol, especially if we feel fatigued or on edge during this season.
Every autumn, trees reveal their vibrant colors
when their energy is shifted toward their roots.
All spring and summer, leaves gather energy for sustenance and growth through their photosynthesis process. When the autumn begins, leaves don’t really turn red, orange, yellow, and brown. They are revealed to be red, orange, yellow, and brown. In preparation for winter, deciduous trees stop their photosynthesis process. As a result, the accompanying color of green recedes, and we see the revealed colors of these leaves. This process prepares for the winter season in which roots can continue to thrive and grow.
When we see the vibrant colors of autumn, we might also make analogies and ponder our own rooting process.
As we think about the present moment we’re living, and the future we want to live,
What forms of energy do we need to shed?
What forms of energy do we need to pursue?
To what and to whom are we rooted?
With what and with whom are we connected?
How can a sense of groundedness reveal beauty?
How can rootedness help us see the worth and value of the people around us.
During autumn, when we see the trees (and potentially, have a geekout) perhaps we can ponder these kinds of questions. As I watch trees make these changes, I like to imagine that their energy and focus is moving into the ground — into the most foundational parts of being — and I find myself wanting to do the same.
What do we need to bring inside ourselves toward the most foundational parts of ourselves?
Grace
in the midst of divisiveness?
Joy
in the midst of strife?
Conviction
in the midst of cynicism?
Justice
in the midst of violence?
Possibility
in the midst of anxiety?
Let’s ponder these when we see the leaves.
I Had to Run Away From Bats
Image Description: A sunset with hues of orange, pink, and deep purple amidst trees.Photo, Renee Roederer.
It’s the one year anniversary of this story, so I thought I’d share it again — Ha!
I was finishing up my daily walk as the sun was setting, and I snapped some beautiful photos with deep purple in the sky. Ahhh… So nice.
And I saw a bat. Ooh, cool!
Then another. Then more. Then lots.
And I ended up running out of the woods (and laughing at myself running) because too many bats were flying near me. It was a funny scene. I screamed once. I chuckled. But mostly, my heart was racing.
They kept swooping down near me for bugs. Don’t do that!
Once I got out of the woods, I also laughed imagining the scenario that I’ve been this cautious about COVID only to get rabies.
“Renee was the most disciplined person we knew about not getting COVID, but sadly, she got rabies, refused water, and died.”
Thankfully, I hightailed it out of there.
–Renee Roederer
Seeds
Today, I’d like to share a poem I wrote. It was commissioned by Northminister Presbyterian Church in Endwell, New York. It is based on Matthew 8:31-38.
Seeds
He speaks to us in parables:
Very truly, I say to you,
Unless a grain of wheat falls into the earth and dies,
it remains just a single grain;
but if it dies, it bears much fruit.
At once, we easily feel
the weight of this,
the fear of this,
the loss,
the decay,
the bereavement.
Yet the very one acquainted
with all of these in his body,
knows his Body —
the Community,
the Family,
the Kin-dom
that we are.
We are the fruits
of his love laid down.
We are the fruits
of his love lived forward.
He speaks…
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The Resurrection Plant
There’s a plant in the Sahara Desert that can regenerate itself long after it has died. As much as 100 years later.
I recently watched this video in total amazement.
And it makes me wonder what could still be possible —
what could still take shape among us too —
we who are still living,
we who can choose, and
we who can become utterly surprised
when the unthinkable and the seemingly impossible presents itself.
Smuggling Grace 