Author: gracesmuggler

Blue Like Jazz is a book by Donald Miller.  The subtitle is “Nonreligious Thoughts on Christian Spirituality.”  The book opens with the author’s note:

“I never liked jazz music because jazz music doesn’t resolve. But I was outside the Bagdad Theater in Portland one night when I saw a man playing the saxophone. I stood there for fifteen minutes, and he never opened his eyes.

After that I liked jazz music.

Sometimes you have to watch somebody love something before you can love it yourself. It is as if they are showing you the way.”

We are often invited into love by witnessing someone love —
an activity,
a creativity,
a person,
a family,
a community,
ourselves.

–Renee Roederer

This Easter Sunday poem was commissioned by Northminster Presbyterian Church in Endwell, New York.

“When they looked up, they saw that the stone, which was very large, had already been rolled back. As they entered the tomb, they saw a young man, dressed in a white robe, sitting on the right side; and they were alarmed. But he said to them, ‘Do not be alarmed; you are looking for Jesus of Nazareth, who was crucified. He has been raised; he is not here. Look, there is the place they laid him. But go, tell his disciples and Peter that he is going ahead of you to Galilee; there you will see him, just as he told you.’ So they went out and fled from the tomb, for terror and amazement had seized them; and they said nothing to anyone, for they were afraid.” – Mark 16:4-8

They fled from the tomb.

They said nothing to anyone.

They were afraid.

Silence.


Mark’s Gospel ends there.
The last words
are
no
words.

Nothing conveyed.
Nothing spoken.
Nothing shared.
Nothing.

Nothing.

Fear — yes —
Great Fear.

But
Nothing.

Silence.

It’s as if the curtain closes,
Or the movie screen goes blank.

We sit there in silence,
in the dark,
waiting for more,
for what must be coming.

But the women — even the brave women —
say nothing.

We wait.
What must be coming?

Nothing.

Then suddenly we realize — … oh, becoming —
We are invited to become the voices.
We are invited to become the proclaimers.
We are invited to become the exclaimers:

“He has been raised,
He is not here,
He is in Galilee,
There we will see him.”

We are the voices:

“He is Risen!”
“He is Risen, Indeed!”

We speak these words back and forth,
We enact these words back and forth,
We who are the voices,
We who are the proclaimers.
We who are the exclaimers.

We move beyond our own fear.
This story is ours to tell.
We move beyond our own silence.
This story is ours to share.

We resound, and we live the unfolding story:

“He is Risen!”
“He is Risen, Indeed!”

“He is Risen!”
“He is Risen, Indeed!”

–Renee Roederer

Experienced trauma is largely thought to impact the mind
And so treated as such 

“To heal,” they say, “you must first sit
And talk
And think
And process
And change how you think,
By sitting,
And continuing to talk
Then listen to me talk
So I can tell you how you think wrong
But if you keep thinking, 
While sitting, 
You will get better
Oh and maybe some medicine too”

But trauma is first felt
Deeply and completely through the body

So if the body is not addressed
But rather told to passively sit
How can we heal deeply?

Before therapy, there was dance
Before therapy, there was moaning, and singing and chants
This self-ownership was not done alone, 
In an office with dusty plants, 
The stomping of one’s foot on the ground was echoed by another
Who knew that pain and stomped in recognition
Movement together voiced, you are not alone, 
Without needing to utter a single word

Every song was an act of rebellion 
Every dance, a revolution 
Bodies were reclaimed
And deep healing occurred
Not through sitting
But through creation with one’s own body
And an understanding of its unbreakable power

Trauma that impaired the mind was released
Because a spirit can never be owned

-N.J. Phillips

—-N.J. Phillips (She/Her/Hers) Pictured: Young, white female, with short blond hair, wearing a blue dress and necklace in front of bricks. NJ is a graduate of Eastern Michigan University’s Occupational Therapy Program. She is a PWD as well as a disability advocate, Catholic, aunt, and lover of plants. Her favorite way to spend time is in the company of others. She would like to remind readers that hope and help are possible for all and if you or someone you knows is in need of emergency mental services please call the National Suicide Hotline at (800)273-8255 and to please save this number in your phone. Thank you. 

G.F.

We remember Good Friday.
We remember George Floyd.

We remember and
make present
all crucifixions ancient and modern,
Each real
Each now
in community,
in memory,
in body.

This week,

The 17 year old witness who captured the video
says she lies awake, wondering if she did enough.

This week,

The 19 year old store clerk who reported the counterfeit 20-dollar bill
says he reconsiders constantly, wondering if he should have let his pay get docked.

This week,

The 61 year old bystander who showed up on the scene
says he understands what it feels like to miss a Mama, wondering if tears matter.

Yet none of these placed their knee on his neck.

Cross.
Nails.
Trauma.
Love.

The loss is present.
The love is present.

Memory, swirling.
Pain and
Sacred worth.

We remember Good Friday.
We remember George Floyd.

–Renee Roederer

Have you heard of the Fresh Start Effect? It’s the idea that smaller markers of time can serve as openings to ask new questions, initiate new practices, or work toward new goals. Many people set aims like these when they make New Year’s Resolutions, but these can often be even more life-giving on smaller scales – days, weeks, and months.

Today is a new month.

Would you like to sit with a new question, try a practice for 30 days, or perhaps name April as the template for completing a step toward a larger goal or larger hope? We have such an opening today.

If you have thoughts on this — particular hopes, particular directions — I’d love to hear from you. What would you like April to be for you?

– Renee Roederer

It’s hard to believe, but we’ve reached the end of March and are already moving into April. That feels really surprising to me. How can a pandemic feel so slow but a year also somehow feel so fast?

At the end of the month, I always like to say thank you for following here at Smuggling Grace. I appreciate you taking the time to connect here, and as always, thanks for engaging too. I enjoy reading and hearing your comments virtually on the platform, in emails, or during real time conversation. Thank you!

And I’m always happy to expand the audience as well. Do you know anyone who might enjoy connecting with this blog? If so, feel free to pass it along. The more the merrier!

And I wish you a wonderful spring! It’s interesting that I think, hooray, finally, done with winter! But also, how is it already spring?. Coronavirus time is Jeremy Bearimy.

Thanks for engaging in community with me!

–Renee Roederer

Also at the end of the month, I always extend an invitation to support this blog on Patreon. Or! You can tip me with a coffee! Both of these are always great gifts, but are never expected. I appreciate you being here.

“What does depth require from us, from me?” Sitting with this question and quote today from adrienne maree brown in Emergent Strategy:

“If love were the central practice of a new generation of organizers and spiritual leaders, it would have a massive impact on what was considered organizing. If the goal was the increase the love, rather than winning or dominating a constant opponent, I think we could actually imagine liberation from constant oppression. We would suddenly be seeing everything we do, everyone we meet, not through the tactical eyes of war, but through the eyes of love. We would see that there’s no such thing as a blank canvas, an empty land or a new idea — but everywhere there is complex, ancient, fertile ground of potential.

“We would organize with the perspective that there is wisdom and experience and amazing story in the communities we love, and instead of starting up new ideas/organizations all the time, we would want to listen, support, collaborate, merge, and grow through fusion, not competition.

“We would understand that the strength of our movement is in the strength of our relationships, which could only be measured by our depth. Scaling up would mean going deeper, being more vulnerable and more empathetic.”

“What does depth require from us, from me?”
-adrienne maree brown, Emergent Strategy, page 10

What if… the worst things you believe about yourself —

I’m not this enough,
I’m not that enough,

I’m always like this,
I’ll never be like this,

That person thinks this about me,
That person thinks that about me,

That whole community thinks this about me,
That whole community thinks that about me,

I’m too this,
I’m too that ,

I’m not capable of this,
I’m not capable of that —

aren’t even true?

Wouldn’t it be liberating to believe what is much more true?
What is much more possibly true?
What is flat out true?

That
We’re loved,
We’re worth loving,
We’re capable of loving.

And

That
Many
Many
Many Things
Are Possible.

–Renee Roederer

I’m grateful to invite Taylor Murray to be guest blogger on Smuggling Grace. Taylor’s poetry is so invitational!

Saturdays

Saturdays, because they are the middle of the week, are for world building
which entails world noticing. 

what shall we put on the ark to save? 
what will we morph, transform, meld? 
what will we bury with miles of ocean?

Saturday is for possibilities, small risks

it is for questions, lots of questions, and no answers
what could this be? if given more love, more attention?

saturday is for turning your head upside down. laying in the grass as the sun rises. sniffing most things 
it is for pausing and also humming in cacophony
it is for albums you’ve never listened to before
and going down dead end roads
no outlet?…maybe for someone else, but you know how to shapeshift!

oh, and obviously Saturday is for turning into a triangle. it is the most stable shape
it is a time for sitting and pondering, what is the question? if the answer is 42….
it is for mapping and charting the moon’s journey, surfing the sky
it is also for rest and closed eyes, and pin drops
and for crying, and processing, and laughing and processing

it is for digging up old things and revisiting, returning
hanging them up on the wall 
then reconsidering the practice of hanging things on the wall

it is for hurling yourself out of the rut, so you can see the sun again
it is also for cold showers and breathing deeply through discomfort
it is for documentary watching and joining facebook groups of zine lovers

it is for calling people out of the blue just to say, hey, if i was in an ocean’s 11 situation, I just want you to know, I’d have you in my squad
it is for writing letters to your grandparents and doing book self portraits

it is for recording bird sounds
Inverting the colors of your phone
Calling your phone a hand rock
It is for juicing something
or frying somethingIt is for learning Morse code
And then using it to communicate with the raccoons in your neighborhood

Bestowing names to the plants you walk past
And moving around your furniture
Wearing socks inside out
And having a staring competition with the void

Learning how to juggle and how to make an igloo
Figuring out that the stage is probably the safest place to scream
For making art with your shadow
And for pickling your curiosity 

It is for pruning the garden of your mind
For tasting refusal in your mouth and learning to savor it
Walking with your eyes closed and your back front

It is for taking what you know to be true 
and then unknowing it
dis-knowing it
make the familiar, strange and weird

That is what Saturdays are for. 
Oh wait, did I say Saturday?
Well, of course, by that I meant
Every day.

–Taylor Murray

Taylor is a student at the University of Michigan, currently taking a semester off from her computer science studies. She is the co-founder and president of Tech for Social Good a student org creating critical conversations about technology and society. She is also a self-described renaissance woman and currently is learning Korean, thinking about communal grieving, and combatting grind culture. You can reach her at murratay@umich.edu.