Author: gracesmuggler

Image Description: A photo of El Capitan and the Merced River at Yosemite National Park. It is a public domain photo from the website http://www.pdphoto.org/PictureDetail.php?mat=pdef&pg=8324.

This sermon was preached with First Presbyterian Church in Warren, Michigan and was focused upon Hebrews 12:-12. An audio recording is above and a written manuscript is below.

Within Yosemite National Park, El Capitan stands tall. Very tall. It is one of the most well-known rock formations within the United States. It rises 3,000 feet from the valley floor, and it’s 2.5 times as tall as the Empire State Building. It’s a large, beautiful thing to behold, but some people do much more than view it on the ground.

Each year, people climb it. Using a variety of established routes, people pull themselves to the top. It takes a lot of gumption and a lot of strength. In fact, it takes so much exertion, that many people don’t do it in one day. They take a couple of days and actually sleep on El Capitan. They establish hammocks of sorts and sleep on the side of a mountain; it’s called vertical camping. I can’t imagine ever doing this myself — like ever, ever — but I am truly impressed.

Bit by bit, all these climbers use cables and pull themselves up El Capitan. Well, that is, everyone except Alex Honnald. And here’s where my never, ever grows even stronger. In 2017, climbing phenom Alex Honnald performed a free solo of El Capitan. And if you’ve never heard language like free solo (I hadn’t until recently) let me share the absurdity of what this means: Alex Honnald climbed El Capitan with no ropes or safety measures at all. It was just him, freely solo-ing. He used his own muscles entirely, balancing on tiny jutting forms of rock. (Truly, you should see how flat El Capitan looks to an observer.) He also did this in just four hours.

Just to be clear, I do not recommend this. Like, at all. But it was a wonder to behold. Just a few weeks ago, I watched a documentary about this particular climb by Alex Honnold. It’s rightfully called Free Solo. It was nerve-wracking to watch him do this. It was also truly impressive.

I also found myself thinking about this: This takes an abundant amount of trust.

Now, of course, most obviously, it takes a lot of trust in one’s self. He had to believe that he could do it. He had to believe that he could keep his anxiety at bay, at least enough, to get through and make it to the top. He had to trust El Capitan. He had to trust those areas he chose to grip. He had to trust his footholds.

All of this is true. But he also had to trust others who had come before him. He had to trust the people who made the climbing routes — those who had at one point, charted new territory. He had to trust his previous climbs. He had taken time to climb El Capitan a number of times with ropes and safety measures, and when he did this, he didn’t do it alone. He brought some seasoned climbers with him, including Tommy Caldwell, who has climbed all the routes on El Capitan and established a new one. (There’s also a documentary about this called, The Dawn Wall).

Alex Honnald gained accolades for climbing El Capitan alone. I mean, that’s why it’s called free solo. But he also didn’t climb it alone. Many people helped that happen. And he may have had people on his mind and heart too as he made that climb, though I’m going to assume his full attention was on the climbing itself. Alex Honnald had to trust others.

Our scripture text from Hebrews gives us a similar vision:

“Therefore, since we are surrounded by so great a cloud of witnesses, let us also lay aside every weight and the sin that clings so closely,” it says. This great cloud of witnesses is much more than a bunch of spectators, standing back, hands off at a great distance. This great cloud of witnesses includes those who have gone before us and charted pathways of faithfulness. It includes those who surround us now in love — those whose support, care, and influence are truly with us, even now during a period of social distancing and isolation. It includes this community, this family of faith. Before us and around us, we are surrounded by a great cloud of witnesses.

And the text continues to say, “and let us run with perseverance the race that is set before us, looking to Jesus as the pioneer and perfecter of our faith, who for the sake of the joy that was set before him endured the cross, disregarding its shame, and has taken his seat at the right hand of the throne of God.” Jesus has gone before us, and Jesus is with us. And this doesn’t have to sound like some pithy saying we might say simply to comfort ourselves. It is the kind of truth we can take inwardly in ways that are transformative. Jesus is a pioneer, charting a way of faith and charting a way of living. This is about more than church niceties of some kind. This is Jesus, a pioneer and charter of a way of living that loves God and loves our neighbors as ourselves. And he took risks to live this way.

Jesus endured a cross. He died by state violence. The author of Hebrews says that he also disregarded its shame. He cast that shame aside as it clung so closely, and he did so for love of his neighbors. Let’s get real here: Jesus loved so deeply and so expansively that it began to initiate change, and that threatened the power of the Roman Empire. They abused him with shame, torture, and an excruciating death that lasted many hours. Despite this violence, or rather, emerging from it, the author of the Epistle to the Hebrews joins the great cloud of witnesses in honoring the power of resurrection. Jesus is no longer on the cross, or strapped to an execution gurney, or under the knee of state power. Jesus is at the right hand of God, pioneer and perfecter of our faith, praying for us and always charting the course of being with us — with us when we suffer; with us when we climb the summit of many challenges; and with our neighbors when they run the race before them, when they are persecuted for their faith, when they suffer state violence, and when they and we love so deeply and expansively that it dreams and initiates a whole world of changes where love abounds and persists deeply and expansively.

The community behind this letter needed to hear words like these. They were experiencing persecution for their faith. At times, they were in danger because the risk of love can sometimes take us there. But we, like them, can lay aside every weight and the sin that clings so closely. We can look to Jesus as the pioneer and perfecter of our faith, and we can trust him. We can look to the great cloud of witnesses — our family of faith in this congregation; our faith ancestors, both recent and long ago; our neighbors who loved God, some in the midst of heartache and suffering; and those who like Jesus, are before us, existing within the heart of God. We may need to hear words like these. We may need to be gathered before these, knowing they are with us and cheering us on.

Within these words and within this vision, where do you find yourself today? Do you feel like you’re climbing a personal mountain all alone — facing difficulty, heartache, fear, or loneliness? We are with you. The Pioneer and Perfecter of our Faith is with you. Do you feel this deep-seated calling to love God and love neighbors in ways that dream and initiate change? We are with you. The Pioneer and Perfecter of our Faith is with you. Do we feel numb and unmotivated in a world that is overwhelming right now? That’s understandable sometimes. We are with you. The Pioneer and Perfecter of our Faith is with you.

We do not leave you there alone. Our faith ancestors do not leave you there alone. Jesus, the Pioneer and Perfecter of our Faith does not leave you there alone.

We are that great cloud of witnesses. We are supported and surrounded by a great cloud of witnesses. And we can trust. We can trust that calling we feel. We can trust the God who makes that calling alive within us. We can trust each other. We can trust our neighbors. We can trust that as impressive as it may seem, climbing alone is a total myth. We don’t make it on our own.

So friends, lean into that trust. Put your weight upon it. Put your heart upon it. Act upon it.

Thanks be to God — the One who is with us, the One who calls us, the One who frees us to life abundant. Thanks be to this God.

Amen.

–Renee Roederer

— Here’s information about El Capitan from the Yosemite National Park website: https://www.yosemite.com/what-to-do/el-capitan/

— Here is a video about the making of Free Solo:

Image Description: A brown mat with the word “Welcome” in black. It’s on the ground in front of a yellow door which is slightly ajar. Public domain image.

Earlier this week, I posted a piece called “Receive From Everything, Share From Everything.” A friend emailed me and shared that this piece reminded her of the poem, “The Guesthouse” by Rumi. I had not made that connection, but as it turns out, that is one of my favorite poems. So I thought I’d share it today.

The Guesthouse

This being human is a guest house.
Every morning a new arrival.

A joy, a depression, a meanness,
some momentary awareness comes
as an unexpected visitor.

Welcome and entertain them all!
Even if they are a crowd of sorrows,
who violently sweep your house
empty of its furniture,
still, treat each guest honorably.
He may be clearing you out
for some new delight.

The dark thought, the shame, the malice.
meet them at the door laughing and invite them in.

Be grateful for whatever comes.
because each has been sent
as a guide from beyond.

— Jellaludin Rumi,
translation by Coleman Barks

This is Schmoopie the Elephant. He is very good friends with J, my 4 year old friend. Recently, Schmoopie gave an inane amount of rhubarb to J and his amazing parents. And then J and his parents made Schmoopie some strawberry rhubarb jam. I’m so lucky that Schmoopie shares.

— Renee Roederer

Images: 1) Schmoopie on my shoulder, 2) Schmoopie and all his rhubarb, 3) Schmoopie enjoying two jars of strawberry rhubarb jam. 

Image Description: An ocean wave moves toward a sandy shore. Public domain image.

Recently, I was gathered with a community over Zoom, when someone referenced a poignant moment in the film “Cast Away.” It’s been a very long time since I’ve seen that film — probably more than a decade. But I’ve definitely thought of it a number of times during quarantine.

It’s wild to for us to be so physically isolated. Thankfully, most of us have phones and computers. Some of us may also have Wilsons. (I have a cute, plushy, little elephant friend, and there’s a baby bunny and a baby groundhog in my backyard).

At the end of the film, after surviving alone on an island for four years, the protagonist Chuck Noland is able to return home, but his life is now far from normal, typical, or frankly, what he deserves. He continues to adjust to a new normal with the very same skills he developed on that island. Speaking about his experience, he says,

“And that’s when this feeling came over me like a warm blanket. I knew, somehow, that I had to stay alive. Somehow. I had to keep breathing. Even though there was no reason to hope. And all my logic said that I would never see this place again. So that’s what I did. I stayed alive. I kept breathing. And one day my logic was proven all wrong because the tide came in, and gave me a sail. And now, here I am. I’m back. In Memphis, talking to you. I have ice in my glass…  And I know what I have to do now. I gotta keep breathing. Because tomorrow the sun will rise. Who knows what the tide could bring?”

It’s this last line that has really stuck with me:
Who knows what the tide could bring?

There are times, no doubt, when we experience pain, loss, and suffering, both personally and collectively. And… there are times when unexpected help comes to us. And… there are times when unexpected hope comes to us. And… there are times when unexpected change comes to us or invites us to participate alongside it.

Who knows what the tide could bring?

Unexpected grace. Unexpected help. Unexpected winds of change. Unexpected possibility.

I believe in this. I’ve known pain, loss, and suffering. I’m a long-term trauma survivor. I’ve lost loved ones. I’ve had my world upended many times.

I’ve also experienced resilience. I’ve also experienced community. I’ve experienced unexpected opportunities. I’ve also experienced restoration after conflict. I’ve also experienced reconciliation of relationships — some wildly unlikely, and yet, they happened. In fact, I’ve experienced this more than once.

I believe in possibility.

Who knows what the tide could bring?

I don’t claim, of course, to have experienced many of the forms of suffering that are plaguing our world. I have a lot of privilege too. There are some who are struggling with discrimination, lack of resources, and systemic injustices that are deep, raw, undeserved, and devastating.

And sometimes, even there, the winds of change blow in such a way that we are empowered and enabled to act toward collective liberation. Or at the very least, this calls to us, and we can follow in its direction.

Who knows what the tide could bring?

I’m going to let that question linger with me for a while.

–Renee Roederer

Image Description: A gorgeous loaf of bread, gifted to me by my friends Jeff and Nancy Renner.

I was in a Zoom meeting when someone mentioned the bread that her family makes at home each week. With ovens right there in their home, they bake for some stores in my town. Then they always make a bit extra.

I’ve had their bread before, and I know how good it is. “Oh, that’s sounds so delicious,” I thought, suddenly with a hankering for that bread.

So as soon as the meeting was over, I emailed them and asked if I could have a loaf. I was invited to come over the very next day and pick it up, and when I did, it was gloriously tasty and hot right out of the oven. I know it was gloriously tasty because I was already eating it in the car on the way home.

This is a reminder that sometimes, we can just… ask.

During the last Lent season, right before the coronavirus was fully on our radar, I chose to take on what I called “the spiritual practice of asking for things.” It’s all the more vital now. We are often afraid to ask from our friends and community members, but the truth is, folks are often glad to share. We fear being a ‘burden’ (this is straight up a cultural reflection of ableism and capitalism, where we’re taught we’re supposed to do everything ourselves productively, or else lose care) but when people ask us for things, we hardly ever think of them the way we tend to think of ourselves.

So we can just ask. And our friends and neighbors are often delighted, just as we are when we can participate in providing for someone.

This is a choice to lean into a beautiful, spiritual value — interdependence. And that value takes form relationally, concretely, and materially.. Sometimes, just ask.

–Renee Roederer

 

Image Description: A drop of water falls into a body of water, making ripples. Public domain image.

This is my personal phrase lately:
“Receive from everything, share from everything.”

It’s also how I’m trying to live in these days.

There are times of upheaval, both personal and collective, when we rightfully ask ourselves, “What should I do? How should I act? How are my neighbors and my community calling to me? What do I need? What do my loved ones need? What do my neighbors need?”

We might ask these questions out of urgency. We might ask these questions out of anxiety. We might find ourselves zooming out of the moment, getting perspective, yes, but also distance, asking these questions hypothetically within the big picture rather than dealing with the reality of the day-to-day picture.

Within it all, my personal phrase is,
“Receive from everything, share from everything.”

The truth of the matter is… change happens in the day to day, mundane aspects of life, and above all, change happens through a web of relationships. There are times, absolutely, when our daily, mundane lives need to be disrupted with cries for large-scale change. We are experiencing this now.

We activate change, however, in the daily mundane aspects of life and above all, through our relationships. We need to build change, not hypothetically in some conceptual big picture, but in the communities we are already in, allowing those very communities to expand, transform, and transform us.

Receive from everything, right where we are —
receive care, receive messages, receive love, receive challenge, receive questions, receive resources, receive conflict, receive imagination, receive lament, receive hope, receive connection, receive relationship.

Share from everything, right where we are–
participate in being a catalyzer,
share care, share messages, share love, share challenge, share questions, share resources, share conflict, share imagination, share lament, share hope, share connection, share relationship.

These days in the upheaval, I am literally keeping a list of these things. It helps me. I keep a list of what I receive, and I want to receive as fully as possible. And then I consider how to share from it in relationship.

Some aspects of our lives need to be disrupted.

We can participate in building change when we act, when we share, in our daily, mundane lives through the web of our relationships.

Let life catalyze us.
Participate in catalyzing change.

“Receive from everything, share from everything.”

–Renee Roederer

Image Description: Two small purple basil plants in small, clear glass bowls are on a counter with a plastic planter container behind them. 

These are my baby purple basil plants. I was sad when I saw them wilting inside their planter container over the weekend. It will be time to plant them in a proper pot soon — that, I knew — but goodness, their stems were all totally wilted, lying flat over their small mounds of dirt.

So I put these small mounds of dirt into little clear bowls. Then I put some water in the bowls. These little babies sucked that water right up, and in very short order were springing right into growth again. It was amazing to witness how resilient they were.

And that had me reflecting…

Sometimes, you have to change the environment. When that environment has good, solid resources and care… much is possible. Sometimes, much more than we think.

Isn’t that also true when it comes to ourselves? Our neighbors? Our relationships? Our communities? Our world?

–Renee Roederer

Yesterday, the Poor People’s Campaign held a virtual Moral March on Washington, and it was really powerful. I want to share the video with you so you can watch it as well.

Toward the beginning of the gathering, the Rev. Dr. William Barber II said a simple statement that will stay with me for a long time. He said,

“If you want to change the narrative, change the narrators.”

Then we heard hours of testimony from a huge cross section of people who live with the impacts of poverty, low wages, and low wealth. Rev. Dr. Barber rightfully shared that the people behind these testimonies are prophets. Their stories make up the bulk of the video.

You can watch here, or push play on the embedded video on this blog:

Image Description: A person with light skin, brown hair, and brown eyes looks into the camera while wearing a blue mask with small white flowers. Public domain image.

Dear Very Loved People who rightfully say Black Lives Matter but don’t wear a mask,

This pandemic isn’t over.

Everyone is at risk, but by the numbers,

Black people are most at risk. Please wear a mask.

Image Description: A picture of a June calendar. Public domain image.

So… real talk: Today is my 100th day of isolation. It’s been pretty total. I’ve also been mostly okay. Or okay enough.

I’ve been wondering what I might say on Day 100 about Day 100. And the truth is, I don’t know what to say exactly. I just have some need to acknowledge it somehow. And maybe that’s mostly okay. Or okay enough.

I do want you to know I don’t just sit around and count every single pandemic isolation day as it stretches out. There’s no tally on a wall somewhere or even in my mind. At one point, I simply asked myself, I wonder which day is Day 100? Siri told me it was June 19, so now I know I’ve reached it.

So here I am, finding some need to acknowledge this. As I’ve gotten closer to this date, I imagined writing a post called, “No Silver Linings,” in which I would challenge myself to talk about this with no positive spin at all. No need to make it shiny. I’ve not gone anywhere public, even the grocery store, so I haven’t been the same room as any human beings for 100 days. 100 days straight. I’ve also had no hugs for 100 days. Me — highly extroverted me. It isn’t easy.

And sure, I could have written that post and talked about how I’m known for being so positive — which is actually authentic, by the way; it’s my number one strength on Strength Finders — and I could have challenged myself to say nothing positive about this time.

But the truth is, I’m mostly okay. Or okay enough.

Not always, but often.

Would I choose this? No.

Do I regret this? I don’t regret staying safe indoors, no.

Will I find ways to get a bit closer to others in the next 100 days? Probably. At least a bit. But the truth is, sometimes I sincerely wonder if I’m going to end up living like this for another year. I don’t quite want to imagine a year and a half without a hug though, so… perhaps something’s gotta give at some point. I’m living alone for a while, and I’m not the only person doing that. This means there are lots of folks out there who haven’t had a hug in 100 days. Maybe longer.

I’m very committed to not getting COVID or spreading it. I think odds are very high that I have some vulnerabilities in my immune system. I’m also not cowering, living in fear. Some may assume so when I haven’t even gone to the grocery store. But it’s not fear; it’s commitment.

So no positive spin, but here’s some real talk too: I am okay. I don’t like this, and I don’t think it’s particularly good for me in some ways. But. Or rather, and… I am taking very good care of myself. I sleep very well, and I can hardly believe this (used to struggle with this a lot). I love my work — all three jobs. Yes, I have three part-time jobs and three roles, and I dearly love all of them. Even though they’re within various organizations, I get to be a community-former in all of them. I am quite literally building community, even across distance, even virtually, and even over the phone every single day. And that energizes me.

I have also been astounded at how much care finds me, even living like this. This may be my number one take-away from this time. People send me mail. People call me. People text me. People confide in me. People invite me to confide in them. I am loved, and I know this every single day. I honestly feel lucky ducky — definitely not in the situation of this moment, but in that very real love. It meets me pretty much every single day.

So here we are. Day 100. I just need to acknowledge it. No silver linings. But also, no catastrophic misery. Difficulty and love, right together.

—Renee Roederer