Author: gracesmuggler

Image Description: This is the field in Marktoberdorf, Germany I describe below. I took this photo in 2010, five years after my original experience. In 2005, the field was bright yellow with wildflowers. Whatever the season, it’s a gorgeous view.

Through the invitation of a colleague, I’m preparing to preach this week from the story of Jonah in the Hebrew Bible. He and I will be splitting this four part sermon series. The story of Jonah begins with him on the run. He’s heard a clear calling, but he’s moving in any direction except Nineveh, the place where he is called to go. This week, I’ll be sharing stories on that theme. Here’s one that I wrote in September, 2018. 

When I ponder an experience of transcendence… a sense that I was in the presence of something much larger than myself, surpassing what I expected… I think about a field in Marktoberdorf, Germany.

I think about how I marched to a field in a huff of anger, then departed with a sense of reassurance and wonder. I didn’t expect any of it, but it was exactly what I needed.

At age 23, I was on the verge of more than one major life transition. It was all a whirlwind of sorts. I was spending twenty days in Germany with the Cardinal Singers, the choir I had performed and traveled with for the last few years. With gratitude, we had been invited to participate in some prestigious competitions, most especially the Marktoberdorf Chamber Choir Competition.

And when I returned home to Indiana… Whew. In ten days, I would then get married, and soon after that, we would move across the country to Austin, Texas. That would be the first time I had moved from home. I chose this… I’m the one who applied to seminary, and I loved choosing this seminary, but suddenly, on the Germany trip, I struggled mightily with the move. I knew I had to do this. No turning back. But I didn’t want to do it.

But what was I thinking?

I kind of panicked.

And I was also angry. I wasn’t ready to leave my friends, especially the people in this choir. We had created something incredible together over the last few years. I didn’t know yet… What happens when people move across the country? Do these kinds of friendships continue, or was I throwing that away?

I wasn’t ready to leave my church community. I had such a rich sense of belonging, and the people there had gotten me through so much. I didn’t know yet… What happens when people move across the country? Will I miss them too much? And will I miss out too much?

During a break in rehearsals, I departed for some time alone. I was infuriated about having to make these choices, potentially about losing so much. With deep frustration, I walked a pathway that was becoming increasingly familiar to me. It was a paved but often cracked, small road with gorgeous trees lining either side. Those trees with their vivid, green leaves lined the entire walkway until about a mile down the road, where everything opened up.

I had discovered this pathway about a week before and walked it many times since. The first time, I didn’t expect the opening, though each successive time was stunning in its own way. The shift was this: This road of trees suddenly opened to unexpected views. The Alps were in the distance on right, and a large, expansive field of wildflowers was on the left.

On this day, I think I was less interested in these, at least initially. I just wanted to be alone. So I walked and huffed. Then I turned left and stood in front of that field of wildflowers.

And I don’t know how to explain this, but something shifted, and I had an experience that felt very transcendent right there in the mundane moment of it all, beautiful though it was. And how to tell this story? Because in one sense, nothing happened, at least externally. There was no great miracle. Nothing fell from the sky. No supernatural action took place before my eyes.

But something happened internally. And it felt deeply spiritual. And I felt the presence of what I would call God, yet how do I name or describe what that means? Above all, I felt a sudden knowing. No voice fell from the sky, but if there would have been one, it would have said this:

There are people in Texas you have to meet, and without them, you will not fully be yourself.

Standing there, that is what I felt and quite suddenly, deeply knew. Something in me then rested in that knowledge, and the anger faded away. I trusted that it would be okay, even a gift to the ones I loved now, for me to become more fully who I was called to become. I knew that was calling me to Texas. I knew that was taking me to particular people in Texas.

And so I went.

When we lived in Texas, I thought of this experience many times. I even told the story a few times too. But I believe all of this resounded most strongly with me when I returned to Texas after the next move, which was to California.

At age 30, seven years after that experience in a field, I flew from Pasadena, California to Austin, Texas, returning for my ordination service. It would be held in a congregation where I did end up meeting an enormous amount of formative people in community.

One night before the service, I was alone in the upper loft of the house where we were staying with friends. I thought about all of this again. Then I wept with gratitude. It was overwhelming… I realized that the very next day, the church would be filled with people present to participate in ordaining me, and with the exception of two loves ones, to a person, the sanctuary would be filled with people I did not know until I made that move to Texas.

Having known them for years now, these were the kinds of people I could not imagine myself not-knowing. Every single person, and all the people collectively… It seemed that they were the fulfillment of that vision, the people I needed to know, the people with whom I would grow more deeply into myself… now with a myriad of names attached.

This was a deep, rich love with names, stories, and commitments attached.

Whatever transcendence is… whomever that Beyond-Presence is… surely, this calls us toward a deep, rich love with names, stories, and commitments attached.

–Renee Roederer

Image Description: The cover of Seinfeld: Seasons 1 & 2. All four cast members are posing next to each other (left to right) Kramer, George, Elaine, and Jerry.

Years ago, I took a viewing plunge that would last nearly a year. I added the first disc of Seinfeld season 1 to the Netflix queue, and then, I began to re-watch the entire series. I enjoyed revisiting the hilarious scenarios that made Seinfeld one of the most unique and popular sitcoms to date.

As I watched, I realized that a number of common phrases were launched on this “show about nothing.” Terms like double dipping, close talking, and re-gifting all had their fifteen minutes of fame on the show, and they stuck with us because they named social quirks that had not yet been so wonderfully defined.

And I marveled at the burst of technological changes that have emerged in the span of one generation. This is because so many of those changes are simply not in the show. . . The fact that Seinfeld could craft entire episodes around the use of answering machines and pay phones — and for that matter, feature the frequent use of Jerry’s enormous, cordless landline phone — spoke to how different life was a few decades ago.

Every bit of this was enjoyable, but most of all, I found myself reflecting upon the moments behind the scenes, particularly upon the creation of the sitcom itself and the relationships that made it possible. The Netflix discs all have interviews with the cast, directors, and writers throughout the series. As I watched these episodes, I also watched the creators find their stride in defining the identity and tone of the show, and I watched the friendships grow deeper.

At the beginning, it was intriguing to watch Jerry Seinfeld and Larry David practically fall into this opportunity, not knowing where it would take them. In a humorous way during one of the first interviews, Larry David talks about the very non-humorous emotional meltdown he had when he realized that the show they pitched would actually be aired. He would actually have to write thirteen episodes for the first season. He didn’t think he could do it. Little did he know that he was sitting on a creative project which would become much larger than himself. Within that larger framework, he would find his own writing voice.

As I watched these early interviews, I pondered how we human beings frequently desire to be a part of creating something larger. I could feel that pull upon myself too. We all want to belong to something bigger than anything we can create alone.

I especially enjoyed watching the finale of the series. I had not seen that final episode since the evening it actually aired, and it was was wonderful to revisit it. Along with the last episodes themselves, the final interviews were just as intriguing and meaningful as the ones at the beginning. One story in particular will stick with me for a long time.

The four primary cast members all had a ritual of gathering together backstage before the taping every episode. When they gathered together for that moment on the date of the last live taping, Jerry Seinfeld said something quite lovely. Jason Alexander said that Jerry was rarely sentimental, but on that date, with tears in his eyes, he created a wonderful moment as they stood backstage and held hands. Jerry said,

“I want to say something. For the rest of our lives, when anyone thinks of one of us, they will think of all four of us.”

I love those words. He added, “And I can’t think of three people I’d rather have that be true of.” He was right. When we think of any of them, we do think of all of them.

This ending brought me back to my initial reflections at the beginning of the series. We all want to be a part of something bigger than ourselves. Sometimes we stumble upon such an opportunity, only to add ourselves with our identities, dreams, and voices. Other times, we create such opportunities intentionally through the friendships that surround us.

 Seinfeld certainly made cultural changes to our world. If we follow the example of its makers and allow ourselves to create alongside others, our personal worlds just might get bigger, too.

–Renee Roederer

I want to extend my heartfelt thanks to 11 people who became supporters of my writing this month through Patreon. $2-5 per month makes a huge contribution in supporting my writing and my community work alike. Many thanks!

If you would like to consider becoming a patron, you can visit my Patreon site. 

Image Description: Two photos of me with my Grandpa Jim when I was a baby and a toddler. In the first one, he’s kissing me on the cheek. In the second one, he’s holding me, and I’m wearing his big, white shoes.

My grandfather was an orphan.

That’s a stark sentence, I realize, yet a true one. My Grandpa Jim’s early life was very rough. He was the youngest of five children. When his Mom was pregnant with him, or shortly after he was born — I’m not sure — his Dad died. This part I do know: My Grandpa Jim was born on the very day of the 1929 Stock Market Crash. That plunged the United States into the Great Depression.

His mother could not afford to raise her children so she placed them all in a Catholic orphanage. Then she set a plan in motion; she started selling moonshine! When she made enough money to bring her eldest home from the orphanage, that child helped her with the business. And when they had enough money to bring the second eldest home from the orphanage, that child helped her with the business. This pattern continued until they were all home. My Grandpa Jim lived in the orphanage the longest. He spent his first seven years of life there.

It was a challenging place. They had so little. He once found a chocolate bar wrapper and kept it for a good while just so he could smell it. This was a very vivid memory to him. It was rare that the children had big joys or delights.

But as an older adult, my Grandpa Jim loved to delight in small things.

Here’s a very vivid memory that I have: When my Great Uncle and his Brother-in-law died, most people were out in the hallway after the visitation was over, but he and I sat in the room together for a bit, and he started telling me ghost stories. They felt especially playful and spooky in a funeral home. All these years later, I don’t remember any of the details of those stories, but what I remember very clearly is that he had a red lollipop in the breast pocket of his dress shirt. Maybe that was an odd context to have a sucker sticking out of your pocket and visibly (I mean, there were pants pockets too). But I imagine he found it lying around somewhere in the funeral home — maybe they were there for guests or for children — and he snagged one for himself so he could enjoy it later.

There were other silly, simple delights too. He used to sing these really goofy songs. All these years later, his grandchildren remember all the words. He loved to whistle and shuffle his feet in a little dance. And I honestly believe he was just as excited as the children, if not more excited, to open presents for Christmas.

Earlier this week, when I was leaving my workplace, I saw some Hersey Kisses in a bowl, and I put about five of them in the pocket of my coat. All week long, every time I’ve put on my coat and grabbed my keys in my pocket, I’ve also been surprised that I have these there. I just keep forgetting they’re there. And each time, I have this huge spike in delight. People who know me well also know how excited I get for little treats, and how much I enjoy the surprise of them, whether they’re displayed for a group or whether people give them to me personally. It’s a big swell of delight for something small yet unexpected.

And I’ve never made the connection before. This week, for the first time in my life, I asked myself, “Do I get this from Grandpa Jim?”

—Renee Roederer

 

 

Image Description: Ashes in the shape of a cross on a white background.

Well, if this isn’t the Michiganiest thing I’ve ever heard:

Tonight, my Ash Wednesday service has been rescheduled for Ash Thursday due to inclement weather.

I learned this last night and had a good laugh about it. I love it. Ash Thursday will be a first in my life. Stay tuned, since I may also blog about it!

But for today, I’d like to share a beautiful poem from Jan Richardson. My good friend Pepa Paniagua shared this on social media this morning, and I’d love to pass it along. May this speak into any particular situation, need, or hope you have:

Blessing the Dust
For Ash Wednesday

All those days
you felt like dust,
like dirt,
as if all you had to do
was turn your face
toward the wind
and be scattered
to the four corners

or swept away
by the smallest breath
as insubstantial—

did you not know
what the Holy One
can do with dust?

This is the day
we freely say
we are scorched.

This is the hour
we are marked
by what has made it
through the burning.

This is the moment
we ask for the blessing
that lives within
the ancient ashes,
that makes its home
inside the soil of
this sacred earth.

So let us be marked
not for sorrow.
And let us be marked
not for shame.
Let us be marked
not for false humility
or for thinking
we are less
than we are

but for claiming
what God can do
within the dust,
within the dirt,
within the stuff
of which the world
is made
and the stars that blaze
in our bones
and the galaxies that spiral
inside the smudge
we bear.

—Jan Richardson, from Circle of Grace: A Book of Blessings for the Seasons

 

 

Image Description: Various dishes on a table for a potluck. Public domain image.

Over coffee, I had a meaningful conversation with a person who works with our local chapter of NAMI — the National Alliance on Mental Illness.

“Churches and extended community groups know how to provide care for people with cancer. We should be able to do the same thing for people experiencing mental health challenges,” she shared.

When someone is depressed, who brings over the casserole?

When someone is traumatized, who makes phone calls to check on them?

When someone is easily overstimulated or triggered, who accompanies them to the grocery, aiding them in the slew options, colors, and florescent lights?

Good questions. I am grateful that she is bringing these questions to congregations and our wider county.

Later that same evening, I had a phone call with Project UPLIFT. In my staff role with the Epilepsy Foundation of Michigan, we host an eight week program over the phone for people with epilepsy and depression. I do this with alongside an incredible psychologist who teaches, facilitates, and provides people with tools to manage depression.

I find myself curious about our unquestioned, cultural beliefs… Why is it that we treat certain health conditions with community care but treat people with a mental illness as though their condition is some kind of character flaw? (It’s not). I also find myself curious…Why do we tend to make this big internal dichotomy between physical illness and mental illness, as if mental illness is not also physical? (Of course it is).

These questions keep swirling…

—Renee Roederer

Image description: Spools of thread in many colors.

Last week, a student said to me, “You know, it’s like my Mom always used to say: ‘Ask and you shall receive’!”

I smiled. “You mean… Jesus?”

“Wait! Jesus said that?!?”

We both laughed hard. It was a very dear moment.

Whether we heard this phrase from Jesus or our various Mamas, I think it’s true. In fact, I’ve started engaging this as a spiritual discipline of sorts. I am practicing asking people for things.

This is because I truly want to live in the directions of abundance and interdependence. We need these.

Last week, with this in mind, I sent an email to people in a local congregation I love. I had a tear around the pocket of my clergy robe which was getting bigger all the time. Last month, it was big enough that I stopped wearing it. I asked if anyone has skills in sewing, naming honestly that that’s not my gift.

I immediately had four people offer to fix it.

When I gave my robe to one of those people on Sunday, she had it finished one day later.

Amazing!

I have a lot of gratitude for this and for the ways other people provide in my life too.

Everyone has skills, time, interests, and resources to share with others. As I’ve begun asking people for their skills, time, interests, and resources, I have begun to consider just as intentionally how I can share my own.

Might I offer to make this person a meal?

Where should I send this extra money?

How do I do the things I do best… toward others?

This is a good discipline.

It’s good to ask.
It’s good to receive.
It’s good to give.
It’s good to provide.

Thanks, Jesus. Thanks, Mom.

—Renee Roederer

 

Image Description: The front of a program, entitled “Voices of Youth: Love Draws Us Together.” It also gives the date and time: “February 16th 4pm (Doors open at 3:30pm).”Symbols from various faith traditions surround these words in the shape of a heart. Below is a paragraph that reads, “The Interfaith Round Table of Washtenaw County is a spiritually based alliance of people from across the spectrum of faith who come together to highlight our commonalities and explore issues with the potential to be divisive. Our intention is to lift up our beauty and illuminate places where there are misconceptions. Respect and understanding are our shared vision of healing a broken world. In safe places, through education, frank discussion, and shared practices, we seek to build sustainable bridges. The harmonious culture we seek is one that is inclusive and deeply appreciative of spiritual traditions.”

Simple truth, big invitation.

I find myself reflecting on this one day later.

Yesterday afternoon, the Interfaith Round Table of Washtenaw County hosted a choir concert featuring performances from four children and youth choirs representing a variety of faith traditions. Children and youth from the Baha’is of Washtenaw County, the Chinmaya Mission of Ann Arbor, St. Paul United Church of Christ, and The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-Day Saints all performed songs based on the concert theme of “Love Draws Us Together.”

The kids were incredible, and they led the way. They brought home that theme of love and made it come alive. There were feelings of love in the room, along with support, encouragement, and delight. The audience ended up singing along a lot too. So there was an invitation to join the music and participate fully.

Love draws us together.

This is a simple truth, but a big invitation.

Love isn’t only a feeling.

Love invites action.
Love invites tangible care.
Love invites mutual understanding.
Love invites dignified appreciation.
Love invites respect.

Love takes risks.
Love works through conflict.
Love stretches us toward empathy.

Love invites questions:

Who am I called to be, and how? Who are we called to be, and how?

—Renee Roederer

Text Reads:

You are loved as you are.

You’re
worth it.
fabulous.

Not when you,
Not if you.

You, right now,
Loved presently,
Loved thoroughly,
Loved wholeheartedly.

Worth it.

Fabulous.

–Renee Roederer

Image Description: Candles from Compline. Three lit candles are on top of a table. Two of the candles are blue, and the other is white. There is also a blue and white plate and small, flat, ceramic piece with a painting of a yellow and orange flower.

“Who brings out the best you?”

My friend and colleague asked that question last night when we were gathered with students at Compline. “Who has shaped you deeply — not necessarily in ways that made you like them — but in ways that made you more like you?”

We each had the occasion to reflect on that and share if we wish. I have some people in my life for whom my answer is immediate and obvious. They have given me this kind of gift in abundance, and I was grateful for the occasion to share about them.

So I bring those questions to you today also:

Who brings out the best in you? Who has shaped you deeply — not necessarily in ways that made you more like them — but in ways that made you more like you?

In the midst of our conversation, my friend and colleague also lifted up a passage from C.S. Lewis The Great Divorce. I’ve never read that book before, so this was unknown to me. While receiving a glimpse of heaven with a guide, a man sees a person he’s never encountered before.

“Is it? … is it?” I whispered to my guide.

“Not at all,” said he. “It’s someone ye’ll never have heard of. Her name on earth was Sarah Smith and she lived at Golden Green.”

“She seems to be… well, a person of particular importance?”

“Aye. She is one of the great ones. Ye have heard that fame in this country and fame on Earth are two quite different things.”

“And who are these gigantic people… look! They’re like emeralds… who are dancing and throwing flowers before her?”

“Haven’t ye read your Milton? A thousand liveried angels lackey her.”

“And who are all these young men and women on each side?”

“They are her sons and daughters.”

“She must have had a very large family, Sir.”

“Every young man or boy that met her became her son — even if it was only the boy that brought the meat to the back door. Every girl that met her was her daughter.”

“Isn’t that a bit hard on their own parents?”

“No. There are those that steal other people’s children. But her motherhood was of a different kind. Those on whom it fell went back to their natural parents loving them more. Few men looked on her without becoming, in a certain fashion, her lovers. But it was the kind of love that made them not less true, but truer, to their own wives.”

“And how… but hullo! What are all these animals? A cat — two cats — dozens of cats. And all those dogs… why I can’t count them. And the birds. And the horses.”

“They are her beasts.”

“Did she keep a sort of zoo? I mean, this is a bit too much.”

“Every beast and bird that came near her had its place in her love. In her they became themselves. And now the abundance of life she has in Christ from the Father flows over into them.”

I looked at my Teacher in amazement.

“Yes,” he said. “It is like when you throw a stone into a pool, and the concentric waves spread out further and further. Who knows where it will end? Redeemed humanity is still young, and it has hardly come to its full strength. But already there is joy enough in the little finger of a great saint such as yonder lady to waken all of the dead things of the universe into life.” (C.S. Lewis, The Great Divorce)

The Unknown Sarah Smith.

Who brings out the best in you? Who has shaped you deeply — not necessarily in ways that made you more like them — but in ways that made you more like you?

—Renee Roederer

 

Image Description: Six speech bubbles on a blue background. Public domain image.

Michigan Nones and Dones is a community that has been meeting in Southeast Michigan for the last four years in coffee shops, restaurants, parks, and homes to talk about spirituality and make meaning together as friends. This community includes people who are religiously unaffiliated (Nones), people who identify with a faith tradition but have departed from traditional, institutional religious communities (Dones), and people who remain connected to faith communities to some degree but find themselves curious about new ways to form and structure community.

We often say that Michigan Nones and Dones is a community for people who are “spiritually curious but institutionally suspicious.” It’s amazing how people with many various backgrounds and perspectives can gather together under the umbrella of that description. The community includes,

-people who are agnostic and interested in spirituality and forming friendships of meaning (i.e. by this, I mean talking about life — gifts, challenges, what’s going on in the world, things that matter)

-de-affiliated Christians — folks who identify as Christian, but feel disappointed in and/or ostracized by traditional churches, or who have perhaps been excluded by churches,

-people who are atheists who want to uplift the morality of humanism,

-people who might call themselves inter-spiritual, as they grew up with more than one faith tradition,

-people who say, “I’m secular,” or “spiritual but not religious,”

-people who are religiously unaffiliated and unsure about particular, theological beliefs, but who say, “I believe in a Higher Power of some kind,”

-people who say, “I don’t like labels. I just want to have good conversation,”

-people who are connected with traditional faith communities but frustrated with unethical behavior they see happening there, longing for a better vision,

-people who practice spiritual traditions that might fall under the umbrella of mysticism.

Michigan Nones and Dones is first and foremost a community, but I realize it is also an incredible platform for conversation. How rare is it to sit around a table with all of these backgrounds, find some commonality of experience, and uplift different perspectives in ways that enrich all those who are gathered together? We all learn from one another.

It is a wonderful gift to share conversation together. These relationships matter as people are welcomed and heard, invited to share insights, and brought into friendships they might not have made otherwise.

I am grateful, grateful.

Here is a story about us in the Toledo Blade newspaper: ‘Nones and Dones’ help conflicted reconnect to their spiritual side

You can follow Michigan Nones and Dones here on Facebook.

–Renee Roederer