Author: gracesmuggler

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This sermon was preached at Lincoln Park Presbyterian Church in Lincoln Park, Michigan and was focused upon the story that is told in Matthew 2:1-12. An audio recording is above and a written manuscript is below.

The story begins with questions.

It’s a story that is familiar to many. Each year, the Magi make their way into our nativity scenes at Christmas. From our boxes stretched out in all directions, they arrive from the “East.” We pose them carefully in the hopes of setting up a holy scene of serenity, or perhaps, we simply desire a decorative display for our houses. Apart from our pristine nativity scenes, however, we might forget that the story begins with swirling, controversial questions:

In the time of King Herod, after Jesus was born in Bethlehem of Judea, wise men from the East came to Jerusalem, asking, “Where is the child who has been born king of the Jews? For we observed his star at its rising, and have come to pay him homage.”

These wise ones had come into the city of Jerusalem, and before they ever met with King Herod, it seems that they were asking these questions of everyone. “Where is this child? Where is this King?” They stirred up these questions among the people of Jerusalem.

And then, King Herod heard about it.
The questions stirred up fear in the king.

The story says,

When King Herod heard this, he was frightened and all Jerusalem with him.

Soon after, Herod begins asking questions of his own. He calls together all the chief priests and scribes he can find, and he inquires of them where this Messiah is to be born. This is the pressing question before him. They tell him,

In Bethlehem of Judea; for so it has been written by the prophet: ‘And you, Bethlehem, in the land of Judah, are by no means least among the rulers of Judah; for from you shall come a ruler who is to shepherd my people Israel.’

At these words, Herod must have been terrified and enraged. In the midst of his fear and anger, he puts a plan into place. He decides to use these Magi as pawns.

Herod secretly calls for them.
It is time to do his own questioning.

Herod asks them questions about the star that they have observed. The Magi were likely astrologers, and Herod wanted to know about the astronomical sign that initiated their journey. And after gaining enough information, Herod then sends the Magi directly into Bethlehem to find the very child who is stirring up fear in his heart. He gives a false story to cover up his motives, saying that he wants to find the child and honor him. But along with the fear, Herod has hatred and violence in his heart. How dare this child question his own rule?

And so, they go. The Magi from the East will not be deterred by these false motives, but instead, they let their questions lead them on. They follow the astronomical sign, and they follow the questions of their hearts. Then miraculously, they find the child Jesus. They enter the house and see Mary, his mother, also. This is when they fall to their knees to honor him.

And from that place of honor, they give him gifts of gold, frankincense, and myrrh. These are odd gifts to give a child. . . and yet, they set the scene for the life story that will unfold.

Gold is a gift fitting for a king.
Frankincense is a gift fitting for a priest.
Myrrh is a gift fitting for one who will die,
one whose body will be anointed.

These gifts raise hints about how the story will unfold, and perhaps we find ourselves curious with questions. Alongside these questions, the scene gives way to exclamations of joy.

This child… in a way we can barely begin to understand… is a King…
This child… in way can barely begin to understand… is the Prince of Peace…
This child… in a way we can barely begin to understand…
reigns over the entire cosmos — all that is, and through all that is — and
This child reigns within our very being.

This is the exclamation of this story.
It invites our own exclamations of joy and conviction.

Where is this child, the one who is born a King?
Where is this child, the one who is born the Prince of Peace?
Where is this child who reigns over this cosmos — all that is —
from whom and for whom all things have come into being?

These questions lead to responsive exclamations.

Of course, large questions like these lead to an array of exclamations. For some, questions like these can become exclamations of threat.

This was certainly true for Herod. The Magi were warned in a dream not to return to him, so they left for their own country by another road. They practiced a bit of civil disobedience. [1] Meanwhile Herod, in a fit of rage and violence, begins to massacre all children in Bethlehem under the age of two in an attempt to stop the reign of the child who threatens him. Joseph, Jesus’ father, also warned in a dream, then flees with Mary and Jesus to Egypt, a country where they never expected to live. The holy family lives there as refugees until Herod dies and is no longer a threat to their own lives.

That’s picture is quite different than our serene nativity scenes.

For those in positions of power, and especially for those who rule over others in oppressive ways, the birth of Jesus is not particularly good news.[2] because

God will always uplift those who are downtrodden.
God will always stand against uneven, oppressive manifestations of power.
God will always make holy space for the oppressed, marginalized, and suffering.

For some, this will not seem to be good news. Though it is.

The questions emerge again and again.

Where is this child, the one who is born a King?
Where is this child, the one who is born the Prince of Peace?
Where is this child who reigns over this cosmos,
from whom and for whom all things have come into being?

These questions lead to responsive exclamations.

For us, they don’t have to be exclamations of threat. For us, they can be questions of wonder and hope. These questions can guide our lives. Like that astronomical sign in the sky, these large questions can lead us to find the child who has been born. They can help us to follow him as he grows, as he serves the people of God with freedom, peace, justice, and love.

These questions can guide us to be found in him, for that is what he seeks. Jesus seeks to transform our lives so that we can live in the very same way, serving people with freedom, peace, justice and love.

If we let large questions guide us, we will soon discover that Jesus himself is light among us. He guides the questions. He clears the pathway so that we may find him and be found in him.

He is God among us in human form.
He is infinitely with us.
He is light leading the way.

He is with us. . .

He comes among us as one who is poor. He is born to a family in poverty, and he enters the world at a time when there is with no room at the inn. He is born into a world of violence, where his very being seems to threaten those in power. He lives as a refugee.

He walks alongside us.
He enters this world with us,
guiding us in our places of deepest heartache.

The light is among us because he is with us.

Where is this child, the one who is born a King?
Where is this child, the one who is born the Prince of Peace?
Where is this child who reigns over this cosmos,
from whom and for whom all things have come into being?

He is with us.

He is the light beside us, among us, beyond us, within us.
He is with us in our poverty,
He is with us in our heartbreak,
He is with us in our grief and losses,
He is with us in our cancer,
He is with us in our Alzheimer’s Disease,
He is with us in our mental illness,
He is with us in our experiences of bullying, racism, and discrimination,
He is with us in our loss of a homeland,
He is with us in our loss of immigration status,
He is with us in our experiences of violence,
He is with us in our experiences of abuse,
He is with us in all forms of suffering.

And no matter where we find ourselves today and no matter how we feel today, the light invites us forward. Jesus is leading the way toward hope, justice, wholeness, and peace.

So let us follow that light.
Let us find this one who seeks us.
Let us be found in him.
Amen.

–Renee Roederer

[1] I appreciated this tweet from Dr. Serene Jones, which says, “Civil disobedience lies at the heart of the Epiphany story: The magi receive an unjust order from a vindictive tyrant. Instead, they defy him. May we do likewise.”

[2] The Epiphany C (Jan. 3, 2016) episode of the Pulpit Fiction Podcast influenced my thinking and language here.

Today, I’d like to feature the artwork and poetry of my good friend and colleague, the Rev. Allison Becker. She is a pastor in Scotland and a creator and curator of many beautiful words and expressions of art. I am so grateful for her friendship and her many gifts.

Refugee Child

They had no idea where his accent was exactly from
They both spoke
In halting words
Picked up at trading posts
Along the way
Escaping
a far off calamity
With names and places
Out of context
And out of sight

I love this cartoon by Bjenny Montero. I highly recommend following more here.

A friend of mine recently initiated a fun and silly exchange on Facebook. In light of the New Year’s holiday, she invited people to use the predictive text features on their phones to answer a particular prompt. She invited people to type, “This year, I will…” then to keep pushing the middle suggested word on the auto-fill, predictive text until it finished the sentence. Some of the answers were really great:

“This year I will get more snow.”

“This year I will get my car in the morning so I’ll be home.”

“This year I will be gone Monday, heading to the church.”

I decided I would try. Mine said,

“This year, I will be well today.” And I authentically love that! Every day is a new day, and while all sorts of concepts around that idea might sound like hokey, inspirational posters, we begin again… all the time. Daily. We can choose wellness, aliveness, vitality, purpose, calling, connection, groundedness, centeredness, and rootedness again and again, including when we feel as though we’ve gotten off track in some way.

Again?

Again.

—Renee Roederer

Here’s something I love about New Year’s celebrations: The timing is completely arbitrary, but the collective energy is vital. When we view something — in this case, a shift in time — with collective vision, we see things differently, even if just for a bit.

Now, of course, in a calendar sense, the timing of a new year isn’t completely arbitrary. Obviously, we know the date when a year ends, and we know the date when a new one begins. But there is only one reason January 1 is the first day of the year: We’ve collectively agreed upon that marker.

My partner is an astronomer, and a couple of years ago, I asked him a question I had never really thought about before. “Is there any reason that our calendar year starts on January 1? I mean, isn’t that date rather arbitrary?” It turns out that’s true. Our 365 day year is based on the earth’s revolution around the sun, but astronomically speaking, the year could technically start at any point on that revolution journey.

I think about this every year when we cross over from December 31 to January 1. I don’t find the arbitrary nature of the shift to be deflating. I actually find it to be heartening. As people agree upon a collective marker to honor change, the collective energy results in actual change.

Sure, New Year’s resolutions don’t always result in permanent shifts in our individual lives. That may be true, but collective vision does actually change things. Around the world, we have playful rituals to honor New Year’s Eve and the shift from one year to the next. The customs vary, but this arbitrary date does manage to connect the world. And for a particular period, we are connected to one another in better hopes. That certainly changes things.

We need each other,
We need to be connected,
We need to refresh our hopes.

In many cases, some challenges from our previous year remain firmly intact, but as we cross over a completely arbitrary marker, we somehow manage to reevaluate our relationship to those very challenges. We hope for new visions, and we resolve to work toward them.

Yes,
We need each other,
We need to be connected,
We need to refresh our hopes.

I love the gift of this annual, collective reset.

–Renee Roederer

Here’s a silly story about how Millennials are perceived:

I found this to be weird and hilarious.

–Renee Roederer

Tenderness is my focus-word for 2019. Isn’t that a lovely thing to think about? A year with more tenderness in it?

People showing each other kindness, love, gentleness, care, and focused gratitude with intentionality? Giving this on purpose? Receiving this often because there is an abundance of it, even in the midst of its opposites?

I want to cultivate this. I want to look for this. I want to welcome this into my own life.

Over the last six weeks or so, when people have shared kind words, I’ve written them down. They live in this purple folder I have. I’ve loved this practice because I’ve realized how easy it is to miss these kinds of words, even though they come pretty often. It’s also so lovely and affirming to read them all in one place.

I hope that your year has more tenderness in it too.

If you were to choose a focus-word, what might yours be?

–Renee Roederer

Here are twelve things I learned in 2018. They don’t correspond to particular months, but they are relatively chronological. Curious… what have you learned this year?

1) Fullness was a good word.

When the year began, the word ‘fullness’ kept popping into my thinking, so I decided that would be my focus-word for the year. It was a good choice. Just before we reached 2018, the fall of 2017 was remarkably challenging with waves of stress and sad news emerging in the lives of people close to us. In the midst of this, I decided I was really going to draw strength and care from the fullness of our larger communities and all the many relationships that are a part of them. I did. And I feel gratitude.

2) Grief is cumulative.

This is not really a new realization, but I felt this intimately this year. New griefs mingle with old griefs and call them forward. This can feel really big and can be challenging to manage when the Grief Ninjas show up. (Remember those?) At the same time, previous frameworks for mourning — that is, the ways we’ve reconfigured and stayed in relationship with what we’ve lost — can be called upon as strengths too.

3) I like limiting social media.

Several times this year, I created once-per-day or twice-per-day rhythms in checking social media sites, particularly Facebook and Twitter, and I love it. (I’m currently on a twice-per-day rhythm. I also limit the time). This makes social media more manageable and less time consuming, and I find that I actually look forward to checking rather than feeling like this is something compulsive or mindless that I’m doing.

4) “Stories are our cure.”

Hannah Gadsby’s comedy-special-turned-masterpiece-about-trauma-and-storytelling “Nanette” really made a big impact on me. As you may recall from a previous post this year, I watched it one morning in April and was so moved by it that I watched it again that same evening — twice in one day. “Stories are our cure,” she says, convicted that when the time is right, healing can happen when we allow our communities to hold our stories with us and “take care of our stories” alongside us. I watched this, knowing that I was going to create more space, including more communal space, for some of my own stories this year. It was one of the most transformative aspects of 2018.

5) Our family is constructed. Big whoop. (Actually, it’s awesome).

In addition to our families of birth and marriage, for whom we are very thankful, we have a big, constructed, chosen family. This isn’t new. We’ve been building our family in this way since we were married in 2005, and it has expanded in such lovely directions as we’ve lived in four different states together. This is one of the most beautiful aspects of our lives, but sometimes… I feel sadness at the ways that frameworks for family are limited culturally, narrowing how people think about such things, who gets to be considered close and significant, how care is “supposed” to flow, and what roles people are “allowed” to take. (More about this in a future book? See number 7?) But here’s what I’ve decided: I’m going to stop acting like our family relationships are weird. We’re hardly the first people to have a constructed, chosen family. We’ve just experienced this in abundance. So a big part of our family is constructed… Big whoop! And in actuality… amazing!

6) Ethics of care and inclusive spirituality help to create sustainable activism. 

I participated in the 40 Days of Action of the Poor People’s Campaign this summer, and I learned so much in that process. I traveled each week to Lansing with hundreds of people from Michigan to hear testimonies from people who are directly impacted by systemic injustices in our state and nation. People called attention to these needs by risking arrest in acts of civil disobedience. I was really touched by the community camaraderie that was built in this organizing model. People were dealing with hard subject matter and taking personal risks, but the experience felt… so good. So affirming. So life-giving. Sometimes, I think that care work and a broad, inclusive sense of spirituality are devalued in activist organizing, but both of these lead to sustainability and deep bonds in community. They’re essential to the work.

7) I have a bare bones outline for a book.

This summer, I had the very wonderful occasion to fill in at Northside Presbyterian Church while my good friend and colleague received a well-deserved sabbatical. I initiated an 11-week sermon series entitled “Kinship” and had a meaningful time crafting that series. With some work and reframing for a different medium, I think this outline could become a book.

8) I require sleep.

Well, we all do. We all require good sleep to function well, and too often, we sacrifice it or underestimate its importance. But this year, I realized that my health in particular is very sleep-dependent. I am very impacted by even one night of poor sleep (which can be a challenge because one of my particulars involves occasional insomnia!) In the fall, I declared September to be “Sleep is Sacrosanct September” and created some new rhythms that helped me sleep better. These have been working well ever since and have made such a big difference.

9) Student ministry is still my jam.

Yes, student ministry is still my jam and my deepest calling. I’ve been doing this now for more than ten years. I’ve tried many other things that I also genuinely love, but the center of my calling continues to show up right here. I am glad to discover this. In 2018, I assembled a new community of undergraduates and recent grads that meets monthly in my home. Together, we have shared meals, and we and discuss spirituality and reflections on life. The people in this circle have added great joy to me! I am very eager to discover what we will do together 2019.

10) Tell the truth, love, then wait.

This year, I was involved in some justice work that invited me to give intentional testimony alongside others. This was challenging, emotional work, but at every stage, it led to meaningful connections with others. And in the end, it led to a long-desired reunion with a community in ways I have hoped for for years. Sometimes you just have to tell the truth, love, and then wait.

11) I have emerging callings too. 

This year, a number of inklings of calling emerged in my thinking through new relationships, conversations, and reading. I find myself drawn to explore concerns of health stigma, ableism, and healthcare access, and I’m curious where this will lead in the next year.

12) I like possibility thinking.

And I take this with me into 2019. “What is possible?” This is not only a good question to ask from time to time. I find that it has feelings attached. This feels much more spacious and expansive than questions of worry and anxiety, like, “What will go wrong?” So often, when we plan our days, or our goals, or our broader hopes, we immediately worry about potential barriers. I know my mind can go there. But when we open ourselves to questions like, “What is possible?” our days become a bit of a discovery process — “When I did that, what did become possible?” —  and that leads to gratitude.

These are some of my learnings. What about you?

–Renee Roederer

I was driving home late last night after an out of town meeting. Some folks like long drives because it allows them to think. I admit I usually just get bored (though I pay attention to the road, no worries!)

But I did arrive in place of thinking. Specifically, I ended up in a lovely place of remembering. I was listening to the radio when U2’s song, “But I Still Haven’t Found What I’m Looking For” came on. That song transports me to another time and place. I instantly see the mountains on a drive upward from Salida, Colorado. I instantly feel such a deep sense of belonging with gratitude.

More than ten years ago, I used to travel to this place on an annual ski trip with college students. There are so many memories connected to these trips. Laughter. Inside jokes. Texans seeing snow for the first time. And… that time I became seriously injured (I don’t even remember most of the day) when a whole community surrounded me with care in ways that astounded me.

And belonging. Such a rich feeling of belonging.

Every year, some odd student would be tasked with creating a playlist. We would pop in a CD (a CD! remember those!) and listen to music as we drove up the mountain in a caravan of two or three vans. Several songs had to be included each year (The Who’s “Baba O’Riley,” Barenaked Ladies’ “If I Had a Million Dollars,” and Led Zeppelin’s “Immigrant Song,” which we had to play specifically when we turned into the parking lot of the ski resort). Good trips have good traditions.

But then the playlist creator o’ the year would add other songs of their choosing. One year, or maybe multiple years, “But I Still Haven’t Found What I’m Looking For” was on the CD, meaning we listened to it several days in a row as we drove up into those mountains and prepared ourselves for full days of skiing.

I suppose the title is a bit ironic because I have such a deep sense memory of listening to that song and having a feeling of arrival. I was a very young seminary student, just barely out of college myself, and I knew I had found some of my best friends. And along with it, there’s that feeling — do you know it? — of resting in the realization that this is your group. These are my people. I remember feeling such a visceral sense of gratitude to be gathered with them and to know what this kind of group-belonging feels like.

So all these years later, I drove home in Michigan on a night when it was cold, dark, and oddly foggy, and when that song came on, I could still feel that exact same feeling. And I cried. And I loved it.

–Renee Roederer

See also, J.J. STARK BLIMP JR. They’re still my people.

Something that’s been simmering for a while…

In 2019, I want a lot of my reading, writing, learning, and activism to move in the directions of addressing 1) ableism, 2) forms of health stigma (how stigma affects community inclusion, employment, access to resources, public safety) and 3) healthcare access.

Just putting that out into the world as an intention. I’m starting to plan some of this.

How about you? What are you intending and planning for 2019?

-Renee Roederer

[I found this photo here.]

What are you good at? — like phenomenally good at doing, creating, or cultivating?

Earlier this week, a good friend and colleague of mine asked that question in a Facebook group. She said, “Pat yourself on the back. What is the thing you’re amazing at?”

It was really lovely to name those things. A cascade of comments followed as people named and celebrated each other’s super-strengths.

Today, I want to ask you the same thing: What are you amazing at? — like phenomenally good at doing, creating, or cultivating?

Maybe it’s been a while since you’ve named it, even to yourself. Think about it internally and celebrate it. This super-strength of yours comes so naturally that you might even forget to think of it as strength or a skill. Don’t forget, not everyone can do that!

Then, beyond thinking of it internally, want to share it? Want to put it in a comment here or send me an email at revannarbor@gmail.com? I really would welcome hearing it.

Then another question… one we might want to sit with for a while… with intention…

How do we take these super-strengths and add them to the needs around us? To our larger communities? To what people are already doing?

They are certainly needed. The discovery is all about finding where they best fit with impact.

–Renee Roederer