Author: gracesmuggler

She.

When I lead worship in congregational settings, I typically use gender-neutral language for God. But these days, in my own personal, spiritual practice, I use feminine language and imagery almost entirely.

It’s not that I believe God is literally female. I don’t believe God is literally male either. God is a Mystery beyond our our limited language.

But yet, precisely because God is Incarnational, God can be made known and revealed to us in our limited language, often in very intimate ways. Jesus used the personal title Abba to address God, a word that might be translated, “Papa.” I find this at once to be precious and powerful — endearing and intimate, while revealing an orientation of trust with the totality of one’s being.

Biblical scriptures are written in Hebrew and Koine Greek, and because of their particular grammatical structures, a lot of language about God gets translated into a grammatically masculine framework. (Think about languages like Spanish or German and the ways they assign grammatical gender to nouns).

Then all of that grammatical gender gets internalized inside of us. Quite naturally, we begin to make connections between that grammatical gender, our cultural understandings of gender, and God. More challenging, we take the those very cultural understandings, including distortions of masculinity, and paste them onto God. Then, we make these distortions Ultimate in our world.

When all of this happens, we stop noticing the feminine imagery for God in those very same Biblical texts. (For more on this, see Elizabeth Johnson’s enlightening book, She Who Is). Worse, we begin to connect with a god who is primarily distant, angry, and vengeful (again, distortions of masculinity) – one who wields power over others and initiates the very hierarchy by which we do the same.

So here’s a question for us:

How many of us grew up picturing God as a bearded man in the sky — perhaps even an angry, bearded man?

Most of us don’t believe in that god anymore. Thank goodness.

But even if we don’t believe in such a god anymore, this old, internalized understanding can still get in our way. It can be challenging to pray to God when that ghost of a god keeps popping up. Maybe we don’t even notice he’s there. But in God’s presence, we keep finding ourselves feeling afraid or ashamed. Or maybe prayer feels silly and embarrassing because our understanding of God, however amorphous, still feels like a cartoon or a caricature.

This can be challenging. For all of these reasons, I often encourage the people I mentor to try using feminine language for God exclusively for a while. Does it feel different? Does it open up new understandings? Does God feel closer, and less like a cartoon?

It might not be helpful for all people, but I have found it to be helpful for me. It’s just something to try. Thankfully, the God Beyond Our Understanding is quite capable of revealing Herself in our very limited language.

To close, a brief story:

Earlier this week, I wrote that I’ve been thinking about the moon. Lately, it keeps showing up as a symbol in my life. Referencing Harry Potter, a few days ago, I joked that The Moon is My Petronus. In fact, all week long on this blog, I’ve been sharing photos of the moon, delving into feminist spirituality, and adding some poetry.

Last night, I was walking around the University of Michigan campus, and in just the right place at the right time, I saw the full moon very low in the sky. In contrast to all that was around it, the moon looked so enormous, bright, and present.

And always — always! — when the moon is like this, I want to snap a really good photo of it. I always try. But you know what is true every single time? It’s utterly impossible.

Unless you have special equipment, you cannot get an adequate photo of a contrast moon because the camera does not process that contrast in same ways our brains do. Every photo looks woefully inadequate. I just cannot capture the experience.

I think God is like that. Our language and imagery is woefully inadequate. But as we open ourselves to the moment — endearing and intimate, trusting with the totality of our being — She will surely meet us.

–Renee Roederer

Enjoy this choral piece called “Evensong” by Stephen Paulus. The text is from Matthew Claudius.

“See how the moon has risen, among the stars that glisten high in the firmament. Dark stand the woods and silent while from the meadows island white veils of ghostly mist ascend. Now has the world grown silent, while in the evening’s twilight we find protective peace, as in our quiet chamber after much toil and labor in healing sleep we find release. Look, how the half moon shineth while from our view it hideth its fullness, round and whole. Thus many truths are hiding from utter lack of striving on our part to see them whole. The hour draws near for sleeping, and rest and in God’s keeping entrust we body and soul. Protect us, Lord from danger, keep watch o’er barn and manger and make our ailing neighbor whole. Entrust we body and soul. And make our ailing neighbor whole. See how the moon has risen.”

This is the third piece in a series on feminist spirituality. Feel free to check out the others as well:

I want to see the Patriarchy topple.
I want to see the Empire fade.

Toward something else. . .
Toward a completely different way of relating with one another and the earth itself.

Keep in mind, when talking about “The Patriarchy” I’m not talking about men themselves. But I am talking about a move away from –

an external ordering of the world, and
an internalized axis in our own thinking where we continually. . .

. . . determine people’s worth based on perceptions of their productivity,

. . . exert power-over one another in dominance, with the assumption that this makes sense and is normative,

. . . abuse and even kill with deep-seated rage once we encounter people’s culture, skin tone, gender, full presence, and full particularity,

. . . wield brute force in violence when marginalized people seek power, freedom, and resources,

. . . view the world through a lens of scarcity and hoard resources with an assumption that greed is reasonable and good.

Ecologist Joanna Macy says that we have come to a juncture in human history where we encounter two very real story lines. The ways we have been living collectively are dangerous to the point that we soon cannot sustain our lives on the earth. She calls this The Great Unraveling. But the great adventure of our time involves the potential reorientation of our lives toward life-giving, sustaining aims. She calls this The Great Turning. I long for this.

I long for the Rise of The Matriarchy.

An ethic of care, where human beings. . .

. . . honor and celebrate people’s worth based on their Humanity,

. . . share power and decision-making with a recognition that horizontal practices and relationships are good for the collective whole of the community (I also know we never arrive at this or practice it perfectly. . . so we keep putting it before ourselves and working at it)

. . . revere the life that we find on the earth and in one another, as we encounter people’s culture, skin tone, gender, full presence, and full particularity,

. . . dismantle systems that marginalize human beings, so that all people can have access to empowerment, freedom, and resources,

. . . view the world through a lens of abundance and willfully share resources, with an assumption that greed limits our empathy and our very life, and a realization that care with and among neighbors increases our compassion and our very life.

We can find particular places and particular moments of time where these are all happening. Jesus seemed to believe that a little bit of yeast can leaven the entire bread.

When we see glimpses of The Great Turning, we can lean into them with our gratitude, our intentions, and our own actions.

I long for this rise.

–Renee Roederer

Good Bones (by Maggie Smith)

This is the second post in a series about feminist spirituality. Feel free to check out the others as well:

The Moon is My Petronus
She
Can Our World Experience Post-Traumatic Growth?
Life Finds a Way

At this stage in my life, I am completely drawn to the moon.

In case anyone is concerned, let me assure you that I’m not a werewolf.

The moon does, however, suddenly seem to be my Petronus (Harry Potter reference). It just keeps showing up lately in my daily life as a symbol,  so I’m paying attention to it.

All of this is likely on my mind because my summer was book-ended with gorgeous, stunning, natural phenomena involving the moon. And these are the kinds of gorgeous, stunning, natural phenomena you never forget.

My summer started with a trip to North Topsail Beach in North Carolina. For a whole week, while staying with our family in a beach house, we lived on a Horizon. That was a real gift. We saw some memorable sunrises and sunsets.

But one evening, I saw something unlike anything I’ve ever seen before: I saw a Moonrise over that same Horizon. This was a red, full moon, made enormous by the visual contrast of the ocean. It grabbed my attention and absolutely mesmerized me. I left the deck of the house because I felt compelled to stand right where the ocean and sand met. I had to watch this moon rise into the sky. Somewhere within myself, I was aware that the moon and the ocean have both long been viewed as feminine, cultural symbols. I stood there, feeling remarkably empowered and called, as if my spirituality and my life were being summoned in a deeper direction. This was a very special moment.

Then my summer ended with the opportunity to witness a total eclipse of the sun. To see this happen, our family drove to Russellville, Kentucky and waited for hours with a couple hundred people at a local, public library. To bring this home, all I can really say is that during an eclipse, the moment of totality (and the journey toward it) is absolutely magical. The moon completely covers the sun. Meanwhile, a band of gorgeous color is found at the horizon in 360 degrees. I did not even know to expect this aspect. As the moon stands in front of the sun, it appears that the sun is setting in every direction. This is unlike anything I have ever seen in my life.

Ancient cultures could not fully understand what was causing an eclipse (I can barely imagine the terror of not expecting or understanding it!) Yet many of the same cultures made meaning of such an event. Some believed this phenomenon signaled a threat to the Empire.

As I watched this total eclipse happen, I kept thinking about the sacred feminine eclipsing the Empire — a new way of being, relating, sharing, loving, dreaming. A move away from systems that demand power-over. This is not about gender but about a different orientation toward the world and one another.

So the moon keeps calling to me. And I suppose, ultimately, as a symbol, it reminds me that a new way of being is calling me. Do you hear this too?

With That Moon Language (by Hafiz)

Admit something:
Everyone you see, you say to them, “Love me.”
Of course you do not do this out loud, otherwise someone would call the cops.
Still, though, think about this: this great pull in us to connect.
Why not become the one who lives with a moon in each eye,
that is always saying,
with that sweet moon language,
what every other eye in this world is dying to hear?

This is the first post in a series about feminist spirituality. Feel free to check out the others as well:

The Rise of the Matriarchy
She
Can Our World Experience Post-Traumatic Growth?
Life Finds a Way

One year ago on this very date, in partnership with the Presbytery of Detroit, I was commissioned to serve as a Community Chaplain, a creative role that has enabled me to practice ministry, community formation, and solidarity in remarkably new ways.

I will never forget how grateful I felt when the Presbytery of Detroit took that vote and affirmed this vision.

In many ways, it was an affirmation of the work that had happened in the previous year and a half, most especially with the formation of Michigan Nones and Dones, a new spiritual community in Southeast Michigan for people who are religiously unaffiliated and people who have departed from traditional, institutional religious communities (most frequently, churches). Describing ourselves as people who are “spiritually curious but institutionally suspicious,” we began to meet in coffee shops and restaurants to talk about faith, spirituality, and meaning as we built friendships with one another. It amazes me that this community is now almost two years old.

But beyond the work that had already happened, the vote and affirmation to create a vision for Community Chaplaincy has since opened additional doors that have enriched my life. This is a vision that allows me to serve as a regional Chaplain to people of all faith backgrounds or none at all, including people who are understandably quite uneasy with organized religion.

Here are some of those doors. . .

– The vision for Community Chaplaincy has opened doors to participate in the community of Canterbury House at the University of Michigan, a place where students grow in faith formation, share meals together, and play soulful music that deeply inspires.

– The vision for Community Chaplaincy has opened doors to participate in community alongside people who are change-agents — students, activists, and dreamers who speak truth to power and cultivate an ethic of care beyond what our systemic realities often diminish.

– The vision for Community Chaplaincy has opened doors to participate in the community of Northside Presbyterian Church, a congregation that has been a tremendous partner and friend to me, a community that has advocated so deeply and steadfastly for people who are marginalized.

These doors keep swinging open, and daily, I experience what a privilege it is to be present to people in their lives — to hold space for them, learn from them, stand alongside them, and explore greater meaning with them.

And in the midst of all of this, however, there is an obvious challenge:

When cultivating a vision that is a bit outside-the-box, it is hard to find funding sources for that vision. Simply put, this is new territory.

These last few years have been been a remarkably entrepreneurial time for me. It has been a joy to engage this new work and to have so many cheerleaders along the way. But in all honesty, this has come at a financial sacrifice too. To get this vision where it is, I have worked without any funding for two and half years straight.

With this in mind, as I reach the one year anniversary of a vote that affirmed this vision, I want to ask folks to financially support me in this work. In the next few weeks, I will be working to organize a crowdfunding campaign for Community Chaplaincy.

I hope that a campaign to fund this role will meet the needs of me and my family while also creating pathways for some to become inspired to do the same kind of work.

Would you or your community like to help me with this fundraising campaign? By donating, writing, sharing, spreading the word? I could use help from the wider community.

Would you or your community like to sponsor me in this work? Whether $10 or $1000, any contribution is received with gratitude.

Feel free to send me a message if you’d like. I’m ready to hit the ground running. And most of all, today, I appreciate your time and intention in reading this. Thank you.

I’m wondering if we might engage a bit of a thought experiment today. Perhaps we could call it, “Would you be appalled if. . .?”

Let’s try it out.

Here we go.

If you learned that a multitude of incidents of plagiarism had taken place at particular university, and no one — not one single person — had been caught, held responsible, or made accountable over the span of four years, would you be appalled?

I’m going to assume that the answer is yes. I imagine that parents, alumni, community members, and perhaps the entire nation would be paying attention and demanding direct action to change this pattern of plagiarism.

Or how about this:

If you learned that a multitude of incidents of vandalism had taken place at particular university, and no one — not one single person — had been caught, held responsible, or made accountable over the span of four years, would you be appalled?

I’m going to assume that the answer is yes. I imagine that parents, alumni, community members, and perhaps the entire nation would be paying attention and demanding direct action to change this pattern of vandalism.

We could probably insert other possibilities. Theft. . . Fraud. . . Arson. . . All appalling.

Well, here is something that is actually true:

A multitude of incidents of racism and white supremacy have taken place at the University of Michigan, and no one — not one person — has been caught, held responsible, or made accountable over the span of four years.

Take that in. . . No one in four years.

Last week, when a Black student asked President Mark Schlissel how many people have been caught, held responsible, or made accountable for acts of racism on or near the campus over the span of four years — acts including discrimination, flyers, graffiti, and direct threats of violence — I heard President Mark Schlissel speak two words with my very own ears:

“No one.”

Yes, there have been investigations, a bias incident reporting process, and in some instances, statements. But they haven’t been strong enough, transparent enough, or most importantly, effective enough. In the end, the outcome is that no one has been caught, held responsible, or made accountable for four years. And this increases the likelihood that all of this will continue and will do so with escalation.

And it is appalling.

Here are just some of the racist incidents from the last year alone, when they especially began to escalate. CW: Very specific, racist threats:

This sermon was preached at Kirk of Our Savior Presbyterian Church in Westland, Michigan and is based on Matthew 20:1-16.

“For the kingdom of heaven is like a landowner who went out early in the morning to hire laborers for his vineyard. After agreeing with the laborers for the usual daily wage, he sent them into his vineyard. When he went out about nine o’clock, he saw others standing idle in the marketplace; and he said to them, ‘You also go into the vineyard, and I will pay you whatever is right.’ So they went. When he went out again about noon and about three o’clock, he did the same. And about five o’clock he went out and found others standing around; and he said to them, ‘Why are you standing here idle all day?’ They said to him, ‘Because no one has hired us.’ He said to them, ‘You also go into the vineyard.’ When evening came, the owner of the vineyard said to his manager, ‘Call the laborers and give them their pay, beginning with the last and then going to the first.’ When those hired about five o’clock came, each of them received the usual daily wage. Now when the first came, they thought they would receive more; but each of them also received the usual daily wage. And when they received it, they grumbled against the landowner, saying, ‘These last worked only one hour, and you have made them equal to us who have borne the burden of the day and the scorching heat.’ But he replied to one of them, ‘Friend, I am doing you no wrong; did you not agree with me for the usual daily wage? Take what belongs to you and go; I choose to give to this last the same as I give to you. Am I not allowed to do what I choose with what belongs to me? Or are you envious because I am generous?’ So the last will be first, and the first will be last.”

Yesterday, I delivered a letter to President Mark Schlissel at the University of Michigan. I have been asked to make that letter public and willfully am doing so here. In this letter, I speak only for myself as an individual, but I do hope that these words will additionally amplify the voices and leadership of Black students at the University of Michigan.

On Wednesday night, Black students held a protest and engaged in conversation with President Mark Schlissel, demanding that he take tangible actions to secure their safety on campus. Here in Ann Arbor and at the University of Michigan, Black students have experienced an increasing number of racist incidents over these last few years. Just this last Sunday, two additional incidents took place. They were devastating:

Racial Slurs Written on Dorm Door Name Tags
Racist Graffiti in Support of Dylan Roof Found on Ann Arbor Mural

President Schlissel did not put out a response until Thursday, the day after the protest and conversation.

I want to talk about two particular moments on Wednesday night, when Black students courageously used their voices to hold the university accountable. These moments demonstrate that the university’s response has been woefully and dangerously inadequate.

At one point in the conversation, a Black student asked, “What happens when this is not a sharpie [about the dorm doors] but a knife? What then?” Fifteen minutes later, we all left the building and a white man assaulted Black students. That incident and my first-hand account of it is what this Letter to the President is about.

And this moment will forever stand out to me too. In fact, it invites all of us to put a tremendous amount of pressure on the University of Michigan: On Wednesday night, a Black student said to President Mark Schlissel, “You and I have been here four years now, right?” Then, after listing just a few of the racist incidents involving discrimination, graffiti, flyers, and even death threats via email, he asked President Schlissel, “In those four years, how many people have been caught and held responsible?”

President Schlissel said two words I will never, ever forget:

“No one.”

In light of these needs, I offer this letter. This letter mentions details of the violence initiated, unleashed, and threatened by a white man after the protest. It also mentions some related topics that are quite challenging. For these reasons, I want to issue a content warning before sharing the letter.

CW: Anti-Black, Racist Violence; White Supremacy; Gun Violence; Racial Epithets; Dylan Roof

You have my permission and invitation to share this letter.

Letter to President Mark Schlissel

To President Mark Schlissel:

My name is the Rev. Renée Roederer. I am a Community Chaplain in Ann Arbor and a member of the community at Canterbury House at the University of Michigan. I am writing you today to give you an account of a troubling moment of violence that took place last night immediately after the collective protest and conversation at the Union.

Last night, MLive reported a story with the headline, “Umich protest over racist incidents ends with fight near Michigan Union.” While this headline and framing of the story may give an impression that tempers simply flared and multiple people broke out into a fist fight, as a first-hand witness, I can tell you that there was one, sole instigator of this violence.

Most crucially for this letter, however, I am writing to let you know that this man made a direct threat in conversation with me. This was heard only by me and those nearby, and thus, was not reported in the MLive story. For the protection of Black students and the wider campus community, it is crucial for me to share this information with you. Here is an account of what happened:

When we left the Union, I joined a number of white students and community members who lined the sides of the crosswalks and blocked traffic so that Black students and students of color could cross safely on those crosswalks. After standing there for a couple of minutes, a white man in a red shirt (the man who was arrested and pictured in the MLive story) approached me and the person directly to my left. Presumably, he stepped away from a car on the street, though I did not see where he came from. It is possible he emerged from the crowd.

He began to yell at us, saying that we needed to move. “You need to move!” he said a couple of times. I tried to deescalate the situation and calmly said, “It will be okay. This will only last about five minutes.”

He continued to be irate, and at one point, he said his wife was in labor. I could tell from his body language that this was not true, nor what his anger was about.

Again, I kept my voice calm and tried to deescalate again.

What he said next was quite serious, and it is my primary reason for contacting you today. His next statement to me was,

“Do you want me to come back here and bring a group of people with guns?”

In this letter, I want to speak to you about this directly because this threat was spoken to me directly. The people closest to me also heard his threatening question. Since this was heard only by a few in the nearby area, it was not reported by any of the news sources, and I am doubtful that this statement was relayed to the police officers who arrested him a few minutes later.

After making this statement, a Black student behind me yelled to the man, “Turn around!” In the moment, I did not understand what that student said, but I have since seen a video that begins with his comment.

Then white man in the red shirt then said, “Shut the f*** up, N—–! I’m not talking to you!” Quite quickly, multiple people put their bodies between the white man in the red shirt and the Black student. Several people pushed the white man in the red shirt to get him to retreat. Then the white man in the red shirt began throwing punches in the direction of multiple Black students.

At this point, the fight then moved a bit farther away from where I was standing, so I did not see all the aspects of the violence. But not long after, we all saw this man being escorted away by the police. I was grateful to see this happen.

“Do you want me to come back here and bring a group of people with guns”?

President Schlissel, I believe it is absolutely imperative that we address this man’s threat with utmost seriousness. White supremacist threats and direct violence are escalating on the University of Michigan campus, in very real part, because no one has been caught and held responsible for an array of cases we all know about, involving racist threats, messaging, graffiti, and violence. The national climate additionally creates conditions for such an escalation.

I am not an alarmist, but one of my consistent fears is that we will not make adequate collective changes to safety and campus climate until an event of direct violence has occurred. We have to make tangible safety a top priority so that direct violence does not continue on this campus as it did last night.

So this is what I ask you to do:

1)  Learn the name of the white man in the red shirt.

There is certainly an arrest record. This man made a direct threat to do violence to students on the campus you lead with expressed willingness to bring a group of others with guns.

2) Assign someone on your staff to follow this man’s social media accounts.

Do not assign this task to the Campus Police only. Stay aware as much as you can of this man’s whereabouts. Check in regularly with the person(s) who are following along.

3)  Recognize that threats like these are precisely why students are not safe on campus.

In addition to the threat of what this man could do in the future, in the moment, he used the most dehumanizing epithet of our racist history and acted violently in a direct way. This is already dangerous and devastating to the student body.

4)  Demonstrate to students that you take this seriously and are making it a major priority.

I am not sure if you aware of how passive your voice and posture sounds to Black students and students of color. I also felt the impact of your tone last night. I cannot assess your intent in these conversations, but I do want to speak to you honestly about the impact. I am also willing to speak to you about this directly.

5) Most importantly, provide material resources for creating and implementing lasting solutions in conversation with Black students.

Over the last few years, Black student organizations have created lists of demands and tangible suggestions for actions.

Finally, I do want to reiterate that these threats are escalating in their frequency and intensity. I was especially shaken on Sunday when posters of Dylan Roof’s face were placed on campus and a mural on Liberty was defaced with the words, “Free Dylan Roof. I hate N—–s.”

I know people personally who were directly impacted in the violence and loss of human lives at Mother Emanuel Church in Charleston. When people invoke the image and violent history of a white supremacist terrorist, it is quite possible that others will be emboldened by that invocation. We must do everything we can to impede such an outcome. This is not just about words, horrific though they are, written “with a sharpie.” This is an escalation that is potentially marking our campus for direct violence.

Please take immediate, direct action.

I am available to speak with you. Most importantly, as you know, a powerful set of Black students are emboldened to lead and discuss how to change the campus climate with you.

I thank you for taking the time to read my letter.

Rev. Renée Roederer

I really love this poem by Brian Shivers. I thought I would share it with you today.

One Pause Changes Everything (A Poem)

No one cares.
No,
one cares.

No one sees me.
No,
one sees me.

No one hears me.
No,
one hears me.

No one accepts me.
No,
one accepts me.

No one loves me.
No,
one loves me.

— bshivers

Brian Shivers is currently the Senior Associate Pastor for Spiritual Life at Second Presbyterian Church, Indianapolis, IN. He has been at Second in various roles since the summer of 1990. 

He loves sharing life with Jennifer, partner for over 30 years, and Allison, their amazing 19 year old daughter. They are honored that a chocolate lab, named Latte, and a tuxedo cat, Bella, allow them to live in their home.

[I found this image here].

Recently, I had the opportunity to hear some folks encourage a particular person, and I noticed that something kept happening quite naturally. Instead of simply saying, 

“We’re with you. . . We believe in you. . . We know you can do this. . .”

they also kept adding the person’s name:

“We’re with you, [Name]. . . We believe in [Name]. . . We know you can do this, [Name].”

Throughout all of this, I was reminded of how powerful names can be. In the context of expressing love, gratitude, or encouragement, names themselves can be words of deep affection.

After I had already been pondering this, in a different context, a friend said that she wanted to hear her name more. She felt like people hadn’t said her name as often lately, a name she shares with a relative she lost years ago.

Perhaps somewhere within us, we are all longing to be addressed by name. This sacred process of speaking and hearing names comes from a place of being known and honored as the ones we are. We are seen and cared for in all our particularities.

When addressing others with love, gratitude, and encouragement, I’m going to start speaking names much more often and much more intentionally.

– Renee Roederer 

When asked, “Teacher, which commandment in the law is the greatest?” Jesus answered, “‘You shall love the Lord your God with all your heart, and with all your soul, and with all your mind.’ This is the greatest and first commandment. And a second is like it: ‘You shall love your neighbor as yourself.’ On these two commandments hang all the law and the prophets.”

Love God

– and – 

Love Neighbor

There are many Christians that go out of their way to try to convince others that God is real and worth loving. But what happens when those same Christians hold a concept of God that isn’t very loving? An ‘understanding’ of God doesn’t inspire love of neighbors? A view of God that even tolerates or promotes the exclusion, harm, and abuse of neighbors?

It makes me wonder. . . 

Rather than starting with some heady, propositional-theology concept of God – even one authentically to be loved –

What if we just love our neighbors?

What if we make a radical, joyful commitment to care for our neighbors’ wellbeing, celebrate our neighbors’ worth, and live in empathy and justice?

Of course, some would say that we can’t really even understand or practice love, care, celebration, empathy, or justice apart God’s revelation.

But since God’s revelation is always incarnational, we will undoubtedly discover love, care, celebration, empathy, and justice in the presence of our neighbors.

Maybe we if start with love for neighbor, we’ll actually discover a loving God.

– Renee Roederer