Author: gracesmuggler

Never underestimate the power of connections.

This is something I tell myself often. When I say this, I’m not talking about networking or schmoozing. I’m simply talking about the power of being connected in relationship.

I’m talking about building awareness of one another. Knowing names. Introducing people and deepening friendships. Living in kinship. Understanding the stories people carry. Engaging with the giftedness people have to offer. Living in awareness of needs.

Hugh Hollowell of Love Wins Ministries, a community of pastoral care and presence with people experiencing homelessness, often says, “The opposite of homelessness isn’t housing. The opposite of homelessness is community.” People often fall through the cracks because they do not have a community deep and wide enough to hold them up in a time of crisis.

So never underestimate the power of connections.

You never know how someone’s story might connect to someone’s story.

You never know how someone’s presence might connect to someone’s need.

You never know how someone’s awareness might increase empathy, solidarity, and action.

Introduce people. Cultivate community space. Learn more about people around you. See what commonalities you might find. Because when we do all of these things, we create the conditions that make support possible — sometimes in ways we’ve yet to imagine.

–Renee Roederer

This post is a part of a series. Feel free to check out the other pieces too:

The Price of Incarceration
The Deeper Questions
Providing Support for Immigrant Families
To Be a Part of the Very Prayers We Make

I have a friend who experienced homelessness for about two years. She struggled through Michigan winters and often spent time panhandling for donations on the street. Now, things have turned around immensely for the better, but those were painful years.

In addition to having a desperation for money, she had a desperation to be seen. Truly seen as herself, behind the labels and stigma. People experiencing homeless are often seen to the degree of not being seen. In other words, people notice them and then do everything they can to avoid them.

About ten years ago at a conference, I heard Ben Johnston-Krase say something that stuck with a lot of people. He shared what often goes through our minds when someone is panhandling and asking us for money.

He talked about this back-and-forth dialogue that happens instantly inside our own minds.

“Do you have $5?” we’re asked.

Ben slowed down this inner dialogue.

“Well, I do have $5. Maybe I should give it. . . ”

“But. . . how can I know that this person won’t spend it on alcohol. No, I better not.”

“But. . . I don’t know that this person will spend it that way. What if he’s hungry right now?”

“Oh, I know. . . I’ll just go down the street and buy this person a sandwich. Then I’ll know.”

“But I’m not his Mommy. Shouldn’t he have the dignity of choosing how he spends his money? Why should that be up to me? Yeah, I should probably give the $5.”

“But. . . what if I lean down to give it and he steals my wallet? What then?”

“Why I am I so afraid? He didn’t ask me to be afraid.”

Ben Johnston-Krase said that in the midst of this back-and-forth dialogue, we either give or don’t give the money. Then, we often step away asking ourselves, “Did I do the right thing?”

Instead, Ben shared that maybe this isn’t the best question. Maybe in these moments we need to see our neighbors as our neighbors and say, “How is this person’s liberation bound up together with mine? How am I called into solidarity with this neighbor? How is my life called to address the larger, systemic forces of poverty?”

Perhaps we see one another better when we ask deeper questions.

–Renee Roederer

This post is a part of a series this week. Feel free to check out the other pieces too:

The Price of Incarceration
Connections Matter
Providing Support to Immigrant Families
To Be a Part of the Very Prayers We Make

On Saturday, I had the opportunity to attend a local meeting for the Poor People’s Campaign: A National Call for Moral Revival. Have you heard yet about this campaign? If not yet, my assumption is that it will be in the news quite a bit this summer. I recommend learning more, and if interested, please consider plugging in yourself.

The Rev. Dr. William Barber II and the Rev. Dr. Liz Theoharis are Co-Chairs of the Poor People’s Campaign, a renewed, second chapter of the campaign the Rev. Martin Luther King initiated just before he was assassinated. This campaign seeks to challenge the evils of systemic racism, poverty, the war economy, and ecological devastation through conversation and direct action.

Each meeting of the Poor People’s Campaign seeks to center the voices, stories, and experiences of people who are directly impacted by these systemic forces. On Saturday, one of our speakers was a person who was formally incarcerated. He said that he speaks openly about his experience as often as possible because he wants to uplift the challenges that incarcerated people and their families carry while reducing the stigma that so many experience.

He mentioned the deep, economic costs to incarcerated people and their families. An experience of poverty increases the odds of incarceration, and undoubtedly, incarceration can solidify poverty in the life of individuals and their families.

When a person is arrested, the first hurdle is cash bail. A judge sets a dollar amount for that bail. Those who can pay are permitted to return home and await trial, but those who are poor languish in jail. In addition to not being able to pay, poor, incarcerated people are not able to return to their workplaces. This can compound the challenge for an individual or a family.

Once incarcerated, phone calls with loved ones — including children who need parental contact — cost $15 per phone call. The family ends up paying that.

Many jails and prisons, including where I live in Washtenaw County, Michigan, are moving away from in-person visitation. Instead, they only permit “visitation” via video, and families also have to pay for each usage of that video service.

Incarcerated individuals and families have to pay for attorneys, and these services can cost thousands of dollars. The speaker on Saturday mentioned that he had to pay $10,000 for his attorney.

Prison food is notoriously bad. Because of this, incarcerated individuals often need funds to buy things at the commissary. They can earn small amounts of money through work (a whole other, necessary conversation should be raised about this) or their families can send money along.

Some prisons, including here in my state of Michigan, charge incarcerated people a rate per day to stay in prison. Can you imagine? There is no choice to leave, but there is also a fee to stay. “They are charging us for the privilege to stay in prison,” our speaker said.

And then, of course, when people leave an experience of incarceration, stigma makes it virtually impossible to find employment. Our speaker has a Master’s Degree, but he couldn’t even find a job waiting tables. “And we wonder why recidivism is high?” he asked.

Think about the enormous economic costs to individuals, families, and entire communities. . . Our incarcerated neighbors are our neighbors, but sadly, they are often out of view. Certainly, some have made mistakes they deeply regret, but isn’t it possible that the system is doing violence as well?

–Renee Roederer

A very important fundraiser is underway to raise funds for cash bail where I live. No one should have to stay in jail entirely because they cannot pay. If you’d like to donate $10 or more to that today, I know that many would appreciate it. I’ll leave the link below:

Poverty is Not a Crime: Bail, Legal, and Support Fund

This post is a part of a series. Feel free to check out the other pieces too:

The Deeper Questions
Connections Matter
Providing Support to Immigrant Families
To Be a Part of the Very Prayers We Make

 

 

A few months ago, I had the opportunity to listen to an interview with Pádraig Ó Tuama on Krista Tippett’s On Being. I was so grateful to hear it because it has turned out to be one of my favorite episodes of her podcast.

Pádraig Ó Tuama is a poet, theologian, and leader of the Corrymeela community, a peace and reconciliation center in Northern Ireland. On this podcast, entitled, Belonging Creates and Undoes Us Both, Pádraig Ó Tuama says so many powerful things about voicing and hearing stories. He describes the experience as sacramental.

Have you ever thought about story as sacrament? A means of grace? An opportunity to connect with God and neighbor? An moment to make the past or hoped-for-future present? An invitation toward recreation? The promise of belonging, no matter what? New life — resurrection?

Perhaps when we have the opportunity to tell or hear a story, especially one that is very true and formational to life, we can remember this framework. I’ll share some of Pádraig Ó Tuama‘s quotes below:

“And therefore, every possibility of a person putting words to something, especially something that’s been difficult, is in itself a sacrament.”

“Words are the way to put narrative onto something, and to turn an experience — and especially, I suppose, thinking of conflict situations — to turn an experience that you would rather not have had into something where you can say, at least I’ve had the capacity to tell a story about it, even when that story is painful and unfinished and unresolved, nevertheless, there is a way in which to have words for it. You’re crystallizing it. You’re sacramentalizing it.”

“Let’s begin to be gentle and soothe the fear of fear and find a way that story can be its own liberator if you can find a way to hold it in a generous way.”

“And that is where language is limited because language needs courtesy to guide it and an inclusion and a generosity that goes beyond precision and become something much more akin to sacrament, something much more akin to how it is you can be attentive to the implications of language in the room for those who may have suffered.”

“Don’t let the terrible narrative be the thing that holds you. There is the possibility that you can be the site of generosity from which you, and also your own can benefit. You can be the place from which goodness and generosity can come — that is, the person who has held in their body the most hostility might be the possibility of the place of hospitality also. And that is a story worth telling.”

–Renee Roederer

 

Our DNA carries stories.

Of course, our DNA articulates the building blocks of how our bodies grow — a type of narrative, so to speak — but beyond that, our DNA carries stories of our ancestors too. Researchers have discovered that our DNA carries imprints of our grandparents’ life experiences, and perhaps, further back as well.

Sadly, this was initially discovered by looking at the impacts of trauma. When ancestors have endured trying experiences, descendants carry some imprints of those experiences. See this:

Grandma’s Experiences Leave a Mark on Your Genes

But we are not stuck in these stories. The same discovery tells us that we are writing our DNA even as our DNA writes some aspects of our lives.

So. . .

All the work we do
to heal,
to grow,
to connect,
to create space,
to write new stories
in our lives, and
in the lives of our communities,
shapes the physical building blocks
of ourselves and generations that follow us.

That’s a powerful thing.

–Renee Roederer

Those who have followed my blog for a while know I’m a big fan of Fred Rogers, and I’ve probably written five different posts here about him. Well, here comes another.

Earlier this week, I watched a Youtube video of Fred Rogers that pieced together a couple of different clips. It starts with a brief quote from Joanne Rogers, who was married to Fred for many years. She’s asked what Fred was like as a father and a grandfather. Next, the video shows the two moments when Fred and Joanne’s son Jim appeared on Mr. Roger’s Neighborhood. First, as a child, he makes paper hats with his Dad. Then, twenty years later, Jim brings his own son, Alexander, for a visit.

All of this is very dear. Then, the part most touching to me happens at 3:25. Jim and Alex walk out the door after saying goodbye. Next, Fred Rogers turns around to the camera and makes an expression and sound of joy. It’s so genuine and in the moment that it seems almost involuntary. He says, “I was just thinking how good it feels to know that you’ve felt somebody to grow.”

It’s very sweet. Have a watch:

It made me wonder how many stories are behind that expression of spontaneous joy. . . how many connections. . . how many stories of growth. . . how many stories of struggle that turned into growth. . . how many different moments of wonder. . .

There are a lot of stories behind that expression, I am sure.

And we might think about those stories in our own lives too. There are more than can be counted. After all, “We all help each other to grow.”

–Renee Roederer

Most Sundays, I travel around to churches within the Presbytery of Detroit and lead worship, filling in for pastors who are away on vacation or study leave. I love the opportunity to make connections with a variety of congregations in Southeast Michigan.

As is often typical, before worship begins, I usually find the other worship leaders for the day, and we connect before the service. They often ask me to lead a prayer before we begin. But First Presbyterian Church in Howell, Michigan has a different rhythm. Often, a member of the congregation will come find me. Then, that person will offer a prayer for me.

This is a very intentional rhythm on their part. In fact, there is a whole ministry team that signs up weekly to pray for the pastor in this way. It’s very touching because these individuals do more than offer prayers for the worship leadership of the day. They offer prayers for what’s happening in our lives — any particular joys or concerns we might be carrying.

When I drove to Howell yesterday, I found myself anticipating this. And pondering a few particular situations, I decided I would ask for this leader to pray for a few of my loved ones.

I’m glad I did this. Before the service, I was greeted by the person who organizes this prayer ministry. He was very kind and asked if there were any particular requests I had for prayer. I shared with him some needs happening in others’ lives – particular concerns to which I also feel connected. And this new friend prayed the most beautiful prayer for people I love.

And not only that. Going the extra mile, at his initiative, he placed a piece of paper in his pocket with their names written down, so he can keep praying for them throughout the week.

This entire experience invited me to make some connections between prayer and story. When we pray, we voice words toward God, and in the process, we enter deeper connections with one another. As we do so, we undoubtedly we enter each other’s stories. We accompany one another in these stories.

My praying friend stepped into ongoing stories of people I love. He offered his presence and added to these stories in some meaningful way. Afterward, I told one of these loved ones about the experience, and he reminded me that prayer is a way of giving love. He mentioned that this particular prayer made him feel more loved.

And that certainly impacts the story, doesn’t it?

– Renee Roederer

This week, I want to consider what it means to experience and cultivate a sense of continued connection with people who have died. With this in mind, I invite us into a place of imagination and wondering. How might we ponder our connections with those who have gone before us — those who have loved us into being?

A long time pastor, and a very beloved professor at Austin Seminary, died of cancer in 2014. His illness progressed quickly, and it was very painful for his family and a large number of people he mentored. When he died, so many of his teachings, stories, and phrases took on even deeper meaning. One of them was this: “See you at the table.”

It was rooted in a conviction that at the communion table, we are invited to share a meal that lifts us up into the life of God, and in the process, we are connected with all those who have gone before us.

This is something I think about intentionally every time I celebrate and share the communion meal. Borrowing language from someone I lost, I take some time and intention in that meal to remember my connections with the “Balcony People.” As he initiated this meal, Jesus said, “Do this in remembrance of me.” The Greek word for ‘remembrance’ means something deeper than simply recalling thoughts and memories. This word means ‘to make present.’ We certainly know the heartache of grief and loss, but I truly believe there is still an aliveness to our connections. We can make these present, and it can impact us deeply.

If you are a person who participates in this meal, next time it happens, I invite you to  remember the presence of your loved ones. I’m also of the conviction that this meal is meant to be a prelude to all our meals, so if you don’t regularly find yourself in church services, you need not be excluded from this imagining and making these connections present. In fact, I’m sure there are some unique ways you already do this in your own meals, and we could learn from your rhythms.

“See you at the table.”

– Renee Roederer

This post is a part of a series this week. Feel free to check out the other pieces as well.

“Someday, You’ll Be the Love of My Life”
The Fullness of Time?
That Sacred In-between

 

This week, I want to consider what it means to experience and cultivate a sense of continued connection with people who have died. With this in mind, I invite us into a place of imagination and wondering. How might we ponder our connections with those who have gone before us — those who have loved us into being?

What is that sacred in-between? That space right before death where powerful things seem to happen?

The truth is, I don’t know.

Is it a new reality coming into being? Is it simply (but still, amazingly!) the human brain giving a euphoric experience at the end of life? Is it a liminality between what has been and what will be? Is it an expansion of time — either in reality, or perhaps, in a beautiful illusion during a near-death state?

I don’t know. All I know is that I find it to be comforting.

I mean this: Sometimes, when people near death, they rally quite unexpectedly and receive a burst of strength that seems unexpected. Some appear to experience joy. Or in a last bit of consciousness in their bodies, some experience the presence of people who have died before them.

Before she died two weeks ago, my grandmother Ruby was unconscious and on a ventilator. After the ventilator was removed, she died pretty quickly. But right at the end, she suddenly opened up her eyes, looked up and smiled, and a couple tears dripped down her cheek.

I don’t know what that is, but I find that to be comforting.

More dramatic, when my husband’s grandfather, Bill Knox, died a little more than a year ago, the family marveled at what he experienced. The night before he died, everyone was aware that the end was nearing. But for a few hours, he was suddenly and unexpectedly conscious and aware. He sat up, and for hours, he was in this in-between state. One moment, he would be fully engaged in conversation with one of his daughters sitting next to him, and the next moment, he would announce to everyone that he could see a person from his earlier life — someone who had died decades before. He would say some words aloud to them too. Then, he’d come back to conversation with his family, fully engaged. It seemed that everyone was present to him at once. This in-between state lasted for hours and was a very special, mysterious thing.

I don’t know what that is, but I find that to be comforting.

This week on this blog, I am writing with imagination about our continued connections with those who have died. In doing so, I never aim put a silver lining on loss in any way. I know these kinds of things can be hard to celebrate when loss is recent and grief is acute.

But at the same time, perhaps these kinds of moments can give some solace too. Recognizing this is all a mystery, perhaps we can be comforted by a sense of wonder.

–Renee Roederer

This post is part of a series this week. Feel free to read the other pieces also:

“Someday, You’ll Be the Love of My Life”
The Fullness of Time?
“See You at the Table”

This week, I want to consider what it means to experience and cultivate a sense of continued connection with people who have died. With this in mind, I invite us into a place of imagination and wondering. How might we ponder our connections with those who have gone before us — those who have loved us into being?

What if. . .

. . . those who have died before us aren’t off somewhere waiting for us?

Before moving forward with that question, I want to voice a big assumption today and recognize that it is an assumption. I choose to believe there is a something — not necessarily one concrete somewhere, but some kind of real reality — that we enter after death. Of course, I have no idea what does or doesn’t happen after death, but I am making a big assumption of what I hope: That this isn’t all there is.

So if you’d like, feel free to enter this imaginatively with me. . .

Sometimes, when loved ones transition, we find ourselves wondering if they are meeting with those who have gone before them. I think this is a beautiful reality to ponder. Recently, my grandmother Ruby Foster died, and we found ourselves thinking of her entering a reunion with her husband, Jim Foster, and her son, my father, Kim Foster. I hope that is true. I choose to imagine that with joy and gratitude.

But sometimes, in the process, we still think in terms of separation, like, “She’s with them now. But now, she’s missing us.”

But,

What if. . .

. . . those who have died before us aren’t off somewhere waiting for us?

What if we’re with them?

What if in entering that next reality, they have entered some kind of fullness of time? Sometimes, people say that God exists outside of time with no beginning or end. (By the way, I have no idea how to wrap my mind around what that means or doesn’t mean). But what if in death, we enter the life of God more fully? Or the life of time more fully? Not that we become God or timeless, but that we enter the life of God or the reality of time more fully?

Where I’m really going here is this:

When our loved ones die, what if they’re not only reunited with those who died before them, but everyone, including us?

What if, from their perspective, we’re right there with them? They take a last breath, and then, we’re in the reality on the other side also.

Obviously, I have no earthly (or beyond earthly) idea if any of this is true. But I think it’s beautiful. So I choose to imagine this when I think about those I have lost. I like to think that from their perspective, I’m right there with them. That we all are.

–Renee Roederer

This post is part of a series this week. Feel free to check out the other pieces too:

“Someday, You’ll Be the Love of My Life”
That Sacred In-between
“See You at the Table”