Author: gracesmuggler

Like us, Jesus was made of stardust.

I found myself reflecting upon this yesterday. One of the central celebrations of Christianity is the Incarnation, a conviction that God is not distant from us, but with us. God has been revealed among us as one of us.

This hallows our lives. This illumines the beauty of our humanity.

Perhaps we remember that famous quote from astronomer Carl Sagan, spoken from his groundbreaking series, Cosmos: A Personal Voyage. . .

“The nitrogen in our DNA, the calcium in our teeth, the iron in our blood, the carbon in our apple pies were made in the interiors of collapsing stars. We are made of starstuff.”

Our humanity is forever linked to the earth we inhabit and the universe that has shaped it over time.

Jesus was made of starstuff too.

In the celebration of God-in-humanity, Christianity should love and cherish the earth too. The entire universe, in fact.

Elizabeth Johnson, theologian and author, says this:

“Born of a woman (Gal. 4:4) and the Hebrew gene pool, Jesus of Nazareth was a creature of earth, a complex unit of minerals and fluids, an item in the carbon, oxygen, and nitrogen cycles, a moment in the biological evolution of this planet. Like all human beings, he carried within himself the signature of supernovas and the geology and the life history of the earth. The atoms comprising his body once belonged to other creatures.”

This is worthy of reflection.

Humanity made of earth and star stuff. . .

God has revealed among humanity. . .

This world, this entire universe, is a holy habitation.

– Renee Roederer

These words by Elizabeth Johnson come from in a paper entitled, “Deep Incarnation: Prepare to Be Astonished,” presented at the VI International UNIFAS conference in Rio de Janeiro in July 2010.

I still can’t get over these balloons.

Right now in my house, I have purple balloons and flowers, and each time I see them I smile. Some people did a really nice thing for me a few days ago. I’ve been leading worship services at a particular church while they wait for their interim pastor to begin. I was with them two times in the fall, and I’ve been there five times over the last two of months.

So, just seven times.

But when they got word (and not from me) that it was the fifth anniversary of my ordination (to be fair, that’s not really a huge number. . . not like the 20th anniversary or something) they had a surprise reception for me! So kind and thoughtful.

Yesterday, I saw these balloons again, and it reminded me of something. Many people associate church with some of its worst behavior. And by the way, I absolutely do not blame people for this… I will tell you honestly, as someone who has been a pastoral leader for 9 years (not just the 5 ordained ones) I have had a front row seat to some of the very best and the very worst of church.

I haven’t given up on it entirely, mostly because I still believe in the vision behind it. And along with others, I do want to participate in the reform of how it functions, which in part, involves getting back to that better vision.

I’m certainly not the sole arbiter of understanding that larger vision, but I do believe this: The Church would come alive – I am talking about something much larger and richer than having more people in the doors – if the community would take purposeful care and intention to celebrate people’s Belovedness.

Not just the pastoral leader, who now has balloons. But everyone.

Can you imagine what would happen if people began to associate church communities with the discovery that they are absolutely, thoroughly loved? Perhaps even learning it through joyful surprise? Because they were in the presence of a community that could not even be itself without mirroring that truth to each other? Because it’s foundational to who they are together?

Yes, more of that!

-Renee Roederer

The church who threw me a reception is New Life Presbyterian Church in Sterling Heights, Michigan. I’m grateful for them!

I live on top of an enormous amount of trilobites.

You probably do too. Did you know. . . Cement is partly made of limestone, and limestone contains a whole lot of calcified trilobites? I didn’t, but it’s true.

The foundation of my house is made of an ancient world – a world where little beings with strange exoskeletons were once extremely abundant. They show up in the fossil record about 520 million years ago, and they went fully extinct 250 million years ago.

In addition to the foundation of my house, I used to work in a building that was made entirely of limestone. Who knew I was surrounded by trilobites the whole time? I didn’t.

I learned all of this recently on one of my favorite podcasts. It’s called Surprisingly Awesome. The hosts take a look at topics that are certainly seemingly boring – topics like concrete, mold, and flossing – and find ways to show that they’re actually pretty interesting. I love to walk around the gym and listen to this podcast. It gets my curiosity going.

I think the cultivation of curiosity is a spiritual practice. I’d also say that curiosity is a tremendous stress reliever. It’s helpful to be reminded that we live in a beautiful, intriguing world. That world is larger than us, and we really belong to it.

This weekend, I had the wonderful privilege to hear Diana Butler Bass speak. She is a religious historian, scholar, and theologian whose work I admire quite a bit. On Friday, she mentioned that sociological studies continue to reveal people in the U.S. are becoming increasingly less involved with institutional religious communities, but they also report having spiritual experiences of awe and wonder at the universe and the world around them.

Often, spirituality is taking shape in the midst of the world around us too.

How can you cultivate a spirituality of curiosity this week? What intrigues you?

I suppose we can find curiosity even in the mundane things. Even in boring, old cement.

–Renee Roederer

I am saddened and dismayed when Christianity is twisted and co-opted to bless and baptize predatory capitalism in the United States. Perhaps we could re-write our Pledge of Allegiance to mirror this?

“I pledge allegiance to the flag of the United States of America, and to the Republic for which it stands, one God under nation, divisible, with poverty and injustice for many.”

It’s certainly not a new phenomenon, but Christianity is increasingly twisted to serve the corporate interests of the powerful at the expense of people experiencing poverty, economic stagnation, and vulnerability.

All day yesterday and through the night, people in power negotiated and debated legislation which is projected to result in a loss of healthcare for 24 million people. Some demanded to alter the bill so insurers will no longer have to provide essential services. With fewer people able to pay into the market, prices will likely go up for many of us.

At some point in these negotiations this week, the Congressional Budget Office updated their initial projections to account for changes, indicating that 24 million people will still lose coverage, but the new changes will cost approximately $180 billion more than the original draft.

Who is being served here? I can assure these leaders that most Americans who demanded better healthcare in the last election did not ask their representatives to price them out of the market.

These changes serve the corporate interests of insurance companies and will result in enormous tax breaks for individuals in the wealthiest 1% income bracket.

Deep down for some, a “free market” capitalism that serves the rich and corporate interests at the expense of the poor has risen to the level of a national religion. It is frequently baptized in Christian language, though it is anything but Christian.

How do people smatter campaigns with Christian language and believe deep down that people in economically impoverished situations are just lazy or a necessary casualty of a survival-of-the-fittest economy?

How does a Freedom Caucus make us more free by demanding that essential services are no longer required? Are we more free when emergency room visits, hospitalizations, mental health care, and maternal care and delivery are no longer covered in the plans we pay for?

How do people say they are pro-life yet move forward with legislation they know will result in a loss of coverage and life-saving treatment?

Folks can move in these directions, and they are. But they should not bless it with Christian language.

In his very first sermon, Jesus said,

“The Spirit of the Lord is upon me, because he has anointed me to bring good news to the poor.

He has sent me to proclaim release to the captives and recovery of sight to the blind, to let the oppressed go free, to proclaim the year of the Lord’s favor.”

– Renee Roederer

I will be honest about something today.

When I hear about a terrorist attack in the United States or another country in the Western world, my first reaction is to feel deep sadness for the people most affected. I feel great concern for people who have lost loved ones and for the local residents who are shocked by the confusion, trauma, and violence of it all.

Then, my second reaction is to feel fear. Though it’s not the fear that many may expect.

I don’t fear dying in a terrorist attack.

The odds of that are actually quite rare. I denounce terrorism in all its forms, and it’s truly horrific any time it happens. But when it comes to terrorism as it is typically defined in the United States, I do not expect to die in this way.

So what do I fear?

I fear dying from the manipulation of that terrorist attack.

And I don’t fear this solely for myself. I fear that we will bomb entire nations in response, killing civilians who had nothing to do with what we experienced. I fear that men and women in our military will die in large numbers. I fear that American citizens born into an experience of poverty will conclude that military service is their only option out of that experience. I fear that white Americans will become radicalized and act violently toward Muslims, or any other people group that may be stereotyped and dehumanized.

And I fear that some individuals and corporations will make money off of all of this – in fact, that this will be a silent, invisible motive to manipulate the terrorist attack at hand.

I know I am not alone in these fears. These are the fears of my generation, people who came of age in the War on Terror.

We are not the only generation to feel this way, but I can promise you that many of us immediately fear the manipulation of a terrorist attack even more than we fear terrorist attacks.

And we want to change the narratives that make that possible.

– Renee Roederer

What if church could be more egalitarian and solidarity-driven?

As we’ve watched crucial needs emerge this year, this has been on my mind and heart. I’ve also been thinking about it because I’ve seen these values modeled in some beautiful ways recently.

I’m involved with an activist community at our university. Together, we are addressing white supremacy within our campus and local area, working to educate others and dismantle the systems that drive it.

A few days ago, while I was meeting with this community, I found myself thinking, “I wish church folks could see how these meetings are run.”

– That’s because there’s a strong commitment to sharing power in equal ways.

– That’s because there’s a strong commitment, in fact, an ultimate commitment, to share solidarity and support with people who are vulnerable and marginalized. It’s why we exist.

Both of these are on display in these meetings. No one lives or models these values perfectly, of course, yet these are such a given as values that this community prioritizes conversations about how to live them better. And when we fall short of them, there is little resistance or defensiveness to discuss how to improve.

Part of the reason I found myself saying, “I wish church folks could see how this meeting is run,” is because egalitarianism and solidarity are things that we say we value in the church. We might not always use those exact terms, but in my own Presbyterian tradition, these very concepts are written into the documents that serve as our constitution.

But have we internalized them as values collectively? Are they on display in our work together, in our community life, and in our meetings?

If you stepped into a meeting of this activist community, you might discover pretty quickly that there is literally no leader. The collective is the leader.

People use their leadership skills, but we do not have any one person in that role. Yet we have procedures to make this possible. We rotate who moderates the meeting and who chairs committees with practices to ensure continuity in the work. We voted upon all of these procedures.  We make decisions collectively, and we are remarkably transparent. This community has the most egalitarian, power-sharing I’ve witnessed in a group.

These are church values too, but do we prioritize them?

If not, are they really internalized values?

If they are not internalized values, do they inhibit the level to which we are able to show solidarity with people who are vulnerable and marginalized?

A good friend and colleague of mine gave me some advice when I was being ordained. He said, “When I enter a church, I immediately try to answer two questions: Where is the money flowing? And who is empowered to make actual decisions? If you can figure out these two things, you’ll know where the power center is.”

If we can’t recognize privilege and share power internally inside our own communities, perhaps our efforts to live in solidarity with others is inhibited.

But if we are called again into solidarity, as I believe we are, we will also need to wake up to our privilege and our use of power over others.

These are linked. May they both call each other toward greater change.

–Renee Roederer

What if church could feel more connectional and playful?

I found myself pondering this a couple days ago, and an odd scenario brought this to mind. Actually, it’s a great scenario, though it may seem like a stretch to make analogous comparisons to church communities. At least, initially.

The odd/great scenario is this: People are always singing at Trader Joe’s.

I’ve noticed this for a long time. In fact, about a year ago, I wrote a whole other post about people dancing in Trader Joe’s. Sure, people are there putting groceries into carts, and sometimes, it’s very crowded. But people actually sing and dance in that space! And it kind of fascinates me.

While I push my cart, I will inevitably hear someone singing, perhaps quietly to themselves, along with the music from the loudspeakers. This weekend, I saw employees singing to each other. That 80s song, “Sara,” was on, and someone started crooning it to Rachel.

Rachellllllll. . . RACHEL! Storms are brewin’ in your eyes. . .

Lately, I’ve started a bit of an experiment of my own. I’ve started singing – less under my breath, but actually singing – to the music to see if others will do the same. You know what? They do, and we smile at each other.

I came home and said to my partner Ian, “Why is it that I can sing aloud at Trader Joe’s, and that is somehow, completely acceptable?”

Ever since, I’ve been wondering what makes that so, and I’m wondering if there are any analogous connections to church.

I guess what I’m really noticing is that total strangers are able to connect with each other very easily in that space.

– Perhaps it’s because the store is small and doesn’t look like a grocery store in a warehouse.

– Perhaps it’s because people know what to expect. Folks go to the grocery often. It’s a routine experience they anticipate having with other people.

– Perhaps it’s because pictures of the neighborhood are all over the place.

– Perhaps it’s because there’s an entire wall with drawings from kids.

– Perhaps it’s because the staff seems to communicate that they genuinely enjoy being together and with us.

All of these pieces make the space feel very humanized and connectional. To an actual level that total strangers will sing and dance in the store, fully in the presence of each other!

Now I don’t really need people wearing Hawaiian shirts or singing Jefferson Starship in Christian worship, and the last thing I desire is for church to attempt to be “cool” and “edgy” in some marketing attempt. That always feels disingenuous.

But I will say that some of my favorite, sacred moments happen in experiences of what I call “Holy Low Church.”

I appreciate the sacred mystery and beauty conveyed in formal liturgy and classical music. Some call that “High Church.” That can feel wonderfully transcendent. But I also love when a sacred feeling emerges in worship forms that are a bit more mundane, where the sense of holiness happens less in the formal order but in the connections between the people gathered.

This actually takes planning too. “Holy Low Church” worship isn’t willy-nilly thrown together. It involves crafting a deliberate kind of community space with a rhythm that conveys that something special and sacred is happening. It’s more improvisational in a lot ways, and it comes more directly from the people themselves than the bulletin, though there may still be an order. All of this involves intentional efforts to craft a community culture and space that makes all of this possible.

Maybe Trader Joe’s has something to teach us.

–Renee Roederer

[Public Domain Image]

Have we forgotten that we’re connected?

We are inextricably connected, and this is for our benefit. But if we forget… if we begin to dismiss the needs of each another… if we begin to assume that some are invisible… if we impoverish each other… we will all suffer.

If we live primarily in these ways, in the end, we will all be diminished in one way or another.

We are connected.

What happens to me, affects you. What happens to you, affects me. What happens to our neighbor, affects all the neighbors.

This is simple, and maybe even simplistic, but have we forgotten?

I find myself thinking about this a lot in our current healthcare debates. It should matter to us that millions of people (24 million is the projection) could lose their healthcare. Quality of life will be diminished, and some may lose their lives outright.

This matters.

Because we are connected, it should matter to us that some of our neighbors are in danger. It should matter because our neighbors matter.

But also, do we think this will not affect all of us?

– If older adults or people with pre-existing conditions are priced out of the market (the AHCA would allow insurers to charge much more for these individuals) there will be less people paying into the system, and prices will rise for all of us.

– If younger adults change jobs and have a break in their coverage, they can face a penalty when they sign up for coverage again. (The AHCA would allow insurers to charge 30% more for these individuals during the first year of re-enrollment.) That means that some may choose not to sign up for coverage again because they cannot afford the penalty. When fewer people are paying into the system, prices go up for all of us.

– When people have to pay much more for medical care, they have less money for their other needs. This is a problem. They also have less money to donate to the causes that fund the aid of others.

– If Medicaid experiences a big reduction in funding, some will lose their insurance altogether, and when they have a health need, they will go to the emergency room. This means that hospitals will use charity care to pay for these services, and there will be less money available to do innovative patient care.

In my context, our state signed up for the Medicaid expansion through the ACA/Obamacare, and as a result, 650,000 previously uninsured individuals and families received coverage. This matters. These are our neighbors, and their health matters.

But it also affected all of us in positive ways. The year before the ACA/Obamacare went into affect, hospitals in Michigan spent $627 million dollars in charity care. Since the ACA/Obamacare, hospitals have seen this number reduced by more than $300 million per year.

That means that $300 million per year was freed up to increase healthcare quality and provide new services, benefiting the system as a whole, and by extension, all of us.

We are inextricably connected, and this is for a benefit. But if we forget… we could all lose.

–Renee Roederer

See also, Losing Healthy Michigan Will Make Economy Sick and Answering Your Questions about the Republican Healthcare Plan.

These two radio segments provided the stats above.

There is an argument taking place which frankly blows my mind. We shouldn’t provide free lunches to children at school — children who have little to no means to eat otherwise — because. . .

“We need to teach them self-reliance. Grit. We don’t want them to learn that things are just handed to them.”

First of all, this argument is really an excuse. It’s said by people who do not want to aid one another, period. This argument attempts to paste a veneer of, “I’m really trying to help them,” on horrible intentions.

But also, the illogic of it reveals the cruelty. I mean, why not be consistent?

Parents who are packing lunches for your children today, do not do so. And whatever you do, don’t hand over any lunch money! In fact, don’t provide dinner for them tonight unless they find some way to earn it. The best thing you can possibly imagine is for your kids to come home today carrying a sign that says, “Will work for food.” That’s great! Put them to work! Teach them that nothing is freely given. Teach them they have to earn everything. . . Their food. Their clothing. Their shelter. Their keep.  Their worth.

No one should know that they’re cared for solely because they matter. That’s risky! They might grow up to believe that they and indeed everyone should be supported and included during challenging times, simply and wholly because of their humanity. They might come to believe that they too can share resources and help others also, especially when others go lacking and do not have access to resources otherwise.

But actually. . . do you know what children learn when we choose not to care for their needs? The fundamental needs of their bodies?

They learn they’re not worth anything.

It harms their bodies and their spirits.They don’t learn grit. They learn shame. This is not self-empowerment. It’s neglect.

And that can impact the trajectory of their lives. We do them a great disservice. Because they’re not worthless or shameful.

Our arguments, intentions, impacts, and inhumanity are shameful.

–Renee Roederer

[Public Domain Image]

This isn’t a perfect analogy, but…

Last Friday, our electricity shut off suddenly, and I was pretty surprised. 

On Wednesday, two days before, our region had a wind storm. All day long, the wind blew hard, causing trees and branches to fall on powerlines. At one point, 800,000 people in Southeast Michigan were without electricity.

But not us. We didn’t have any trees down in our yard, and our power stayed on. 

That is, until Friday. We were without electricity for 24 hours. 

It became clear that our electricity was shut off in order to fix the system and provide power to the other 800,000 people. I didn’t enjoy it. It was rather inconvenient.

But would I have preferred the opposite? That our electricity stayed on without interruption, causing others to never have theirs restored? That my neighbors would literally never have electricity again?

Of course not. The system needed to be fixed.

So why should I stand by unaffected in ways that. . .

. . . cause people to lose health care indefinitely?

. . . cause cities to lose access to clean drinking water?

. . . cause children to lose free lunches at schools?

Sometimes we have to fix the whole system.

–Renee Roederer