Author: gracesmuggler

This sermon was preached at Milford Presbyterian Church in Milford, Michigan and was focused upon Luke 16:19-31.  The video recording is above and a written manuscript is below.

Luke 16:19-31

This morning, I would like to begin with a poem. It’s by Rumi, a 13^th century Persian poet. It’s entitled, “The Guesthouse.”

The Guesthouse

This being human is a guest house.
Every morning a new arrival.

A joy, a depression, a meanness,
some momentary awareness comes
as an unexpected visitor.

Welcome and entertain them all!
Even if they are a crowd of sorrows,
who violently sweep your house
empty of its furniture,
still, treat each guest honorably.
He may be clearing you out
for some new delight.

The dark thought, the shame, the malice.
meet them at the door laughing and invite them in.

Be grateful for whatever comes.
because each has been sent
as a guide from beyond.

My friends, this morning we are present for a time of worship. In this time and space of worship, we are welcomed fully as we are. And from this reality of worship, we are invited to see the world as it truly is –
God’s sacred world in all its need and pain,
God’s beloved world in all its worth and value.

Today, we are invited see our sacred story come alive.
That holy story is God with us.

This story – God with us — invites us to see the world as God dreams it to be.
Before this story, we make confessions.
We have fallen short of this dream.

This story – God with us — invites us to turn toward the direction of the Kingdom of God.
Before this story, we repent.
We are called to new directions.

This story – God with us — invites us forward from this place to participate in God’s mission, working to bring that world into being.
Before this story, we are sent with boldness and humility.
We are commissioned.

Today, we are invited see our sacred story come alive.
That holy story is God with us.

All of this is worship.

And as God is with us,
Today, in worship, we ourselves are with God.
We are like that Guesthouse.
Every time we enter this sacred reality of worship, we are like that Guesthouse.
We bring joys and concerns with us.
We bring memories.
We bring emotions.
They enter this space with us —
a joy, a depression, a meanness,
the dark thought, the shame, the malice.
We could extend beyond the language of the poem to name all the hopes and all the heaviness we carry into worship today.

We certainly find ourselves connected to a world reeling with need and pain.

Our nation has experienced a very painful week. We have heard news stories of violence and loss. This week began with explosive devices found in New York and New Jersey, and then, a suspect was detained by police officers. It continued with the news that three black people have been killed by police officers –
Tyree King, thirteen years old, in Springfield, Ohio,
Terence Crutcher, father of four, in Tulsa, Oklahoma, and
Keith Lamont Scott, father of seven, in Charlotte, North Carolina.
Our week concludes with mass protests, and they will continue beyond this week. There have been some instances of rioting, but most are protesting peacefully and fiercely, calling our attention to forms of systemic racism in our country.

We carry all of this into worship.
We bring it all here, and as we do so, we dare to live the sacred story we share,
which is God with us.
Today, Emmanuel, God with us,
sees the pain we feel,
sees the pain we know,
and invites us to see the pains of our neighbors,
including any pains which we have yet to recognize.

And that large, sacred story we share is found in the small, particular story before us today.

Once, while Jesus was teaching his disciples about money, some of the Pharisees began to ridicule him. So Jesus told this story:

There was a rich man who was dressed in purple and fine linen and who feasted sumptuously every day. This man had all that he needed and more. He was marked with clothing which indicated that he had worth and value, and he ate a delicious feast every day – anything and everything he could want.

But meanwhile, at his gate, lay a poor man named Lazarus, covered with sores, who longed to satisfy his hunger with what fell from the rich man’s table. While this rich man feasted daily, Lazarus received nothing, not even a crumb. Perhaps he wished that his life was marked with worth and value too. Meanwhile, the dogs came and licked his sores. Lazarus had continual suffering.

The rich man never acknowledged Lazarus or his suffering. It seems as though Lazarus was mostly ignored. . . never seen. But Jesus indicates that Lazarus is seen, known, loved, and cherished by God. Jesus indicates that Lazarus has a life and identity marked by worth and value.

In the story, both men die and are brought to Hades, the Greek underworld of the dead. Biblical scholars believe that Jesus used an old Egyptian genre of storytelling to express this next part of the story – a genre where characters are separated in the afterlife in order to contrast their lives on earth. So this is less about the geography of heaven and hell and more about that great contrast and how it functioned. It’s about how that great contrast still functions in our world.

It’s also about a great reversal. This reversal is a major theme of the Gospel of Luke. “The first shall be last, and the last shall be first,” we hear from Jesus. In the first chapter of the Gospel, we hear from Mary, the mother of Jesus, “God has brought down the powerful from their thrones, and lifted up the lowly; God has filled the hungry with good things, and sent the rich away empty.”

This great reversal does not reveal a lack of love for the wealthy and privileged; God loves all people and the whole creation. But rather, it reveals God’s posture toward those who are suffering, deprived of what they need to live. It reveals God’s love and posture toward those who are robbed of the worth and value of their lives truly hold.

And with this reversal on display, we are confronted with questions: How will we live toward those who are suffering and deprived of what they need to live? How will we honor those whose worth and value are being maligned daily? What will our love look like? What will be our posture?

In the rest of the parable, we see that the rich man’s posture has not changed. Even in the afterlife, as he is being tormented, he cannot see Lazarus as a full person. He doesn’t address Lazarus but instead, asks father Abraham to send him as a personal servant. “Father Abraham, have mercy on me, and send Lazarus to dip the tip of his finger in the water and cool my tongue; for I am in agony in these flames.” He still cannot see Lazarus as a full person of worth and value. Then he wants Abraham to send Lazarus to warn his brothers about this terrible place. “Then, father, I beg you to send him to my father’s house – for I have five brothers – that he may warn them, so that they will not also come into this place of torment.”

And this is when Abraham speaks some intriguing and challenging words. Perhaps we are called to hear these intriguing and challenging words from the voice of Jesus today. Abraham replies, “They have Moses and the prophets; they should listen to them.” They have these holy words  of worship which reveal God’s posture toward those who are suffering. They should listen and let these words change their own posture.

But the rich man protests. “No, father Abraham; but if someone goes to them from the dead, they will repent.”

Abraham says, “If they do not listen to Moses and the prophets, neither will they be convinced if someone rises from the dead.”

And this very day, Jesus says to us, “If you do not listen to Moses and the prophets, neither will you be convinced if someone rises from the dead.”

And those words grab me this morning. . . Those words challenge me. . .  They nearly bring me to tears. . . Because we have seen someone risen from the dead. We hear that story. We speak to that reality. We proclaim its truth, and we gather around that sacred story – God with us, alive – week after week, Sunday after Sunday, but are we convinced? Are we convinced to the point that we shift our own posture toward those who are suffering? Do we love with the same love that a resurrected God demonstrates? Do we honor the worth and value found in the lives around us, recognizing the new life Jesus breathes into our world?

During a week of painful violence and loss, does this resurrection make any difference? Does it change us?

I’ll be honest. It’s always interesting to be the guest preacher during a week when we must address racism and all of that challenging work that is before us, not only because we are Americans, but most especially because we are Christians, followers of Jesus, our resurrected Lord. And I’ll tell you, I’m not an expert on race or the ways that racism functions in our world. I’m not fully enlightened as one who has risen above it. I have to ask myself challenging questions all the time.

But I do see the suffering. I do see that black people and people of color face indignity, discrimination, systems of mass incarceration, violence, and death, many times because of the color of their skin and the internalized ideas that those with greater power and privilege carry within them.

I see Jesus, one who was unjustly accused, imprisoned, tortured, and killed by state violence. And I see that it could not defeat him. We tell the sacred story – God with us, alive – for he is resurrected, among us, beyond us, and calling us to new things.

Does this resurrection make a difference? Will we be convinced to shift our posture and the collective posture of this nation?

Because this time of worship is the Lord’s Day. It is the sacred day of resurrection. We bring ourselves and all that we’ve been carrying to this time of worship. We are a Guesthouse of hopes and heaviness.

But we also encounter the resurrection. We encounter the resurrected Lord who calls us, and we are invited to carry that new life forward beyond this place.

So my friends, will we do it? Will we see our neighbors? Will we value them? Will we take the worship we have experienced in this building and bring it outside, so that the world around us is a Guesthouse of
Justice,
Peace,
Worth,
Value,
Togetherness,
Life.

Will we do it? Will we change our posture? These questions linger before us.

Let us follow.
Amen.

–Renee Roederer

With a great deal of gratitude, I have wonderful news to share.

Last Tuesday, the Presbytery of Detroit voted to approve a big proposal. They are making me a Community Chaplain to Nones and Dones, a position and role which has never existed before.

Outside the bounds of any particular church building,
Outside the bounds of any one town,
Outside the bounds of what we’ve thought ministry positions can look like,

the Presbytery of Detroit said YES to something new.

Within the geographical region of the Presbytery of Detroit, I am commissioned to be a chaplain, pastor, community organizer, and friend to people who are religiously unaffiliated (the ‘Nones’) and people who have left Church behind, often for very good reasons (the ‘Dones’). Their perspectives and forms of spirituality matter, and I am learning a great deal from them. Together in community and shared conversations, we will continue to go deeper as we explore faith, spirituality, meaning, and justice together.

This proposal is large in its scope and breaks a lot of typical ministry norms, but it also commissions me toward a particular context. For that, I am just as grateful.

This proposal brings this vision to students at the University of Michigan. In partnership with Canterbury House, I will build friendships with student Nones and Dones. Canterbury House is the Episcopalian ministry for the University of Michigan, and as a partner, I will also help with their own ministry and student community. I look forward to working alongside them.

I want to express my gratitude to everyone who made this possible. And as you read this, I also thank you for adding your support, enthusiasm, prayers, and good energy too. I am grateful that you follow Smuggling Grace, and as always, I’m thankful for your support.

We’ll have some more work to do as we build this vision. When it comes to community, we’ll continue to meet new people. When it comes to the position, we’ll be working to consider funding. As of yet, there is no funding for this role, but I asked the Presbytery of Detroit to approve this proposal in advance, recognizing that official support often opens doors toward opportunities. Folks from the Presbytery will continue to brainstorm this with me. And if you have any ideas, let me know!

Finally, I’ll say that I have been floating and glowing ever since I learned this proposal was likely to be approved. Now that it is, you just can’t imagine how grateful I am! I keep listening to “I’ve Got a Golden Ticket” from Willy Wonka and the Chocolate Factory.

Feel free to listen and imagine me this happy because I am!

I think Grandpa Joe sums it up:

“I never dreamed that I would climb
over the moon in ecstasy,
but nevertheless, it’s there that I’m shortly about to be.”

Nevertheless!
It’s there!
that I’m shortly about to be!

–Renee Roederer

[Public Domain Image]

As we head toward the weekend, our nation is reeling from the challenging events of the last few days. Our week began with explosive devices in New York and New Jersey, and then, a suspect was detained. It continued with the news that three black people have been killed by police officers — Tyree King, thirteen years old; Terence Crutcher, father of four; and Keith Lamont Scott, father of seven. We are ending our week with mass protests and reports of rioting.

Many of us feel fear and anger. . .
Many of us long for real solutions. . .
Some of us are afraid of our own feelings.

And ultimately, this is problematic.
Black lives matter more than white feelings.

In the face of racism and state violence, there are more than enough temptations for white people to remain silent. Sometimes, we are afraid of saying the wrong thing and causing more harm. But other times, within ourselves, we are tempted to silence our thoughts and empathy too. Rather than grapple with the reality of systemic racism, we are tempted to move toward denial and blame. And if we feel inconvenienced by it all — hearing about it, feeling through it, or acting against it — we can simply walk away from the conversation. It does not endanger our lives to do so.

And this is a total privilege, because black people and other minoritized communities simply cannot do the same. As a white person, I cannot speak for people of color or represent their full experiences. But I can share some of what I hear.

This is what I want to share today:

While white people choose whether or not to grapple with racism —
at times, fearing their feelings more than the loss of human lives;
at times, turning the shields of denial and blame into weapons —
Black people live with the threat of continual trauma.

Black people live daily with the threat of continual trauma.

We’re invited to listen, wake up to this reality, and act. Silence is a privilege. It is also a form of violence when it bolsters the very racist systems which continue to cause death, discrimination, detention, and despair.

Let’s listen and be led by black voices directly. Here is a powerful video from KevOnStage:

–Renee Roederer

“The Privilege of Silence in the Persistence of Trauma” was also published on the Huffington Post. If you would like to follow more from Renee Roederer, you can subscribe to Smuggling Grace or follow her at @renee_roederer.

 

 

This is abundantly true:
I am in love with writing.

Truly, I am.

This website and its blog are nearly a year old, and I want to express gratitude for everyone who has visited, read, followed along, shared, and cultivated conversations here. The last year has taught me how much I love to write, and I want to thank you for that. I am especially grateful when others have added their voices too, as it has allowed me to meet new people and hear a variety of perspectives. Thank you for your presence and encouragement.

In a multitude of ways, this last year has been an incredible journey. In addition to this blog, I have been working to form a new spiritual community called Michigan Nones and Dones. Its formation emerged as a bit of a surprise when I started a group on Meetup.com, then realized I had stumbled completely into a vision that is needed. Michigan Nones and Dones is a community for those who are “spiritually curious but institutionally suspicious.” It includes people who are religiously unaffiliated (the Nones) and people who have left traditional, institutional churches (Dones). We meet in coffee shops and restaurants to talk about our experiences and hopes for our spiritual lives. This community, its formation, and most especially, its people are a real gift.

Earlier in the summer, I was invited to a retreat to talk about this new vision and what I am learning. While I was there, a participant asked me, “So are you tentmaker?”

Now you might wonder what on earth she was asking, or how such a question might emerge out of the blue. But I knew what she meant. She wasn’t curious if I am especially adept at designing tents. I’m definitely not! She was referring to a type of ministry service.

Tentmakers are people who practice forms of ministry without pay, as they are funded through alternative means. The term has its origin in the 1st century with the Apostle Paul who traveled around Asia Minor, forming new churches and funding his work by making tents. At the time of her question this summer, while so much was in process (and these days, it still is) I answered, “Yes.” Then after a short pause, I added, “But I don’t know what my tent is!” We laughed.

This is why I am featuring a photo of tent this morning. This amazing, emerging calling of writing has become as a bit of a tent. It is “that other thing I do,” except it’s not simply a side project. I have discovered that I am truly in love with writing. It is a part of this new chapter.

This work will always remain free of charge. So in that sense, it’s not really a tent. Perhaps I need a tent for this emerging tent! But it has occurred to me, in part because folks actually ask (thank you!) that people would love to support what I do, especially this tent of writing.

So today, I am offering that opportunity if you so desire. If you would like to give a gift to this work at Smuggling Grace, you can go to this link and donate: Support Smuggling Grace. Your gift of any size contributes toward the cost of maintaining this site, and it supports all those coffee and restaurant dates with this new, unfolding community.

Many thanks for your support and encouragement.

–Renee Roederer

 

[The Garfield Bulldog football team takes a knee during the national anthem Friday at the Southwest Athletic Complex. Visiting Garfield played West Seattle. Dean Rutz/The Seattle Times.]

Over the last few days, people have posted news stories and videos on social media, accompanied with feelings of anger, dismay, and pain about the violent death of Terence Crutcher at the hands of police officers. Let’s just go ahead and call it what it is — state violence and murder.

Terence Crutcher’s vehicle broke down on the interstate. He was on his way home from the community college where he takes classes, and with a stalled SUV,  he was in need of aid. He committed no crime, and he had no weapon. As it circled above, a helicopter captured video. Police cars nearby also captured the footage. While the video is recording, Terence Crutcher holds his hands up and complies with orders. From the helicopter, we hear someone say that he looks like a “bad dude.” On what basis does he make such assumptions and assertions?

We never hear the words that are spoken on the ground, but there is no lunge or act of aggression in that video, even in defense as police officers have their weapons drawn. Instead, suddenly, there’s a man dying on the pavement from gunshot wounds, and officers do nothing to render aid. Instead, one begins to console Betty Shelby, the police officer who shot Terence Crutcher. They do not assist his dying body. They do not console him as a person.

Terence Crutcher, a beloved father of four children, church leader, student, musician, and friend is now additionally one more unarmed, black person killed for no crime and no aggression. And the nation waits again, sadly expecting more of the same. When police officers practice brutality and exact violent death of unarmed citizens, especially citizens of color, they rarely face accountability in the justice system.

The police officers who killed Tamir Rice, Natasha McKenna, Eric Garner, Aura Rosser, and John Crawford never went to trial.  Four police officers were indicted in connection to the death of Freddie Gray, but in the end, none of them was held responsible. There are other examples also.

I do not paint all police officers with a broad brush, as I know they do not all behave in these ways. But we have a larger system of injustice and a code of silence which keeps accountability from being realized. This renders safety unrealized.

So today, I want to say this clearly:
This is the reason Colin Kaepernick takes a knee during the national anthem.

It is not to disrespect veterans.
It is not to disrespect patriots.
It is a cry and a call for respect —
respect for people of color,
respect for their value,
respect for their lives, and
respect for their families.

It is a cry and a call for respect
to live in a nation without
discrimination,
state violence, and
continual fear.

So where is our outrage for this?  Does it not deserve our outrage, undivided attention, and wholehearted action? If so, we can learn how to stop patterns of police brutality in our nation and act.

Or we can just add our misplaced outrage to the young students who follow Colin Kaepernick in protest. They are experiencing lowered grades and death threats for taking a knee or refusing to stand. By all means, if we have no empathy or decency, we can just place all of our outrage there.

–Renee Roederer

Speak words into the air.
Launch them into being.
Create entire worlds of meaning
from
sound,
voice,
intention.

Expand the universe of thought and possibility,
Propel it forward with sacred truth.
From your mind and heart, begin to introduce
your being,
your worth,
your value.

I AM,
I AM,
I AM.

We are the Word’s cultivation,
formed,
shaped,
nurtured.

We are the world’s culmination,
unearthed,
revealed,
valued.

So
Speak words of form,
We are born!
Sound words of grace,
We are free!
Shout words of love,
We are known!

And from
your very breath,
your very being,
let air become sound,
let sound become word,
let word become truth, for
you are transforming,
you are becoming,
YOU ARE.
You.
Are.

–Renee Roederer

This poem was inspired by a beautiful and powerful video of a father sharing morning affirmations with his three year old child. Click here to watch the video.

[Public Domain Image]

This sermon was preached at New Life Presbyterian Church in Sterling Heights, Michigan and was focused upon Luke 16:1-13.  The audio recording is above and a written manuscript is below.

Luke 16:1-13

This is an intriguing parable. And if you’re wondering, “What is Jesus really saying here, and what does it all mean?” you’re in good company. This parable about the dishonest manager is only found in the Gospel according to Luke. It shows up in the Revised Common Lectionary once every three years, and each time it rolls around, pastors all around the world scratch their heads, and wonder, “What does this mean? And what should I say about this parable?”

It turns out that pastors and preachers are in good company too because Biblical scholars are also unsure of what to make of this parable. They aren’t convinced about how to interpret it. There are many unique details in this parable which speak directly to the culture in which it was told and then later written, and we just don’t have a clear window to view how those details functioned.

But with boldness and humility, let’s just go ahead and dig in.

So a rich man had a manager, and he heard that the manager was squandering the property. “What is this I hear about you?” he asked. “Give me an account of your management, because you cannot be my manager any longer.”

The manager must have panicked, realizing he was going to lose this position. What could he possibly do next? What if his reputation was about to be ruined, and there would be no future opportunities? He said to himself, “What will I do, now that my master is taking the position away from me? I am not strong enough to dig, and I am ashamed to beg.” So he came up with a plan, and this is where the parable becomes particularly interesting. The manager said, “I have decided what to do, so that when I’m dismissed as manager, people may welcome me into their homes.” He comes up with an intriguing plan and then gets to work.

One by one, he contacts the debtors of the rich man and reduces their debt. “How much do you owe my master?”

“A hundred jugs of olive oil? Okay, take your bill and make it fifty.”

“A hundred containers of wheat? Okay, take your bill and make it eighty.”

One by one, the manager contacts all the debtors and puts this plan into place. Here’s something scholars simply do not know: How do these actions square up with the customs of the day? Is the manager doing something illegal? Is he reducing the debt by his own commission, relieving the debtor but taking the hit himself? Something else? We’re just not sure.

But we know what comes next in the story. The rich man discovers what the manager has been doing, and he commends him for acting shrewdly. We don’t know if he gets to keep his job or not, but we do know he is commended.

And here’s where we might get more confused. Jesus commends the manager too. He says, “For the children of this age are more shrewd in dealing with their own generation than are the children of light. And I tell you, make friends for yourselves by means of dishonest wealth so that when it is gone, they may welcome you into the eternal homes.” What does that mean? Is Jesus truly commending dishonesty? Surely not, so is he being sarcastic? Something else? Even scholars aren’t sure.

But his next words offer much for us to ponder. Jesus says, “Whoever is faithful in very little, is also faithful in very much; and whoever is dishonest in very little, is also dishonest in very much.” Perhaps this statement reveals something about character. Or perhaps it encourages the disciples, reminding them that their faithfulness in the small things is truly having a large impact of faithfulness. Perhaps it charges the disciples to serve faithfully with what all that is before them, acknowledging that God is about to entrust them with larger things.

Then Jesus says, “If you have not been faithful with dishonest wealth, who will entrust to you the true riches?” If we’re not faithful with what we have in this world, how will we be able to enter a reality of deeper meaning and connection? How will we see, know, and participate in the Kingdom of God?

And Jesus finishes with this statement. Perhaps it is the culmination of where he is going and an interpretive lens for the rest: “And if you have not been faithful with what belongs to another, who will give you what is your own? No slave can serve two masters; for a slave will either hate the one and love the other, or be devoted to the one and despise the other. You cannot serve God and wealth.”

This is one of those deeply convicting and deeply troubling statements of scripture because it’s easy to nod our heads in agreement but then struggle in our hearts with our own wealth or our ideas about how wealth should function in our world. Money is not evil in and of itself. It’s a resource and a valuable one. But it’s also a powerful one. Our relationship with wealth and our ideas about how wealth should function can become idolatrous.

So here we are. . . with a challenging parable. It’s challenging to understand and interpret, and it challenges us as we consider how God calls us to live our physical and spiritual lives. There are many directions we might go because the parable is so complex, and this is a reminder that we are invited to have a humble relationship with scripture. Before scripture, we are always invited to ask God, “What are you revealing in my heart today? Which part do I especially need to ponder? How are you calling me to act in the world? What are you asking of our church? How can we live faithfully as disciples toward our neighbors?”

And with all these questions swirling about, it’s also a good reminder that each one of us, and all of us collectively, are always part of the sermon on Sunday morning. The sermon does not belong ultimately to the preacher. It’s not something that can be fully contained on pieces of paper, or in my case today, an iPad. It is not encapsulated in a link or a recording that will be placed on the church website later. The sermon is a moment we all participate in, and every holy conviction in this room is a part of it. Every action lived in response to this scripture today is part of the sermon. You are co-preachers with your thoughts, words, and actions. We live this moment together. So how is God calling each one of us, and all of us collectively because we’ve gathered around this parable today? I wonder how that answer will emerge.

I will lift up one particular observation about this parable. Most weeks, I listen to a wonderful podcast. It’s called the Pulpit Fiction Podcast. The two co-hosts of the show delve into the scriptures which are about to appear in Sunday worship. They call their show a “lectionary podcast for preachers, seekers, and Bible geeks.” So if you fit into any of those categories, you are most welcome to listen sometime.

This week, Eric Fistler, one of the co-hosts, said something about this parable which got me thinking in a particular way. He made this observation: Even though the manager was ultimately dishonest in his actions, he chose those actions in the service of relationship. He hoped that reducing amounts of the debtors would gain favor and build the trust of relationship as he moved forward in a new direction. In this parable, Jesus says, “. . . the children of this age are more shrewd in dealing with their own generation than are the children of light.” Eric Fistler invited listeners of the podcast to consider how we might use our means – wealth, time, talents, convictions, commitments, love, and compassion – toward relationships. If this dishonest manager did so through dishonest means, how much more should the children of the light use good means to build and honor relationships with our neighbors?

And what would happen if we entered a season of pondering questions about relationships. How can we use our wealth, time, talents, convictions, commitments, love, and compassion toward relationships? How can we build and honor relationships of trust with our neighbors?

I believe this is a vital question for churches. In the next few weeks and months, many congregations will enter a time of stewardship – a season to consider faithfully how to use our resources and to consider prayerfully how we might give to support the ministries of the church. Eric Peltz, a good friend and colleague, is the pastor of a congregation in Silver Spring, Maryland, and he recently published an excellent article in the Presbyterian Outlook magazine entitled, “Trusting Stewardship.” He raises the point that many of our neighbors do not trust churches. Some do not trust that they will not be welcomed fully. Others expect poor ethics from leaders.

I know this personally in my own work. I’m the organizer of a community called Michigan Nones and Dones. We often describe ourselves as a community for people who are “spiritually curious but institutionally suspicious.” Our community includes people who are religiously unaffiliated (the Nones) and people who have left established, institutional churches (the Dones). In coffee shops and restaurants, we explore spirituality and the teachings of Jesus together. We talk about our life experiences. We’re not discouraging people from having a relationship with a congregation. But we are recognizing that many of them have had painful experiences with congregations, or they are very suspicious based on what they’ve seen. Very frequently, they have felt manipulated by Christians who want to grow their churches and may view them as just another number sitting in the pews for worship. . . or just another person who might give money to sustain the congregation’s budget. They want more than that.

It’s clear that the Church needs to build a stewardship of trust. How might we use our wealth, time, talents, convictions, commitments, love, and compassion to build healthy, trusting relationships? That is something that we will answer with our lives.

Responding to God’s call, where does this parable find you today? It is a complex one, hard to interpret and hard to live. But you are co-preachers every time we gather together before scripture. So how will we live in response?

–Renee Roederer

 

[Public Domain Image]

When I was 22 years old, I spent an academic year working as a substitute teacher. One day, I was assigned to a second grade classroom. Most experiences from the day were rather typical, but I became intrigued by one student’s behavior. Throughout the day, he issued a constant, verbal refrain to remind me that he was not like the rest of the children. Unlike them, he never needed to be corrected.

To the entire group of students, I would say things like,

“Okay, class, I need you to lower your voices.”
And he would respond with, “I wasn’t talking.”

“We need to stand in line as we walk down the hallway.”
And he would pipe up with, “I’m in line.”

“Eyes up here please.”
And he would declare, “I’m looking at you.”

This went on all day. The first time, it was kind of cute. Then it became increasingly annoying. Finally, it brought me to a place of curiosity, wondering what is going on in this child’s world. All day long, this refrain continued, even if I shared that he didn’t need to respond. His tone was never a huff of defensiveness. These verbal comments were spoken calmly as reminders that he made no mistakes, as if some intense form of perfectionism was already forming in his young life. When he said these comments aloud, he was reminding himself as much as he was reminding me. He needed this to be true. He needed to feel exempt from all forms of correction. His pattern was likely a defense to keep other feelings at bay. Perfectionism is frequently rooted in shame.

I have not thought of this memory in many years, but it came into my mind last night as some folks from my community were talking about racism. Specifically, we were discussing how white folks will frequently do just about anything to duck out of a conversation about race. If we* do enter, we have tendencies to remind ourselves and others that racism is real and wrong, but we’re not the ones who do or say racist things.

This is white fragility, a dangerous defense which works to keep certain feelings at bay. We don’t want to feel guilt and shame, so we remind ourselves and others that we aren’t racist.

Sure, most of us do not intend to hurt others through overt forms of racism. Yet we do make harmful mistakes, and we let stereotypes and fears go unquestioned. Most of all, we participate in systems of white supremacy which are designed to benefit and privilege white people at the expense of people of color. We inherited these systems, and collectively, we need to dismantle them.

But we can’t even begin to do that if we won’t enter honest conversations about race. We can’t even make a dent — in fact, we can create much more harm — if white folks do no internal work to recognize the internalized, racist ideas and instincts we carry within ourselves. We all have them. We were socialized to have them by virtue of the systems that surround us.

We want to feel enlightened as though we are above the fray. We are like that 2nd grade student.

The solution is not ultimately to get mired in feelings of guilt and shame. Those feelings may need to arise, but they’re not ultimately what’s at stake here.

What is at stake are the lives of people of color — lives which are subject to the violence and disadvantage of the systems of white supremacy we refuse to acknowledge. We need to question and dismantle the ways those systems operate.

An example is on my mind this morning. I encountered an important news story today: Five students who went to some of the least resourced and thus lowest performing schools in Detroit are now suing the state of Michigan, saying their constitutional right to literacy is being violated. The story discusses the perspective of one of these students: “He says he can’t even seem to get a teacher in every class. He is sick of being sent to the gym to play basketball during Spanish class because he has no Spanish teacher.” The conditions of Detroit Public Schools are inexcusable, harming the lives of young, students of color and their communities. This happens while nearby school districts with more white students flourish.

If we can’t reflect internally about racism’s role in our lives, how will we recognize that we participate in the continuation of these realities?

If we can’t talk to one another about race, how will we build partnerships to actually change these realities?

If we can’t move beyond our feelings and our “Not me!” denials, how will we ever see racism as the sinister reality it is?

–Renee Roederer

*I’m white and am addressing white people most directly in this post. For that reason, when I say “we,” I am referring most specifically to white people.

 

[I found this image here.]

Back in October, a spontaneous idea turned out to be very fruitful. I started a new spirituality group for Nones and Dones on Meetup.com. Perhaps you’ve heard the religious buzzwords ‘Nones’ and ‘Dones’ before. If not, Nones are a growing population of people who are religiously unaffiliated. Dones, meanwhile, are people who claim a religious identity but have left traditional, religious institutions behind (most frequently, Christians who have left institutional churches for good). I wanted to create a community space that feels inviting and safe for friendships and meaningful conversations, so in the group description, I knew we should say outright, “This is no bait and switch, trying to get anyone to join a church.”

Why? So many people have had experiences of showing up to an event only to discover it has a hidden, religious motive attached. To my joyful surprise, since the Meetup Group came into being, Michigan Nones and Dones has become a community. But to my sad surprise, I have discovered the depth and breadth to which people regularly feel manipulated by Christians. Though I expected some of this, the extent of these experiences is so much larger than I anticipated.

Fortunately, this is not the primary atmosphere of our community space when we are together. The participants create a different kind of experience. Personally, I concern myself with this a lot, as I am the most obvious, religiously affiliated person in the group (I’m a Presbyterian minister and often self-identify as a ‘quasi-Done;’ I love my faith and tradition, but I want to see a new wave of reform in churches). Perhaps because the space feels safe enough for it — it’s not a bait and switch — people can tell their stories authentically. I am learning so much from them. In this community, we keep the details of stories confidential, but I can say that manipulation is a common theme in the emerging narratives.

In fact, I don’t think it’s a stretch to say that for many people, their primary experience of Christians involves Christians trying to sell them something. It seems to take two primary forms:

• I am trying to save you from hell. This involves a lot of techniques to convince people that their ideas and backgrounds are wrong so they will see the right-ness of Jesus and have an experience of salvation.

I suppose if someone’s belief, theology, and expectation of hell is truly that strong, it would be somewhat loving to try to save people from it. But. . . I also wonder, if you believe that God can only show grace and love to people after they formally become Christians, can you authentically love the people in front of you right now? Can you learn anything from these people, or are you the sole teacher (ahem, salesperson) trying to move them from one set of beliefs to another?

• I am trying to save my church from decline. This involves a lot of techniques and marketing to sell the value of a church community to people in the hopes that they will affiliate, thus increasing worship numbers and bringing in more pledge dollars to sustain the financial needs of the community.

There’s nothing wrong with authentically welcoming and inviting others into an experience of Christian community. That can be a beautiful expression of discipleship and friendship. But. . . I think we need to evaluate which motives are fueling our invitations. Do we have authentic love and welcome for the people we invite, or are we trying to ‘get’ them back through the doors of churches to ‘get’ some form of institutional survival from them?

I recognize that these strains above seem extreme, but I find them to be very active. And I’m sad — truly so very sad — that sales, marketing, techniques, and manipulation are some of the most frequent experiences people have with Christians.

Meanwhile, however, I’m also discovering this:
People are pretty cool with Jesus.

There are a variety of beliefs about Jesus, but I find that most people, including Nones and Dones, have great admiration for him. Alongside that admiration though, Jesus has sadly become a symbol of our manipulation.

It makes me wonder then, what kind of life-giving conversations could happen around the teachings of Jesus if we were not working to convince, or if people were not bracing themselves to be manipulated? Whether folks are Christians or not, I’m also finding that many would welcome Christians following the teachings of Jesus more and more in the world.

So can we lean more fully into the love, respect, and teachings of Jesus?

If so, let’s start here:
Thou shalt not manipulate.

–Renee Roederer

I reflected upon 9/11 from several different angles yesterday. Then, just as I was ready to close the anniversary, a radio story brought it into focus in an additional way. The radio story was an NPR feature entitled, “Teaching Sept. 11 to Students Who Were Born After The Attacks Happened.” It wonders how educators should teach 9/11 to students too young to remember these events. Though young students did not live through these experiences themselves, they have only known a post-9/11 context. “They have big knowledge gaps” about the day itself, NPR states, yet these students are immersed in the consequences of a post-9/11 world.

“Many teachers struggle with whether and how to teach the attacks and their aftermath,”  the story states. In one sense, we are only fifteen years distanced from events, and we are still grappling with the complexities we lived on that day and the years that followed. But it’s crucial that we teach this story. And not just any version will do. It’s crucial that we teach a complex story.

We need a complex story.
Our children need that,
and so do we.

It’s important honor the grief and fear that Americans felt on that day fifteen years ago. We also need to grapple with the aftermath of 9/11, including the lives our nation took in response. It’s important to value the true heroism of the helpers on that day fifteen years ago. We also need to recognize that some need our help now, including those who encounter Islamophobia in our nation and around the world.

People lost their lives on September 11, 2001, and hundreds of thousands lost their lives in the aftermath. All of these lives are valuable — every single one — and their complex stories are valuable — every single one.

Lost parents,
Lost children,
Americans,
Iraqis,
Afghans,
Firefighters,
Hospital personnel,
Soldiers in warfare,
Soldiers in mental health crises post-warfare.

We need a complex story.

Our children need this because they are living the continuation of that story. How will they tell the story? How will they create the future story?

I was born in 1982, less than ten years after the close of the Vietnam War. And while I had great American history teachers in high school, we spent most of our time studying the Revolutionary Period, the Civil War, and World War II. As far as I can remember, we just barely touched upon the Vietnam War period. I have talked about this with people my age who grew up across the country, and their experiences are similar. We did not learn the complexities of this war or its aftermath while we were in school.

It is not only tragic but concerning if students remain ill equipped to understand the period in which they are living. It is dangerous if they remain ill equipped for the period in which they will lead, particularly if the 9/11 stories they do hear function primarily as propaganda.

We must invite complex stories into our consciousness, and we must actively teach them.

–Renee Roederer