Smuggling Grace

The bio-electrical fluctuations in this mushroom are playing a keyboard.

I was driving on my commute, listening to music on shuffle. “I Can See Clearly Now” by Johnny Nash came on. It’s a very sunshine-y song.

Literally.

It’s gonna be a bright (bright!)
Bright —
Bright and sunshine-y day.

As the music started, I was only half paying attention, but then, the second line jumped out at me.

I can see clearly now, the rain is gone.
I can see all obstacles in my way.

A line about obstacles? In a sunshine-y song? And this is good news — a nice development?

I guess it is, if seeing them means we can finally stop tripping over what we couldn’t name before.

I’ve heard this song so many times, but this was the first time that line really stood out. Sometimes, we go through our days on autopilot, unaware of the obstacles right in front of us — or worse, we’ve normalized them.

It’s pretty great news when we can finally see them clearly.

— Renee Roederer

I looked up and watched several leaves float down from the sky. They were falling in real time from very tall trees.

“They’ve never been untethered before,” I thought with some sadness, because for some reason, I tend to anthropomorphize things. I watched them fall to the ground.

I kept walking and pondering… As I was doing this, I realized that intertwined root systems existed underneath my feet with every step, unseen as I walked along this pathway with trees on either side.

Sometimes, we’re more connected than we think we are.

—Renee Roederer

This video of Anderson Cooper’s recent appearance on the Late Night with Stephen Colbert really moved me:

“Listening to others has changed my life. It has saved my life in many ways, and it’s given me a new life. I’m so grateful… I routinely call people who have sent me direct messages, and I speak to them on the phone.” He shares that he was never able to work through his grief and losses until his later years, but now that he’s gone down this pathway, it has transformed his life. “It’s only in the last two years by feeling this grief and this sadness that I’ve been able to feel joy.”

Though I am no longer working as pastor in a congregational setting, several times a month, I lead services in Presbyterian churches, filling in for colleagues who are away. Most of the time, when I enter the worship space, the communion table is covered in paraments with liturgical colors and Christian symbols.

Last Sunday, the cloths on the communion table had images of produce — corn, cherries, and berries. Though not typical, this is a lovely set of images for a communion table where gratitude is voiced and sacred meals are shared. I noticed these paraments right away.

Then when I sat in my seat, I looked to my left where there was one more table. I had not yet noticed its covering. This table holds the Bible and the candles. And its cloth — its parament — had tractors all over it.

“This is for James, ” Susan said to me as she lit the candles. (Both names changed)

James is one of the youngest children connected to the community, and he’s the child present most frequently in worship. “You can’t have these” — Susan gestured to the fruits and vegetables on the communion table — “without these.” She pointed to the tractors.

“That’s true!” I replied, while smiling.

Mostly, I was smiling because I was touched that these elders are caring intentionally and collectively for their youngest child. Many young kids are enamored with tractors, and if that’s important to James, it’s important to them. And that is because James is important to them.

Within the best visions and expressions of Church, the sense of household keeps expanding. No longer are we bound only by those most immediate to us — under our roof, close to our age, similar to our background. The belonging is larger than that, and it keeps growing all the time.

“This is for James.”
That is lovely.

—Renee Roederer

On Saturday, there were five different No Kings rallies in my county. Between them, at least 12,000 people protested and marched. I attended one of them, and it was joyful. I saw so many signs that named the injustices currently underway — signs that take those seriously, too — but the people holding them were defiant in their solidarity and jubilation. Like many places elsewhere, there were people in inflatable costumes, and there was a great deal of humor.

In the midst of difficult realities, these events are fun. But they aren’t designed that way for their own sake. There is tremendous wisdom in this approach.

Before these events even took place, the Speaker of the House said that these would be “Hate America” rallies. Additionally, a few days ago, the White House Press Secretary said, “the Democrat Party’s main constituency are made up of Hamas terrorists, illegal aliens and violent criminals.” They seek to paint narratives of resistors as dangerous criminals.

But…

It’s pretty hard for that narrative to land when major cities have no arrests, and people are parading with costumes, music, and humor as they engage in vital truth telling. Also, they’re not all Democrats.

Sometimes, resistance involves busting the narratives.

Then there’s another narrative floating around, too: We don’t have Kings. These people are such whiners.

Last night, the President of the United States himself shared an AI generated video of him flying a plane and dumping excrement on protesting crowds — dressed as a king.

So which is it?

It’s pretty hard to say these rallies aren’t well-titled. Not because of AI slop but because of the self-perception of the one being protested. And most of all, because of his rollback of constitutional rights.

Sometimes, resistance involves busting the narratives.

—Renee Roederer

— Photos by Renee Roederer

So lovely.

This morning, I find myself thinking about interruptions — the types of unexpected experiences that change our lives in powerful ways. Some interruptions are undoubtedly disruptive, but others are gifts we never expected, like,

-the life-changing person we didn’t anticipate meeting,
-the invitation that put us in the right place at the right time,
-the story that encouraged us to ask a new question,
-the feedback that taught us something unrecognized in ourselves,
-the movement that emerged rather organically.

Though rarely sought after intentionally, some interruptions add depth and direction to the scope of our lives. They can also bring us into community in powerful ways. They are some of the greatest gifts we receive.

Today, I am pondering these kinds of interruptions in my life and giving thanks. While unexpected at the time, much later, these are the kinds of experiences we cannot imagine our lives without.

What are some of yours?

–Renee Roederer

I was interviewed recently for a podcast, and it was such an enjoyable experience. The Wheelie Good Podcast! is focused on cycling, and Doug French, the host, interviewed me about my immensely large project of e-biking from my home to every street in Ann Arbor in alphabetical order. This endeavor is wildly inefficient, but adventurous!

Doug is such a great interviewer. We started by talking about my project, but soon he was asking about different roles I’ve had and chapters I’ve lived. I felt a bit like I did a life review. And I think I was able to give at least a nod to just about every single community I’ve ever loved. It was so lovely.

A lot of the podcast centers upon epilepsy and community. Not surprisingly, that involves my leadership role with the Epilepsy Foundation of Michigan, but also my own experience growing up with epilepsy in childhood.

Doug said something that no one has ever said to me before. It’s also not a thought I’ve ever had.

I was talking about how my work at the Epilepsy Foundation of Michigan has been a 2nd career for me. Then I added, “But this is not an island I’m just visiting for a while. This is the pathway I see myself on for a very long time.”

Then Doug said, “But also, this was first. You were born with this.”

That’s a simple thought and on the surface, it’s about chronology. But it also felt special. Yes, 2nd career. But I’ve returned to the foundation — a key part of the beginning of my story. That’s not just about chronology. I feel so purposeful in this, and with gratitude. It makes me feel a sense of wholeness too, like I’m healing a part of my experience as well.

I’m still thinking about that line. The podcast episode will be out in about a month, and I’m looking forward to listening — and sharing it — when it’s ready.

—Renee Roederer