Smuggling Grace

In my work at the Epilepsy Foundation of Michigan, I receive many advocacy calls. Often, they involve discrimination or high stress in employment or educational settings. Occasionally, I hear about difficult encounters with police or other authority figures. Many times, people are struggling financially.

When these calls come to us, we usually have resources to share, and we always offer a listening ear. But sometimes the problems are vast — larger than what can be solved in a single call or by one agency. As David LaMotte often says, “We can’t always fix problems, but we can always change them.”

I take a cue from a friend I deeply admire: Allison Nichol is a civil rights attorney in our national office who hears countless stories like these. She often reminds us that alongside the tangible needs, there’s another human desire at the heart of these conversations — the longing to be witnessed.

And we should never underestimate the impact of that. We all need to know that people care, that we are worth someone’s time and empathy. We need to know that the wrongs done to us matter — that they were, indeed, wrong.

I think many people assume their needs and stories won’t be welcome. But what becomes possible when we do offer witness and welcome?

—Renee Roederer

One of the most courageous things we can do is recognize our deepest emotions and make space to express them.

A friend sent me a Mr. Rogers song this week that I’d never heard before. I’d love to share it with you, too.

Introducing The Truth Will Make Me Free. So lovely.

Written by Fred Rogers | © 1970, Fred M. Rogers

What if I were very, very sad
And all I did was smile?
I wonder after a while
What might become of my sadness?

What if I were very, very angry,
And all I did was sit
And never think about it?
What might become of my anger?

Where would they go, and what would they do
If I couldn’t let them out?
Maybe I’d fall, maybe get sick
Or doubt.

But what if I could know the truth
And say just how I feel?
I think I’d learn a lot that’s real
About freedom.

I’m learning to sing a sad song when I’m sad.
I’m learning to say I’m angry when I’m very mad.
I’m learning to shout,
I’m getting it out,
I’m happy, learning
Exactly how I feel inside of me
I’m learning to know the truth
I’m learning to tell the truth
Discovering truth will make me free.

–Photos by Renee Roederer

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