Smuggling Grace

Image Description: The sun shines through a plane of broken glass.

Do you know this saying?

If a thing’s worth doing, it’s worth doing well. 

Don’t get me wrong. I support hard work and excellence and all of that, but ultimately, I appreciate what G.K. Chesterton has to say about this. He was known for turning common sayings on their head in order to gain greater meaning from them. He started to say this instead:

If a thing’s worth doing, it’s worth doing badly.

That’s better. It may sound strange to our ears, but it’s more life-giving. Because if we think about it, it brings home this truth: If a thing is worth doing, it’s worth doing. Period. No matter the result.

– This saying bolsters people who are willing to try something innovative, even as they recognize the possibility for failure. If it turns out badly, it may be the necessary catalyst for learning. The process or the failure itself may yield insights and discoveries toward the next idea, one that would have never been conceptualized beforehand.

– This saying bolsters people who are pursuing a calling, even as they reckon with the reality that some will place roadblocks in their path. The journey toward any kind of calling takes twists and bends. At times, the these turns are remarkably unfair. At times, they are thoroughly unjust. I do not make light of this. They are harmful — not good. But the calling can emerge in spite of them.

– This saying bolsters people who are willing to tell the truth, even as they recognize it marks them for risk. Whistleblowers come to mind, in particular. There are times when we honestly cannot afford such risks. But when we can, there is life and vitality in speaking truth to power. Even if we do not shift the power entirely, those words of truth are out there in the world. They keep working. I trust that they take on a life of their own, especially as they inspire more people to come forward and speak truthfully.

It’s messy.

But if a thing’s worth doing, it’s worth doing badly.

– Renee Roederer

Image Description: A white strip of paper says “Thank you…” in black, cursive ink with a pen above the ellipsis. There’s a red background.

As bizarro as Coronavirus Time™ has been with so much distance and separation, the Michigan Nones and Dones Community has met with more frequency, not less, but over Zoom.

Now that we are using this platform, we can invite people outside of Southeast Michigan to join us. With this in mind, I realize I can extend this invitation right here! Want to join our next event? ( Saturday, May 16 at 10am EDT)

Would you say that you’re spiritually curious but institutionally suspicious? Or spiritual but not religious? Or committed to a religious tradition but struggling with an organized religious community? Or someone who doesn’t want a label — just a good conversation? We’d love to have you join us.

Here’s our next event. I invite you if this intrigues you. We’ll meet over Zoom. Just RSVP, and we’ll send you the Zoom information.

Showing up: For yourself, For Others (<— Click this link to RSVP)

Event Description:

“In the challenge of this pandemic, what does it mean to show up?
For yourself?
For others?

We invite you to join the Michigan Nones and Dones community for a conversation about the unique ways we give and receive as ourselves. We’ll meet on Saturday, May 16 from 10-11:30am over Zoom. (Please RSVP, and we’ll send you the Zoom information in a personal message. You can meet us over video or over the phone.)

Who are you uniquely in the world? What spiritual gifts and callings do you have? How can you receive and give from these?

A quote from Fred Rogers (Mr. Rogers!):

“All of us, at some time or other, need help. Whether we’re giving or receiving help, each one of us has something valuable to bring to this world. That’s one of the things that connects us as neighbors–in our own way, each one of us is a giver and a receiver.”

See you on Saturday!”

We’d love to have you!

–Renee Roederer

Image Description: A curvy line of tea light candles.

My motherhood always feels like wonderment.
“Where then have these come from?”

Ide. Behold.

Isaiah 49:19-21
Surely your waste and your desolate places
and your devastated land—
surely now you will be too crowded for your inhabitants,
and those who swallowed you up will be far away.
The children born in the time of your bereavement
will yet say in your hearing:
‘The place is too crowded for me;
make room for me to settle.’
Then you will say in your heart,
‘Who has borne me these?
I was bereaved and barren,
exiled and put away—
so who has reared these?
I was left all alone—
where then have these come from?’

Today, I’d like to share Kim Andre Arnesen’s choral piece, “Even When He Is Silent.” The text comes from words that were discovered at Auschwitz, etched on a wall by a Jewish prisoner. This performance is by the S:t Jacobs Vokalensemble.

Text:

Image Description: A freshly baked loaf of sourdough bread, cut in half, on a beige color plate on a kitchen counter.

My friend L seems to have telepathic knowledge of my food cravings. He and his family are the ones who delivered homemade cookies and cream ice cream to my doorstep on Easter Sunday without any knowledge that I was specifically missing out on that exact treat. I was looking forward to it so much, but my grocery delivery was canceled that very day.

Yesterday morning, I said to myself, “I really wish I had some sourdough bread.” I thought about how delicious that sounded, and I imagined having some with butter or olive oil and spices. “I wonder how I can order some?” I wondered with curiosity.

Then in the afternoon, L sent me a message and said, “I’m baking two sourdough loaves today. Would you like one of them?”

How does he know?

You know, it’s pretty special to have unique skills for telepathic snack summoning. Move over ESP. I have TSS.

The real truth, of course, is it’s pretty special to have such wonderful friends — SWF — especially in a difficult time like this.

Thanks L and Fam.

–Renee Roederer

A while back, a friend of mine made this cute little sticker and sent it to me and some other colleagues. It’s a potato, and it says, “You can do the thing!”

So I offer it as encouragement in whatever direction you need.

You can do the thing!

You really can!

Image description: Two pieces of Little Caesar’s Crazybread are on a white plate with the word THANKFUL written in black, all-caps. There is some marinara sauce on the right bottom of the plate. 

Over the last few weeks during Coronavirus Time™ I’ve joined a congregation out of state over Zoom. This congregation has a tradition of sharing communion weekly. Due to their own rhythms (additionally affirmed by the Presbyterian Church (U.S.A.), they have been joining other congregations in participating in communion electronically. People are encouraged to bring to the moment whatever bread, wine, or juice they have in their houses.

I know there a multitude of views, theological convictions, and personal commitments behind the Eucharist, including how best to practice and honor this sacred tradition. That is all the more true during this time apart.

But I’ll just cut to the chase of this post. When I got to this moment on Sunday, I pulled out of the fridge the bread I had:

This is the first time I’ve ever experienced the spirit of communion over Little Caesar’s Crazy Bread.

I’ll be honest that this made me laugh when I pulled it out of the fridge. How could it not? But I’m not making light of the Eucharist or this moment either. I seem to recall that Jesus once fed a multitude with a tiny amount of meager food that seemed utterly inadequate to the moment.

And is this time we’re living not Crazybread?

The Crazybread of Christ, broken for you.
Thanks be to God.

—Renee Roederer

Image description: There is an orange-brown background, and toward the right side of the image, there is a circle of symbols of people made from paper. They are holding hands in the circle, and a light is shining in the middle of the circle.

I’ve been reflecting on this lately:

For a long time in my life, I believed I needed to be strong for community. I mean this in two ways: I had a calling to be a care giver in community, so I wanted to provide that strength. But also, for a lot of my life, I thought I had to be strong to weasel my way into community — that strength would give me entrance into community, and if I made myself useful, I might also be able to have my needs met there. I don’t mean that I believed I needed to be invulnerable in some way. But these were instincts I had, and in my growing up years, especially.

But in these last few years of my life, I really feel that I am strong from community. I feel very loved and cared for, and I am amazed at how much care comes my way, even now in physical isolation — in calls, texts, Zoom check-ins, and snail mail… you name it. I belong intrinsically to a community that is broad and deep, and that care finds me and sustains me every day. And I share from this too: My community is not some possession for me, over here, by myself, something that I get to experience, but others cannot have. I am constantly passing along the strength, wisdom, and love I find here.

I am strong from community. I get to share this.

But my deepest awareness these days is this: I am called to be a care receiver.

What a shift that is! There is never a day I won’t be a care giver. That’s who and how I am. But I have this calling all the more: I am called to be a care receiver.

—Renee Roederer

Image Description: A blue jay has its back turned, and there’s a great a great view of the blue jay’s tail.

Good morning, Blog Readers,

This week, I did a webinar with Practical Resources for Churches entitled, “Building Community Across Distance.”

A reminder: When it comes to building community across distance, you don’t have to do this as anyone other than the person you are. You have gifts and skills for building community across distance just by virtue of being you. Really and truly.

I thought I would share that webinar if it’s helpful:
Building Community Across Distance

–Renee Roederer