Smuggling Grace

When I was training to be a pastor, I spent a summer working as a hospital chaplain in a CPE program. CPE stands for Clinical Pastoral Education. It teaches skills for ministry that are used in hospitals and hospice programs, and it provides a learning community where all participants collectively explore the ways their life journeys have shaped them with strengths and growing edges. It is a valuable experience.

During one of our early CPE group sessions, we had an opportunity to tell our life stories and the ways that faith has shaped us. In the midst of telling these stories, one of my cohort members spoke a sentence that intrigued me. I found it to be quite beautiful. As she described a conversion experience, she said, “On that day, I adopted the Christian narrative to myself.” Years later, I do not want to assume all that she meant in that sentence, but I interpreted her words mean that as she received this story, she added her decision to let this Christian narrative mark her life.

I love that sentence:
Today, I adopt the Christian narrative to myself. 

Today is the grief-filled Saturday of the Christian narrative. After hearing the horrific details of Jesus’ death on Friday and experiencing injustice and loss collectively, we now sit with that traumatic reality on this Saturday. We sit in grief with an unexpected tomb – not one unexpectedly empty, for we cannot anticipate that reality. We sit with the trauma of a tomb that unexpectedly holds the lifeless body of the person who embodied love beyond our imagining. As the disciples did so many years ago, we sit with the fear that this love might also be dead and lifeless.

Today, I adopt the Christian narrative to myself.
As I receive this loss,
As I know real pains and losses in the experiences of real human lives,
I add my decision to let this Christian narrative mark my life.

The narrative of this day tells us something powerful. Christians say that Jesus is truly the presence of God in human form. In this sacred narrative, when Jesus experiences trauma and death, God enters death with humanity. God dies.

For some, it might seem controversial to say that God died, and
For some, it might seem illogical to assume a God exists
who could even live or die like we do,
but –
however we understand it,
however it offends us, or
however it confounds us,
this narrative says that love incarnate entered death with us.

Today, I adopt the Christian narrative to myself.
Today, I choose to add my love to losses of the world.
Today, may we all add our love to the grief and unexpected tombs of others.

–Renee Roederer

Image Description: A black marker is writing the word “LOVE” on a red heart.

As we remember and honor the death of Jesus this Friday of Holy Week, we ponder injustice and loss. We remember what Jesus and his followers endured millennia ago, and we reflect upon the deep losses and injustices in our world today.

During his life, Jesus loved and included others so fully that it threatened those who wielded power, particularly the leaders of the Roman state. Jesus loved and included others, and he defended them fiercely, especially all who were marginalized. He did this continually in the face of resistance, and ultimately, he did so in the face of an excruciatingly painful execution.

The writers of the four gospels each tell the story of Jesus’ death from particular perspectives, emphasizing different details. The larger narrative is painful as Jesus experiences betrayal, arrest, torture, public ridicule, and death. But even as these details are woven together in the four gospels, there are several moments of grace and human connection. One moment has been especially meaningful to me over the years.

It is a scene from the cross which is told in two, short verses.

When Jesus saw his mother and the disciple whom he loved standing beside her, he said to his mother, ‘Woman, behold, your son.’ Then he said to the disciple, ‘Behold, your mother.’ And from that hour the disciple took her into his own home. (John 19:26-27)

Jesus demonstrated love during his injury and trauma. While he is dying, he gives these two beloved people to one another. Jesus loves them into kinship. 

This passage has been especially meaningful to me over the years. I have written about it before, reflecting on the ways my life has been given over to others in the midst of the community. As we embrace the personhood and belonging of one another, we are loved into kinship. These bonds can be just as vital and formative as the bonds we experienced when we were born or adopted into our family of origin.

On this Friday of Holy Week, we remember losses and injustices and we can also remember this vision of kinship. We are called to follow this example. We can do this powerfully when others experience their own losses and injustices, offering ourselves in love as we embrace the personhood and belonging of others.

We can also reflect upon kinship through the lens of the injustices and losses which have taken place this very week. Our world is deeply acquainted with trauma and injury. In the midst of great pain, we are always invited to care for one another in kinship.

We have been loved into kinship.
Now, how will we show that love toward one another?

–Renee Roederer

Image Description: A glass jar of oil surrounded by some olives.

Matthew 26:6-13

Now while Jesus was at Bethany in the house of Simon the leper, a woman came to him with an alabaster jar of very costly ointment, and she poured it on his head as he sat at the table. But when the disciples saw it, they were angry and said, ‘Why this waste? For this ointment could have been sold for a large sum, and the money given to the poor.’ But Jesus, aware of this, said to them, ‘Why do you trouble the woman? She has performed a good service for me. For you always have the poor with you, but you will not always have me. By pouring this ointment on my body she has prepared me for burial. Truly I tell you, wherever this good news is proclaimed in the whole world, what she has done will be told in remembrance of her.’

As Jesus nears trauma and death, he receives a costly gift.

“Why this waste?” the disciples say, angrily.

Jesus models something different.

Western cultures don’t always value gifts of receiving. We sense that we need community, relationships, and the care of others, but we don’t ultimately value or affirm this way of living. Instead, we tend to value and affirm people who appear entirely self-sufficient, as though they don’t need anything. And this often leads us to hide our needs and vulnerability, bolstering a false image that we don’t need anything or anyone.

That Simon and Garfunkel song comes to mind:

I am a Rock.
I am an Island. . .
And a rock feels no pain.
And an island never cries.

In my faith tradition, we have a beautiful way of saying that God’s power works differently. God isn’t some solitary monad floating out there in space – distant, isolated, and individualistic. God’s power is revealed in vulnerability, weakness, and togetherness.

Have you ever received love beyond what you expected? Do you remember moments like that? How can we receive them again in our memory, and in ways that inspire us toward greater receiving, along with greater giving?

—Renee Roederer

Image description: A leafy fig tree with no figs.

Sometimes, you realize you have nothing in particular to write about because you’re just… tired. Tired of all the things. You know?

Ever had a prolonged period of time when you had to be strong? Or at least, strong enough? I’m okay, but I’m also there. Sometimes, we just get tired.

You too?

I was scrolling through the Holy Week narrative, wondering what to write about today while I was tired of all the things, and then I saw the moment where Jesus also seems to be tired of all the things:

“On the following day, when they came from Bethany, he was hungry. Seeing in the distance a fig tree in leaf, he went to see whether perhaps he would find anything on it. When he came to it, he found nothing but leaves, for it was not the season for figs. He said to it, ‘May no one ever eat fruit from you again.’ And his disciples heard it.”

It wasn’t even the season for figs. But he wanted one, and he was tired.

Glad for this little story today.

–Renee Roederer

Image Description: Two wooden tables and four chairs are turned over. One has a sticker of an American flag on the bottom.

A blessed Table Flipping Monday, y’all.

A few years ago, my friend and colleague Sarah Ross made a suggestion that the Monday of Holy Week ought to be considered Table Flipping Monday.  Of course, that’s a pretty humorous title, but Sarah also helped me think about this . . .

During the last week of his life, when Jesus arrived in Jerusalem to celebrate the Passover, the very first thing he did was walk into the center of communal, religious life and hold it accountable. He went into the Temple, the most holy place, and was horrified to discover that some were making unjust money as they oppressed the Jewish people in their religious devotion. He turned over the tables and chased out the money changers, quoting Jewish scripture, saying, “It is written, ‘My house shall be called a house of prayer, but you have made a den of robbers.’”

I want to be careful about how I talk about this story, in large part because throughout history, Holy Week has been an occasion when Christians have oppressed Jews and even caused violence. When I think about this day, I don’t aim to criticize the Temple or the religious heritage of which Jesus was fully a part.

Instead, I want to consider the ways in which my own religious tradition ought to be held accountable. That includes this painful history we have caused our Jewish siblings. And it includes a host of other abuses fully expressed in the present.

Religion can give life and meaning, and it can be twisted as a tool for oppression.

There are a multitude of ways in which tables ought to be flipped over. In fact, accountability and truth telling can be acts of spiritual devotion in and of themselves.

Jesus rages against the oppression and manipulation of others. Today, we need prophets and holy agitators to follow into this calling. I offer my gratitude today for people who hold my tradition and our actions to account.

One of Christianity’s foundational teachings involves a holy leveling – an inverted shift where the marginalized become the most empowered and the most powerful are brought into humility.

But too often, we fall far short of this vision. Today can serve as a day of confession.

May Jesus and a host of others flip the tables.

– Renee Roederer

 

This is a sermon I prepared for Northside Presbyterian Church in Ann Arbor this morning on Matthew 21:1-11. The video above is from Facebook Live. If you have any challenges accessing the video in this post, feel free to go here.

Matthew 21:1-11

When they had come near Jerusalem and had reached Bethphage, at the Mount of Olives, Jesus sent two disciples, saying to them, ‘Go into the village ahead of you, and immediately you will find a donkey tied, and a colt with her; untie them and bring them to me. If anyone says anything to you, just say this, “The Lord needs them.” And he will send them immediately.’ This took place to fulfill what had been spoken through the prophet, saying,

‘Tell the daughter of Zion,
Look, your king is coming to you,
humble, and mounted on a donkey,
and on a colt, the foal of a donkey.’

The disciples went and did as Jesus had directed them; they brought the donkey and the colt, and put their cloaks on them, and he sat on them. A very large crowd spread their cloaks on the road, and others cut branches from the trees and spread them on the road. The crowds that went ahead of him and that followed were shouting,

‘Hosanna to the Son of David!
Blessed is the one who comes in the name of the Lord!
Hosanna in the highest heaven!’

When he entered Jerusalem, the whole city was in turmoil, asking, ‘Who is this?’ The crowds were saying, ‘This is the prophet Jesus from Nazareth in Galilee.’

As we begin to look at the stories of Holy Week, we begin with a moment of preparation. Jesus is making preparations. He’s asking his disciples to do that with him. He is moving toward something that is very intentional.

Even though it’s intentional, the directions seem a bit cryptic, but there is trust here. “Go into the village ahead of you, and immediately, you will find a donkey tied and a colt with her. Untie them and bring them to me.” And more trust: “If anyone says anything to you, just say this. ‘The Lord needs them.’ And he will send them immediately.”

So there is a sense that these people were likely known to Jesus, and that they would understand what that means, or at least be open to it, or trust that something important was about to happen.

There was preparation.
There was intention.

And the author of the Gospel According to Matthew also seems to think about preparation and to make connections regularly with the scriptures of the Hebrew Bible.

And so, he says that this all took place to fulfill what had been spoken through the prophet Zechariah,

‘Tell the daughter of Zion,
Look, your king is coming to you,
humble, and mounted on a donkey,
and on a colt, the foal of a donkey.’

The disciples went on to do what Jesus had asked them to do, perhaps not understanding what was about to take place, and certainly not understanding fully the reality that Jesus was about to enter.

He was going into Jerusalem. He was processing straight into threat and likely death. In fact, he had predicted this with his disciples, and they were not prepared to hear it. And in this intriguing moment, where he’s processing straight into danger, into trauma, even into death, and… they all enact what is most true. They have joy, and they recognize that they are participating in some kind of kingdom even if they don’t understand it. The people around them certainly did not understand that the figurehead of the kingdom they imagined would soon process straight into these painful things, but they recognized something, and they shouted,

‘Hosanna to the Son of David!
Blessed is the one who comes in the name of the Lord!
Hosanna in the highest heaven!’

There was joy as they laid down branches from the trees and spread them along the road. They had great anticipation for Jesus, some having followed him, some having seen and heard the things he was doing. They desired the joy of something different, and they longed from liberation from their oppressors — the Roman Empire that was occupying the land.

When Jesus enters Jerusalem, the story says that the whole city was in turmoil, asking, “Who is this?” Some did not know, but he had made himself visible. He had made himself noticeable. Some then answer the question, saying, “This is the prophet Jesus from Nazareth in Galilee.” He was from Nazareth, a place not highly regarded. From there, comes who creates cheers, and hope, and joy, but also turmoil…

He knew he was processing into danger, eyed suspiciously by the Romans, and he did it anyway.

When I think about this procession they made together, honoring Jesus and this kingdom, I think about how joyful it was, but I also think about how political it was.

“Hosanna!” they cried. Hosanna – meaning ‘Save us.’ 

“Hosanna to the Son of David,” — the marker, figurehead, and name of the ancient Kingdom, the Kingdom of David. To anyone, this would have appeared to be an insurrection. Under the occupation of the Roman Empire, this procession was definitely making claims of a new kingdom, an alternative kingdom, and a new order to things.

And people connected it to Biblical prophesy. He descended from the Mount of Olives, a place that people certainly associated with that prophesy — a location where God’s redemption of Israel would be visible.

And now, they made it visible.

And it was a revealing procession. It was meant to be a revelation of sorts. It was an unveiling and an uncovering of what is ultimately true, a proclamation of the central truth of Matthew’s Gospel. Jesus is publicly revealed to be the one Matthew claims him to be – the Messiah, the Anointed One, the Coming One. This was certainly going to get attention.

And it was an ironic procession. Jesus knew what he was processing into. I wonder… was there some kind of pain inside the joy? Inside him? Or did that fade for a moment? We don’t know, but even in face of irony, this moment revealed some kind of ultimate joy.

In the Greek New Testament, there are two words for time. One word is chronos, which talks about linear time — days, weeks, months, years, and decades in the same ways we tend to measure time. But there’s also another word for time — kairos. This is a time of ultimate fulfillment, when something that is most true and most ultimate breaks into the present moment.

I like to imagine that this was true here. When we think about chronos, Jesus was walking straight into the most traumatic week of his life — the end of his life. But when we think about kairos, perhaps there was true joy in this present moment of a procession, revealing a kingdom with all the values Jesus had already lived in his life. This procession revealed the values he had ushered in with his disciples. It revealed what is most true, most fulfilled, most ultimate. Kairos. Kairos broke into a present moment.

Right now, we are entering Holy Week. We are also all experiencing a collective trauma in this time of the coronavirus. And I think we can name how painful it is, how scary it is, how unpredictable it feels.

And I wonder if we were to join this procession today, are there ways in which kairos — what is most fulfilling, most ultimate, and most true — could break into our world, into our week, into our present moment right now, into how we’re feeling now, into this situation in which we are living? Could we hope for that?

Like the disciples of Jesus, we are processing into something we would never desire. Can we live the values of the Kingdom of God? Can we be a Kindom of God that practices these values? Love for the so-called least? Care for the vulnerable? Proclamation of hope to the people? Love no matter what? Love that knows the path its on, even if that path is a painful road, and loves anyway?

And perhaps centuries and millennia removed in chronos from this moment, knowing the rest of the story, can we trust that resurrection might even be able to find us there? Is that possible? Can we hope that for each other, even if we can’t quite imagine it?

If so, by what values will we live? How can we live kairos in this procession? How can we live kairos in this present moment? How can we live kairos in the days ahead?

–Renee Roederer

Earlier this week, I was grateful to have the occasion to moderate a discussion on behalf of the Epilepsy Foundation of Michigan, entitled, “You Are Not Alone: Combating Social Isolation.” This discussion was a conference call, and it was was recorded, so it felt a bit like making a podcast but with others listening in and participating live.

On this call, I interviewed four people who have experiences living with epilepsy, and we discussed tips for addressing social isolation, a topic which is quite suddenly relevant for us all.

I was so touched with how this turned out, and I’d love to share it with you. It was meaningful for me to share advice on this topic from my own experiences and reflections too.

This recording is…

1) an excellent introduction to epilepsy and the social barriers that many face,
2) a topic remarkably relevant to everyone right now, and
3)  an occasion to express pride and gratitude in shared-identity and community-belonging.

It would mean a lot to me if you had a listen.

I’m embedding the YouTube recording of this call. If you have any trouble accessing it in my post, you can also go to this link. There are also closed captions available if you choose that option.

Thanks, all, and I’m thinking of you too in this wild time of social isolation.

Take good care.
—Renee Roederer

Image Description: A thought bubble with a lightbulb inside. Public domain image.

A Stress Relief/Trauma Life Hack*:

Get curious.

Ask yourself a new question. Go down a rabbit trail of learning. Explore something novel. Get to know someone. Delight in something unknown. Try something new.

Every time we explore new things, we are creating new chemical reactions in our brains. Our neurons fire, and our brains develop new patterns and associations. This is invigorating and stimulating. When we have interest and feel delight, we ease stress.

Curiosity is also a pathway to empathy. It helps us imagine the thoughts, feelings, and experiences of others. It also helps us have empathy for ourselves: Why do I think these thoughts, feel these feelings, and do things this way? Both kinds of curiosity are helpful during times of trauma and personal difficulty.

So let’s get curious.

And I’d love to hear from you: What are you learning or exploring these days?

— Renee Roederer

I want to thank three people (thank you!) who became patrons of my work through Patreon in March. If you’d like to support my writing through Patreon, that helps me quite a bit. And if you have interest in giving a one-time gift, you can do so here.

Thinking of you as well as we all muddle through the big health needs and economic needs of these days. Support to you too!

* I want to thank Shannon Dingle for a series of tweets she did in which she gave some valuable ‘trauma life hacks.’ I’m borrowing her phrase, so I want to give a nod to her work and her Twitter handle: @ShannonDingle

 

Image Description: The blue and white cover of the book, Being Peace. Under the title, it reads “Thich Nhat Hanh,” naming the author of the book. The cover also says, “Introduction by Jack Kornfield.” At the top right is a quote that reads, “Being Peace is distilled wisdom, the language simple and clear. This book is for everyone. — Fellowship Magazine.” There are also images of two leaves falling to the ground.

A Stress Relief/Trauma Life Hack*:

Sit and smile.

Meditation is calming for the body. When we get quiet, sit still, notice our breathing, and clear our thoughts — or often more accurately, notice our thoughts as they come and go — we ease our nervous systems. We activate the calming mechanisms of the parasympathetic nervous system, and our fight, flight, freeze, and fawn reactions slow down and fade for a while.

We can also practice smiling.

I’m certainly not a person who tells others, “You should smile!” (Women hear this all the time, and it’s irritating. We also know that people are feeling grief, anxiety, and stress). But when we sit and smile, breathing in and out, we can shift some of the feelings in our body.

Here’s what Zen Buddhist monk, Thich Nhat Hanh shares in his book, Being Peace:

“I would like to offer one short poem you can recite from time to time, while breathing and smiling.

“Breathing in, I calm my body.
Breathing out, I smile.
Dwelling in the present moment
I know this is a wonderful moment.

” ‘Breathing in, I calm my body.’ This line is like drinking a glass of ice water-you feel the cold, the freshness, permeate your body. When I breathe in and recite this line, I actually feel the breathing calming my body, calming my mind.

” ‘Breathing out, I smile.’ You know the effect of a smile. A smile can relax hundreds of muscles in your face, and relax your nervous system. A smile makes you master of yourself. That is why the Buddhas and the bodhisattvas are always smiling. When you smile, you realize the wonder of the smile.

” ‘Dwelling in the present moment.’ While I sit here, I don’t think of somewhere else, of the future or the past. I sit here, and I know where I am. This is very important. We tend be alive in the future, not now. We say, ‘Wait until I finish school and get my Ph.D. degree, and then I will be really alive.’ When we have it, and it’s not easy to get, we say to ourselves, ‘I have to wait until I have a job in order to be really alive.’ And then after the job, a car. After the car, a house. We are not capable of being alive in the present moment. We tend to postpone being alive to the future, the distant future, we don’t know when. Now is not the moment to be alive. We may never be alive at all in our entire life. Therefore the technique, if we have to speak of a technique, is to be in the present moment, to be aware that we are here and now, and the only moment to be alive is the present moment.

” ‘I know this is a wonderful moment.’ This is the only moment that is real. To be here and now, and enjoy the present moment is our most wonderful task. ‘Calming, Smiling, Present moment, Wonderful moment.’ I hope you will try it.”

— Thich Nhat Hanh, Being Peace, pages 15-16

* I want to thank Shannon Dingle for a series of tweets she did in which she gave some valuable ‘trauma life hacks.’ I’m borrowing her phrase, so I want to give a nod to her work and her Twitter handle: @ShannonDingle