Smuggling Grace

Image Description: Rays of sunlight shine through trees of a forrest. Public domain image.

So I confess that I’m not a big Marianne Williamson fan, but I have been sharing one of her quotes for years. I see that someone on the internets has put that quote into poem formatting, which I will now copy and paste below. I want to share this today at the beginning of a new year.

There are times when we realize we are swimming in self-doubt, struggling with internalized shame, or limiting what we think could be possible. And there are times when we realize people are determined to reduce us, project onto us, or treat us as though we are their problem to be solved.

What changes might we make to shift our thinking and acting? How might we change our roles in relationship? No need to play small.

Our Deepest Fear
By Marianne Williamson

Our deepest fear is not that we are inadequate.
Our deepest fear is that we are powerful beyond measure.
It is our light, not our darkness
That most frightens us.

We ask ourselves
Who am I to be brilliant, gorgeous, talented, fabulous?
Actually, who are you not to be?
You are a child of God.

Your playing small
Does not serve the world.
There’s nothing enlightened about shrinking
So that other people won’t feel insecure around you.

We are all meant to shine,
As children do.
We were born to make manifest
The glory of God that is within us.

It’s not just in some of us;
It’s in everyone.

And as we let our own light shine,
We unconsciously give other people permission to do the same.
As we’re liberated from our own fear,
Our presence automatically liberates others.

I love this poem by Kaitlin Hardy Shetler, and I’d like to share it with you today.

A Real Scandal of the Birth of God (A Christmas Poem)
by Kaitlin Hardy Shetler

sometimes I wonder
if Mary breastfed Jesus.
if she cried out when he bit her
or if she sobbed when he would not latch.

and sometimes I wonder
if this is all too vulgar
to ask in a church
full of men
without milk stains on their shirts
or coconut oil on their breasts
preaching from pulpits off limits to the Mother of God.

but then i think of feeding Jesus,
birthing Jesus,
the expulsion of blood
and smell of sweat,
the salt of a mother’s tears
onto the soft head of the Salt of the Earth,
feeling lonely
and tired
hungry
annoyed
overwhelmed
loving

and i think,
if the vulgarity of birth is not
honestly preached
by men who carry power but not burden,
who carry privilege but not labor,
who carry authority but not submission,
then it should not be preached at all.

because the real scandal of the Birth of God
lies in the cracked nipples of a
14 year old
and not in the sermons of ministers
who say women
are too delicate
to lead.

Image Description: A person is lifting up a baby who is wearing a superman costume. The baby is sticking out their tongue.

I’ve been thinking about this more and more:

Every single person has a strength, gift, talent, or way of being in the world that comes so naturally to who they are — so much so, in fact, that it’s easy for them to forget it’s a strength, gift, talent, or way of being in the world. It’s just always a part of who they are.

And yet, when this gift turned in the direction of community with intention, it can be absolutely transformative. Every single person has a rare gift like this. In fact, probably more than one.

Due to the pressures around us, our task load, expectations (our own or others’) and a myriad of distractions, there are times when this rare gift gets put to the side; we’ll get to it when we have time for it, or when we’re practicing better care of ourselves.

But here’s the thing. We need to be rooted in our rare gift. Our family and community benefits from our gift. The world needs to receive our best, rare gift.

This is how I counsel young adults these days, and I pass the same on along to you.

Protect that rare gift.

Do what you can to honor it. After all, when you’re living in connection with it, you probably feel most alive, right? Howard Thurman used to say, “Don’t ask what the world needs. Ask what makes you come alive, and go do it. Because what the world needs are people who have come alive.”

Do what you can to make sure it gets time.

Do what you can to make sure it is addressing a larger purpose.

Do what you can to make sure that it gets care, and that you get care for yourself as the keeper of that gift. (And all that you are).

And

Put it into practice. Come alive.

–Renee Roederer

Image Description: Three hearts are carved out of wood and hanging by three wires. One is red, one is orange, and one is green.

Over the last few weeks, on three occasions, I have just happened to spot something really wonderful. While scrolling through social media, I’ve encountered three examples of connections that are very meaningful to me.

Specifically, I’ve spotted moments when my mentors have reached out intentionally to people I’ve mentored — asking how their week is going, expressing a desire to get coffee, and donating to their GoFundMe fundraiser. I’ve introduced these people to each other. They don’t live in the same places, but they are connected.

And I realize that we’re all a part of a generational structure of sorts, both by age and by mentoring. There’s a big sense of family in all of it.

This is a great gift to my life.

—Renee Roederer

Image Description: Clay art pieces are on a flat surface. They are shaped like people who are standing in a circle with arms around each other. There are three circles of people.

I’ll be honest with you about something.

When it comes to being a pastor, as I was for seven years, I certainly believe in being thoughtful about the role. It’s particularly important to ensure you never abuse the power of that role, including emotionally.

That being said, I never really bought the idea that pastors are somehow completely separate from the community they are serving — as if they are only a professional providing service, and therefore, must keep a great deal of their own lives hidden and out of view. I also never really bought the idea that the pastor is the only person providing care in the congregation, or that the pastor never receives from the congregation.

And yet, I think many pastors and ministry leaders feel pressure to live precisely this way. Does it really aid a congregation when they are only ever receivers of care and never practitioners of care? Does a congregation ever aid a pastor in holding expectations that the pastor is to be the single, spiritual professional who does it all?

I’ll tell you something refreshing.

When I and some others started the Michigan Nones and Dones community, one of the most meaningful aspects was the collective vision. This included the ways that we all shaped conversations collectively.

Michigan Nones and Dones is a community is for people who are “spiritually curious but institutionally suspicious.” It includes people who are religiously unaffiliated (the Nones), people who have left traditional, institutional congregations and religious communities (the Dones) and people who have maintained a sense of religious identity but want to practice spiritual community in different ways.

I am often the facilitator of conversation, but I’m never the sole teacher or storyteller. Everyone adds their insights, thoughts, and experiences to our shared conversations. We are all transformed and enriched by it. I don’t want to speak too generally, but I find that religiously unaffiliated people often value flat leadership structures. Personally, I find this collective vision to be refreshing and invigorating.

Now, it’s important to say two things: In the Michigan Nones and Dones community, we are not seeking to be a church, so these things are entirely comparable. And there are plenty of people in congregations who want to make shifts so that leadership, empowerment, and care are more shared. And to this, I say, more power to them!

—Renee Roederer

Image Description: A comic by BJenny Montero. There is a turquoise background, and in the middle of the image, there are two concentric circles. The outer circle is a white band. The inner circle includes a number of animal characters — two birds, two alligators, a dog, and a worm using a wheelchair with a red and white checkered blanket over the worm’s lap. All the characters are smiling and looking in sightly different directions. In the middle of the inner circle, some text reads, “Sometimes I can’t make it on my own.” Then in the bottom right corner of the image, the text reads, “That’s OK!”

Independence is a value in Western cultures, but… independence is also a myth.

I’ve just finished reading the transcript of a powerful address by Mia Mingus, a disability justice activist whose work I greatly admire. Her remarks are entitled, “Access Intimacy, Interdependence and Disability Justice” and were given as the 2017 Paul K. Longmore Lecture on Disability Studies at San Francisco State University.

Within those remarks, she says this:

“Access should be happening in service of our larger goals of building interdependence and embracing need, because this is such a deep part of challenging ableism and the myth of independence. The myth of independence is the idea that we can and should be able to do everything on our own and, of course, we know that that’s not true. Someone made the clothes you’re wearing now, your shoes, your car or the mass transit system you use; we don’t grow all our own food and spices. We can’t pretend that what happens in this country doesn’t affect others, or that things like clean air and water don’t bound us all together. We are dependent on each other, period. The myth of independence reflects such a deep level of privilege, especially in this rugged individualistic capitalist society and produced the very idea that we could even mildly conceive of our lives or our accomplishments as solely our own. And of course, the other side of this is not just that it’s not true—not just that the emperor has no clothes, but that everyone else should pretend he’s fully clothed too. So, the Myth of Independence is not just about the truth of being connected and interdependent on one another; it is also about the high value that gets placed on buying into the myth and believing that you are independent; and the high value placed on striving to be independent, another corner stone of the ableist culture we live in.

“Interdependence moves us away from the myth of independence, and towards relationships where we are all valued and have things to offer. It moves us away from knowing disability only through ‘dependence,’ which paints disabled bodies as being a burden to others, at the mercy of able-bodied people’s benevolence. We become charity cases, a way for able bodied people to feel better about themselves and we in turn, internalize our sense of being a burden, sad, and tragic. All of this sets up a dynamic where disabled people feel like we have to be ‘liked’ in order to receive basic daily access to live and where able bodied people feel entitled to receive praise and recognition for providing access. This is not access intimacy and this dynamic of disabled people being ‘dependent’ on able bodied people shapes so many disabled people’s lives and is the foundation upon which so much domination, control, violence and abuse happens.”

We are dependent upon one another.

We all need care from others.

We all have care to offer to others.

We all have need.

What if we embraced this? What if we created relational intimacy around this? What if we received more freely and fully from others? What if we gave more freely and fully among others who are also giving and receiving more freely and fully?

–Renee Roederer

I find that questions and stories are some of the most transformative aspects of interfaith and multicultural dialogue. Earlier this month, the Interfaith Round Table of Washtenaw County met at International House Ann Arbor to share a meal and hold a conversation between international students and scholars and young adults who grew up in the United States.

Together, we explored these questions:

Where did you grow up, and how did that place and culture shape who you have become? How did it influence what you care about?

The stories were so rich and meaningful. 

When we receive each other’s questions and stories, we build relationships, expand our understanding, and come to know ourselves more deeply.

When have you received a transformative question? When have you heard a transformative story? When did you experience a transformative invitation to tell your own story?

I wonder if we might open ourselves to even more opportunities like these.

–Renee Roederer

Last summer, my good friend Suzanne died after living with cancer for nearly a decade.

Many words could be used to describe Suzanne… welcoming, boisterous, joy-filled, passionate, compassionate, feisty, devoted, heartfelt, hilarious, loyal, and free-spirited. And in many ways, the words keep on coming. . . After Suzanne died, people began to speak and write about her. In a celebration of her life, Suzanne’s large, loving community gathered to honor her, not at a traditional funeral or memorial service, but at a party. Her eulogy was collective; some were invited ahead of time to speak, and others were given the occasion to join them. Before, during, and after that party, people have shared stories of Suzanne’s love and influence in their lives. Her impact was both personal and expansive. She touched each person individually and a lot of people collectively.

Last spring, Suzanne traveled to Chicago in the hopes of participating in a medical trial. It was all about to move forward until some of the measurements of the cells in her blood fell outside of the parameters of the study. She stayed in and out of the hospital in Chicago for more than a month, waiting and hoping to get those numbers in the right range. That was a challenging waiting period, especially knowing that beyond this, her treatment options were becoming limited.

While she waited in Chicago, a large number of people cared for her. Some drove her there and back; many visited and stayed with her in the hospital. Some opened their homes to her. It was touching to see this happen. I always felt that Suzanne was an example of someone who loved deeply and a model of a person who allowed herself to receive love deeply. People don’t always know how to do this. It can be a rare gift.

In one my most memorable moments with Suzanne, I called her during her time in Chicago. The occasion for this call was painful. Suzanne had just learned with finality that she was not going to be able to participate in the study. That was devastating news.

Over the phone, Suzanne expressed her sadness. But then, she began to talk about the many people who were caring for her through visits, meals, phone calls, emails, texts, and above all, presence. People truly gathered around Suzanne and for Suzanne. She invited this collective giving and receiving of care.

In recognition of that, here is what was most memorable to me in that phone call:

With love for all these people, with tears of gratitude, Suzanne said, “It makes you feel like you did something right.”

In response, it was so easy for me to affirm that statement because it was abundantly true. She had done this right. Suzanne cultivated so many relationships, each particularly valued, and all, collectively cherished. She invited all of this with her living.

Suzanne is deeply missed, and she will be missed as long as these beloved people in her life keep on living. Yet in the midst of this, after the painful loss of Suzanne, she continues to do something right, and we join her in it. These relationships keep on living. Her memory is honored. Her love is remembered and re-experienced, not only in memory, but in all the ways her many people now also care for each other. We get to turn that care toward each other as well.

And with our own living, both in the ways we remember her, and in the ways we cultivate and deepen additional relationships in our lives, we can affirm,

You did something right, Suze!
And we’re going to keep on joining you.

–Renee Roederer

Image Description: Two cupped hands meet together to form the shape of a heart. The person is wearing a sweater with blue sleeves. In the foreground at the bottom left, there are large rocks, forming a cliff. In the distance are blue water and mountains. 

💜 Every body is a good body. 💜

Every body is a worthy-of-love body.

Every body is a worthy-of-care body.

Every body is a worthy-of-resources body.

Every body is a worthy-of-taking-up-space body.

Every body is a worthy-of-dignity body.

Every body is a worthy-of-connection body.

Every body is a worthy-of-self-expression body.

Every body is a worthy-of-advocacy body.

Every body is a worthy-of-self-determination body.

Every body is a worthy-of-having-needs body.

Every body is a worthy-of-tenderness body.

💜 Every body is a good body. 💜

–Renee Roederer

Image Description: A close-up of two hands cupped together, holding a large number of strawberries. Public domain image.

A story from Zen Buddhism:

A man was walking across a field when he saw a tiger. Fearing for his life, the man fled, but the tiger gave chase. The man reached the edge of a cliff, and just as he thought the tiger would get him, he spotted a vine growing over the edge of the cliff. Grabbing on to it, he swung himself over the edge to safety.

The tiger came to the edge and snarled at him from above. While precariously perched like this, the man saw another tiger growling at him from below. Trembling, he held on to the thin vine that was keeping him from being dinner for the tigers. What could be worse than this, he wondered.

Just then, two mice scampered out and began gnawing at the vine. As they chewed and the man pondered over his fate, he saw a juicy, red strawberry on a ledge next to him. Grasping the vine with one hand, he plucked the strawberry with the other. Ah, how sweet it tasted!

If you Google information about this story, you will quickly learn that there is debate about its meaning. Some hold the interpretation that this story is about living in the present moment and enjoying pleasure right in front of us, even in times of trial. Others, however, say that this a misunderstanding; the story is about the foolishness of getting distracted by pleasure when we have the occasion to remove ourselves from a perilous situation.

With both interpretations, we choose our life.

I will leave the interpretations to communities of Zen Buddhists, as it is their story, and they know it best.

But lately, here is something I’ve been thinking about…

There are times when loss is so great or stress is so high that we are plunged into present moment living because that feels like only way to make it — one day at a time, one moment at a time, one feeling at a time. But as we do this… we discover that present moment living is also the best way to live. It’s freeing and filling.

And

There are times when loss is so great or stress is so high that we are plunged into choosing our life in order to survive — our bodies, our in-the-moment daily needs, our rhythms, our memories, our values, our loves, and our communities. And as we do this… we often discover that there are still so many gifts in our lives. There are times when we say yes to the broad fullness of it.

With both of these, we choose our life.
And that invitation is always there.

–Renee Roederer