Smuggling Grace

Public Domain Image.

Image Description: A large number of fireflies are shining their lights in the woods.

Last weekend, 30 people traveled to Ann Arbor from 10 different states to visit us all at once. It was spectacular. Most of us lived in the same place a whole decade ago. Now, we live in a variety of geographical areas, but we’re still connected.

People stayed in AirBnBs and hotels, but most of the weekend was spent hanging out at our house. We shared three meals together at the house as well as some downtime. And then we had a dance party at a local church! It was honestly one of the most meaningful weekends I’ve ever had.

And in light of that, here’s something I’ve been pondering…

How does it change things — specifically, how does it change your living space — after…

… the children have played tag in your backyard?

… a loved one has delighted in the fireflies around your house?

… a loved one has played an instrument on your deck?

… some people who’ve never met realize the connections they share at the kitchen table?

… you’ve closed your eyes, sitting on your deck and marveling that you can hear so many voices of your deepest loves all at once?

It changed me. It has changed our living space.

These days, many of us rightfully ask questions of action: What can I do? What can we do? How can we take action on this need? That need?

These questions and answers are important.

But we should never forget how much impact we have with presence. Our presence changes things — the presence of each of us and all of us collectively.

How do we offer and receive that with intention? How do we marvel when it meets us so meaningfully?

—Renee Roederer

 

[Image Description: A silhouette of a person stands and looks at the band of the Milky Way in the sky.]

Sometimes, I marvel at who is in my life.
Sometimes, I am stunned to ponder that I could begin alone
then
become
connected
to
who after
who after
who after
who.

And this never ends.

It’s like a Big Bang, really.
A Whole Universe of Belonging.

We each start as a singularity.
Then
each one of us
bursts forth,
brought into an abundance of connections,
born anew bit by bit
through the particularities of relationship.

And these particularities
create
build
form
nurture
cultivate
and
renew.

They expand.

This is an ever expanding Universe —
this Cosmos
of
who after
who after
who after
who.

– Renee Roederer

[Image Description: A pair of black glasses is set on top of a gray laptop. There is a gray phone case to the left and a white computer mouse to the right.]

“Mom — Grandma! Look!”

This is the phrase I heard so many times while I was in Kroger. A young girl — maybe 8 or so — kept requesting her Grandma’s attention. She kept accidentally calling her Mom but then correcting herself.

“Mom — Grandma! Look!”

Then Grandma would look, and she did so with affection every single time. And that’s when the little girl would break into song. I wonder what sort of personal connection they had to this song. It was known to just about everyone in the store, but it seemed to have particular meaning to them.

“Oh, when the saints! Go marching in! Oh, when the saints go marching in!”

“Mom – Grandma! Look!” The girl opens the ice freezer. “Oh, when the saints! Go marching in! Oh, when the saints go marching in!” They laugh.

“Mom – Grandma! Look!” The girl picks up a grocery bag and starts marching. “Oh, when the saints! Go marching in! Oh, when the saints go marching in!” Grandma sings too.

“Mom – Grandma! Look!” The girl turns around in place. “Oh, when the saints! Go marching in! Oh, when the saints go marching in!” People are watching them interact, but the girl mostly just notices her Grandma.

Over and over again, she is expressing a need to be seen, perceived, and known, and Grandma is seeing, perceiving, and knowing with affection. This is such a profound, human need.

Certainly, we don’t all shout “Lookit!” and break into song in the grocery store, but that being said, I don’t think we ever outgrow this need to know and be known. It is a joy to recognize the moments when we are held in a loved one’s attention, and it is a joy to be attentive toward loved ones with the same kind of affection and connection.

I find myself resolving to this: We need connection. I don’t want to see past people. Of course, sometimes I do exactly that. But instead, I hope to perceive people joyfully— in their discoveries, in their element, in their vulnerability (when invited), and in their own joys. And I want to be seen, perceived, and known these ways too.

“Lookit!”

– Renee Roederer

[Image Description: Two hands holding, and sunlight is shining around them.]

In relationship, we add support to one another, and at times, we can change conditions on the ground simply with presence.

Learn what the Presbyterian Peace Fellowship is doing in the ministry of accompaniment on the southern border:

New Accompaniment Program at the Border Helps Keep Migrants Safe

 

 

[Image Description: A choir, an orchestra, and a conductor are rehearsing on a stage. In front of the musicians, there are red chairs in an auditorium. Large organ pipes are behind the musicians.]

I’m a musician, and these days, I find a particular musical technique to be a helpful metaphor for personal and community sustainability. I want to offer a quote from Michael Moore about this:

“This morning I have been pondering a nearly forgotten lesson I learned in high school music. Sometimes in band or choir, music requires players or singers to hold a note longer than they actually can hold a note. In those cases, we were taught to mindfully stagger when we took a breath so the sound appeared uninterrupted. Everyone got to breathe, and the music stayed strong and vibrant… [In] “protest fatigue” – we will literally lose our will to continue the fight in the face of the onslaught of negative action. Let’s remember MUSIC. Take a breath. The rest of the chorus will sing. The rest of the band will play. Rejoin so others can breathe. Together, we can sustain a very long, beautiful song for a very, very long time. You don’t have to do it all, but you must add your voice to the song. With special love to all the musicians and music teachers in my life.”
–Michael Moore

We go through rhythms of action, rest, play, showing up, taking space away, living in solidarity, honoring the Sabbath… practicing presence with one another and our own bodies and minds, we rest within and act upon deepest values that undergird our lives.

We all take turns.
Our rest is beneficial for our community.
Our action is beneficial for our community.

–Renee Roederer

[Image Description: A round, chiffon lemon cake with white icing is on top of a white plate.]

I drove to my friend’s place to pick up some chairs. She’s generous to let me borrow them for a big event we’re hosting this weekend.

On the way there, I found myself looking forward to seeing her.

And…

I took a moment to recognize how sad and heavy I felt… just about the general state of things in our nation and in our world. I was really feeling it for the few hours that preceded that drive to her apartment.

When I arrived, I was glad to see her. She also cares deeply about the larger questions swirling about us these days. During our time together, I watched and listened as she delighted in the enjoyment of simple things: the coffee shop she visited today, the dress I was wearing a few days ago, her cat, and more.

Another person stopped by. “I brought lemon cake!” she said as she came through the door.

“Oh my gawd!!!”

My friend exclaimed with such genuine delight. It filled me in a way I needed.

It makes complete sense to grieve and feel heavy about collective pain, confusion, and hardship. We’ll keep feeling these, at times, in waves. Some people are in very close proximity to these threats, and I know that feelings don’t always just switch on and off.

And in the midst of this, challenging as it is, right alongside it, I like to uplift the gift of simple joys too. There are so many tiny, wonderful experiences of daily living. My friend brought that home to me today.

So after saying goodbye to her and walking out her door, I packed up my car with chairs and immediately went to get ice cream.

And every part of this shifted my day.

–Renee Roederer

[Image Description: A green pen is on top of a yellow sheet of paper. The paper is a list  written in green ink, and parts are crossed off.]

Yesterday, I was defeated by a to-do list.
It still remains, technically unwritten;
but piece by piece,
and point by point,
it chiseled itself into my brain.

Do this, then –
Do that, then –
Achieve this, then –
Accomplish that.

It hammers.
It sculpts.
It hardens and solidifies.
Pristine and chiseled,
it presents itself complete and paramount.

And it does all of this. . .
For The Goal.
(Or at least, that’s what I’m led to believe).

Instead, this to-do list,
this master carpenter,
becomes a goal in and of itself.

If I’m not careful,
my thriving will diminish,
my playing will diminish,
my living will diminish,
while
my toiling,
my striving, and
my working,
grow,
extend,
increase,
accumulate.

Forget the real goals!
The living,
The playing,
The thriving!
Suddenly, these are less than a host of check marks,
Suddenly, these have less value than solid lines marked through words.

Suddenly,
DO and DONE
become more
than LIVE and LIVED.

Well, today, I turn a corner.
I will not cross LIFE off some oppressive list.
Peace and pleasure will permeate my work,
and no lines will run through
BREATHE
LOVE
ENJOY and
SAVOR.

Yesterday, I was defeated by a to-do list.
Today, the goal shifts.

–Renee Roederer

[Image Description: Bright, yellow flowers with green stems and leaves on a brown table with two brown chairs behind them. The flowers are leaning over the container in many directions.]

I bought some flowers at Trader Joe’s on Saturday. I don’t know what type of flowers these are (do you?) but they’re lovely. And I like to buy them because when we put them in a vase, they will often last for weeks.

So I was sad and pretty surprised when I kept them in their sleeve on a table for just a couple hours and they wilted completely. (Way more than the first photo above). It was such a quick transformation that I assumed I needed to put them immediately in the compost.

“Well, I guess I’ll try,” I thought. I put these extremely wilted flowers in a vase with water and plant food. Then I ran an errand, and when I came back, they had perked right up. This too was completely surprising to me. And a couple of days later, they are even stronger and more vibrant.

Sometimes, nourishment is the work.

Nourishment is what we need. We can give this gift to ourselves in self-care. And community-care can be even more transformative, when with consent and empowerment, we are nourishing each other.

Sometimes, nourishment is the work.

— Renee Roederer

[Image Description: Bright, yellow flowers with green stems and leaves on a brown table with two brown chairs behind them. Now the flowers are tall and straight.]

We tend to juxtapose them,
Martha and Mary, in
their doing, and
their being,
as if these are two entirely different spheres of life.

We tend to juxtapose these parts of ourselves,
internally wrangling with
our doing, and
our being,
at times, feeling guilty for
rest
pleasure
relaxation
contemplation.

Our internal critic
(our voice?
internalized voices?
the voice of a productivity-obsessed culture?)
chimes in to say,
Do you not care that there is so much yet to do?
So many needs?
Such a long list?

Yet

There is one thing,
a Better Part —
Knowing and Being Known,
Loving and Being Loved,
Listening and Learning,
Resting in the Renewal —
Belonging.

Doesn’t the best Doing come from this?

Now as they went on their way, he entered a certain village, where a woman named Martha welcomed him into her home. She had a sister named Mary, who sat at the Lord’s feet and listened to what he was saying. But Martha was distracted by her many tasks; so she came to him and asked, “Lord, do you not care that my sister has left me to do all the work by myself? Tell her then to help me.” But the Lord answered her, “Martha, Martha, you are worried and distracted by many things; there is need of only one thing. Mary has chosen the better part, which will not be taken away from her.” – Luke 10: 38-42

[Image Description: Two hands come together to hold a red, heart-shaped object with two band aids on it, crossed like an x. The hands are in black-and-white, and the heart and band aids are in color.]

This is a simple thought, but I think it’s beautiful and often true to the experience of life.

The verb ‘heal’ is both active and passive.

At times, we say,
“Heal,” i.e. “be healed.”

At other times, we say,
“Heal,” i.e. “act as a healer.”

Healing is –
Something we receive,
Something we take in,
Something we allow to sit with us,
Something we invite inside, and it makes a home with us.

Healing is –
Something we cultivate,
Something we enact alongside others,
Something we breathe into the world,
Something we work at, like kneading dough.

Frederick Buechner says that our calling is found in “the place where your deep gladness and the world’s deep hunger meet.” [2]

It makes me wonder. . .

What needs are present in our own lives?
How can we receive healing?

What needs are present in the world?
How can we work as healers?

And. . .

. . . Are there any intersections where those could come together as a calling?

–Renee Roederer

[1] I found this image here.

[2] This quote is part of Frederick Buechner’s book, Wishful Thinking: A Theological ABC.