Smuggling Grace

[Image Description: A welcome mat with the word ‘Welcome’ printed in blue and in all caps. The mat is light brown with vertical stripes of blue, orange, green, and turquoise both above and below the word ‘Welcome.’]

What spaces do you inhabit?

What would it look like if they became more expansive with an even greater sense of welcome?

I am sitting with these questions. Passing them along.

—Renee Roederer

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

This sermon was preached at Allen Park Presbyterian Church in Allen Park, Michigan and was focused upon the story that is told in Mark 12:38-44. An audio recording is above and a written manuscript is below.

“And who is my neighbor?”

That was the follow-up question that someone once asked Jesus. First, that person had asked, “What is the greatest commandment?” and Jesus answered, “‘You shall love the Lord your God with all your heart, and with all your mind, and with all your soul, and with all your strength,’ and the second is like it: ‘You shall love your neighbor as yourself.’”

Jesus speaks these words in the 12th chapter of Mark, just before our passage today.

When the writer of the Gospel of Luke tells the same story, the original inquirer asks a follow-up question. “And who is my neighbor?” He may have been seeking to clarify, but it seems more likely that he was trying to justify the ways he was already limiting to whom he was connected and related.

“And who is my neighbor?”

I find myself thinking about that when we ponder the story that is before us today.

Jesus begins by sharing a word of warning about religious leaders. He says, “Beware of the scribes who like to walk around in long robes” — I notice that I’m the one wearing a robe today — “and to be greeted with respect in the market-places, and to have the best seats in the synagogues and places of honor at banquets. They devour widows’ houses and for the sake of appearance say long prayers.”

They devour widow’s houses. . .

Jesus had noticed the patterns of behavior in these particular leaders and the harmful impact their actions were having upon the lives of vulnerable neighbors. Jesus saw into the hearts of these leaders and noted how tempting it is to desire the power of affirmation, recognition, and religious admiration. He also instructed his disciples to steer clear of this.

Jesus noticed so much about the people around him, about the world around him. He looked into the heart. And he looked upon his neighbors and our neighbors from his own heart, uplifting their worth, journeying alongside them, loving them, and declaring them to be a part of God’s Kingdom. He invites all of us into that same Kingdom alongside vulnerable neighbors.

Jesus spent his life noticing.

Jesus spent his life uplifting.

And so, the story continues. . .

He sat down opposite the treasury, and again, he began to notice things.

The story tells us that many rich people came and put in enormous sums of money. These enormous sums didn’t go unnoticed. The sound of them clamored through the air. The treasury of the temple had long, metallic receptacles that were shaped like trumpets, and people placed their offerings inside. Sometimes, they flung their offerings inside these receptacles, and when all those metallic coins made contact, the sound went before the givers, and all took notice.  So what happened when Jesus saw the rich, the powerful, and the leaders of this religious institution making spectacles of themselves only to be followed by the little tinkle of two copper coins given by a vulnerable widow?

Jesus saw her. He really saw her. He called attention to her and voiced his observations perhaps because the others, including his disciples, said nothing and noticed nothing. Some around them were too busy making spectacles of themselves. Why would they value the great sacrifice of this widow? 

The tragedy is even actually greater than ignoring her: The people surrounding her had the resources to help and come alongside her, and yet they were spending their time “devouring widows’ houses.” This woman, this child of God, gave all she had to live on in the very same receptacle as those who were willing to destroy her. She gave to God, and Jesus uplifted her gift. But the story has tragedy in it too. I think Jesus wants us to notice this, just as he noticed it.

“And who is my neighbor?”

Mother Teresa used to say, “If we have no peace, it is because we have forgotten that we belong to one another.”

Are we aware of how deeply we belong to one another?

How far will those boundaries stretch? Who be included? Who will be viewed with worth? Who will be uplifted? Who will be seen, noticed, known, cared for, valued, and empowered through the lens of neighbor? Through the lens of kinship?

Because if the most vulnerable of this world are noticed and loved by Jesus, if they are uplifted as people belonging to the Kingdom of God, and we are invited into that Kingdom, it means that we are invited into that Kin-dom. We are invited to occasions of all our barriers breaking down, for our sense of relatedness to expand, to be one family together, one humanity together, living in this creation that God has spoken into being and loved with all God’s being.

It’s that freeing. But it’s also that challenging because truly, if we have no peace, it’s because we have forgotten that we belong to one another. And let’s be honest. Quite often, we have forgotten that we belong to one another.

In a few days, many people will gather and celebrate the 4th of July. Among all the many things on our minds that day, many will choose to remember veterans. We rightly give care and respect to the members of our families and larger circles who are veterans, including those who have known the pain of wars. They are deserving of our care and respect. But I wonder… do we also have a sense of kinship with veterans who are currently experiencing homelessness? Do we have a sense of kinship with poor, young men and women who would prefer never to enlist, but feel that is their only way out of poverty? How far does our relatedness go?

Sometimes, we have forgotten that we belong to one another. I know that I have forgotten.

And at this time of year, many congregations choose to go on mission trips, at times, to places around the globe. Or some congregations create kits or shoeboxes for children in other nations. When this happens, we don’t know the names of the children who receive these things, but we know those children do have names. We hope that when they receive them, they experience a sense of love and value — love from God, love from neighbors like us. But I wonder… do we also feel a sense of relatedness when these children become more visible to us? When they are enduring poverty and have tangible needs? When they are fleeing violence? When they are incarcerated or detained? When children just like them end up in the stories of our news cycles, are they still our neighbors, or are they viewed primarily as symbols, maybe even objects of debate?

Sometimes, we have forgotten that we belong to one another. I know that I have forgotten.

We are called to be relationship with one another, delighting in one another in care, mutuality, and kinship — to see those who are often forgotten and experience the presence of God in the presence of one another. This is the kind of partnership and kinship that Jesus keeps calling us to again and again.

“And who is my neighbor?”

The truth is, we never arrive fully in these relationships, certainly not through our own efforts. But again and again, Jesus is calling us…

It makes me wonder, what might Jesus want to uplift in this congregation? Who might Jesus want to uplift? How might Jesus want to challenge each one of us? How might Jesus be inviting us now once more to love our neighbors — to love our neighbors as ourselves — more expansively?

I am grateful that Jesus journeys with us too. I am grateful that Jesus notices us in great love too. And that love is beckoning us into a calling that keeps emerging, a calling that keeps challenging, a call that keeps expanding…

–Renee Roederer

Have you felt depleted lately?

I’ve had some moments like that over the last few months. Fortunately, it’s just been a few days here and there rather than a sustained season, but when those days have come, they have really come. Meanwhile, I know that some among us carry a sense of depletion that feels more sustained, and there are deep longings for greater energy. Wherever we find ourselves, I’d say, what is. . . simply is. No judgment, and we can give ourselves a lot of grace.

I especially ponder this when I consider all the movement work that is happening within us and around us. As we know quite well, there’s always more to do than any one of us can do alone. The size of it all can feel pretty daunting. Fortunately, we do actually have each other, and we bring different pieces to the work.

In the midst of that, this is pretty crucial: We need to keep the renewable resource callings going.

What I mean is that we all have callings — tasks, endeavors, activities, visions, and rhythms — that uniquely energize us even as we give them energy. As much as we give them energy, we receive energy back. They’re like renewable resources for us.

With so much need, we might forget to prioritize them. We might sacrifice them because we sacrifice our own self-care. But we need self-care. And. . . at the very same time, we should never underestimate how helpful these renewable resource callings can be to our movements and communities. They come so naturally and fill us so much that they might not seem like work. But they would be taxing work to someone else. It’s helpful to keep these callings precisely at the core of our work because they are uniquely alive in us.

And our movements and communities absolutely need our aliveness.

Sometimes, we have to do what we have to do, and that includes tasks that drain us. Some even add risk to us. But there are renewable resource callings too. They enrich us and our communities.

What are yours?

–Renee Roederer

[Image Description: A tree with two large, split branches emerges from a creek. The bark is brown, and there are smaller branches above with green leaves. The water in the creek is light brown with white bubbles on the surface from rapids. Some stones and sticks are in the lower left part of the image on land.]

When I took this photo over the weekend, the water in this creek was much higher than average. But year round, when the levels are lower, this tree is planted within the water. It’s always connected to the water.

I paused for a moment, recognizing that trees don’t merely have their own individualized set of roots. They are often connected to entire root systems underground. This tree, planted in water, likely nourishes other trees too. The trees receive nourishment from the ground table as well, but I imagine (or at least, I like to imagine) that this tree contributes in a special way.

I found this to be a lovely parable of sorts.

All too often, we are socialized to feel guilty for resting, or practicing recreation, or limiting productivity, or caring for our bodies. Cultures of capitalism and ableism have formed and socialized us in these ways.

But we are worth rest, recreation, pause, and care.
We are worth nourishment.

Why should we continue to feel guilty? We need and deserve all of these. And when we center them, planting ourselves in them, we inevitably nourish others too.

—Renee Roederer

He came into the country of the Gerasenes, says Mark.

He came into the country of the Gadarenes, says Matthew.

Questions of accusation swirl in both stories.

“What have you to do with us?” they ask.

Mark’s “Legion,” and
Matthew’s “Two Demoniacs,”
make their inquisition with force.

They also voice recognition.

“What have you to do with us, you who are the Son of God?”

Exclamations of desperation swirl in both stories.

“If you cast us out, send us into the herd of swine!” they say.

And so he does, both stories concluding with the same freakish ending — pigs rushing down a cliff and hurling themselves into the sea.

But are they the same story?

Only Mark mentions the suffering.
How a man was restrained by force with chains,
How his neighbors sought to subdue him.

Only Mark mentions the daytime and nighttime dwelling in tombs,
How he sounded aloud with howling,
How he sought comfort in bruising himself with stones.

This is rejection.
This is isolation.
This is stigmatization.

This is way we marginalize our neighbors.

“What have you to do with us, you who are the Son of God?”

The question comes to us.

–Renee Roederer

Mark 5: 1-20

They came to the other side of the lake, to the country of the Gerasenes. And when he had stepped out of the boat, immediately a man out of the tombs with an unclean spirit met him. He lived among the tombs; and no one could restrain him any more, even with a chain; for he had often been restrained with shackles and chains, but the chains he wrenched apart, and the shackles he broke in pieces; and no one had the strength to subdue him. Night and day among the tombs and on the mountains he was always howling and bruising himself with stones. When he saw Jesus from a distance, he ran and bowed down before him; and he shouted at the top of his voice, ‘What have you to do with me, Jesus, Son of the Most High God? I adjure you by God, do not torment me.’ For he had said to him, ‘Come out of the man, you unclean spirit!’ Then Jesus asked him, ‘What is your name?’ He replied, ‘My name is Legion; for we are many.’He begged him earnestly not to send them out of the country. Now there on the hillside a great herd of swine was feeding; and the unclean spirits begged him, ‘Send us into the swine; let us enter them.’ So he gave them permission. And the unclean spirits came out and entered the swine; and the herd, numbering about two thousand, rushed down the steep bank into the lake, and were drowned in the lake.

The swineherds ran off and told it in the city and in the country. Then people came to see what it was that had happened. They came to Jesus and saw the demoniac sitting there, clothed and in his right mind, the very man who had had the legion; and they were afraid. Those who had seen what had happened to the demoniac and to the swine reported it.Then they began to beg Jesus to leave their neighborhood. As he was getting into the boat, the man who had been possessed by demons begged him that he might be with him. But Jesus refused, and said to him, ‘Go home to your friends, and tell them how much the Lord has done for you, and what mercy he has shown you.’ And he went away and began to proclaim in the Decapolis how much Jesus had done for him; and everyone was amazed.

Matthew 6:28-39

When he came to the other side, to the country of the Gadarenes, two demoniacs coming out of the tombs met him. They were so fierce that no one could pass that way. Suddenly they shouted, ‘What have you to do with us, Son of God? Have you come here to torment us before the time?’Now a large herd of swine was feeding at some distance from them. The demons begged him, ‘If you cast us out, send us into the herd of swine.’And he said to them, ‘Go!’ So they came out and entered the swine; and suddenly, the whole herd rushed down the steep bank into the lake and perished in the water. The swineherds ran off, and on going into the town, they told the whole story about what had happened to the demoniacs. Then the whole town came out to meet Jesus; and when they saw him, they begged him to leave their neighborhood.

[Image Description: Three pink flowers are connected to a vine. They are shaped like hearts. A blue sky with clouds is in the background.]

[Image Description: Three gray-brown rocks are stacked upon each other, each smaller than the one beneath it. The rocks are on top of sand, and the sand has tracings with concentric circles as if there is a ripple effect from the rocks.]

To the Person That Harms,
To the Family That Wounds,
To the Shame That Devours,
To the Violence That Festers,

To the Grief That Upends,
To the Diagnosis that Stuns,
To the Substance That Hooks,
To the System That Discriminates,

You,

Yes,
You,

Any of You, or
All of You, or
More Than You
(That Which Stays Silent or
That Which Exists Beyond Lists)

You.

You
have never been a gift in disguise —
not tied with a bow
or packaged with grand, silver linings.

But here’s one thing you’ve yet to figure out:

The more you knock us off balance —
The more you pummel,
The more you trounce,
The more you disrupt and delight in the off-kilter,

The more we come to know what our balance is.

And that balance,
when we know it,
when we can name it,
when we can internalize it,
is Strength Beyond Strength.

That Balance is Our Sacred Invitation.
That Balance is Our Secret Intervention.

–Renee Roederer

[Image Description: A clockwise spiral made of a variety of colors — shades of red, orange, green, and yellow]

Every single thing that happens is born of particularity.

The largest things and the smallest things, alike —
who we know and love,
what routines we’ve developed,
how we’re partnered,
what our daily work looks like,
even what we’ve had for breakfast —
these may not have happened at all, except very particular factors lined up.

He showed up at a meeting.

A conversation brought synergy.

She asked me for a favor.

We missed the train.

A job ad suddenly came into view.

I got fed up.

Someone told them they were really good at this.

A new question emerged in her mind.

Every bit of this is particularity. Most of life has an “it wouldn’t have happened this way, except” attached. I love to think about this.

And here’s a Real Mystery:

At times, we might sit back and marvel that some the best gifts of our lives,
the very best people and opportunities for whom we feel an immense amount of gratitude, might not have come into being in the way they have, and may not even exist except for the fact that we experienced a major life detour —
at times, one we would have never chosen, and one we may not have wanted at all.

We might look at these people, opportunities, and life rhythms as expressions of The Sacred Otherwise.

The Sacred Otherwise. . .

Without the detour —
the interruption,
the disruption,
the loss,
the departure,
the frustration —
we wouldn’t have had these other experiences.

Plan B, C, D, ad infinitum are very sacred, because they are expressions of life that might not have existed at all. This is true with most things, in fact.

They are the Sacred Otherwise.

This doesn’t mean that the detours, interruptions, disruptions, losses, departures, and frustrations were necessary, or that they were gifts in and of themselves. Far from it. In fact, they might still ache somewhere within us.

But even then, even there,
The Sacred Otherwise is born of particularity.

–Renee Roederer

[1]

This sermon was preached at Allen Park Presbyterian Church in Allen Park, Michigan and was focused upon Romans 5:1-5.  The audio recording is above and a written manuscript is below.

Romans 5:1-5

Therefore, since we are justified by faith, we have peace with God through our Lord Jesus Christ, through whom we have obtained access to this grace in which we stand; and we boast in our hope of sharing the glory of God. And not only that, but we also boast in our sufferings, knowing that suffering produces endurance, and endurance produces character, and character produces hope, and hope does not disappoint us, because God’s love has been poured into our hearts through the Holy Spirit that has been given to us.

This opening paragraph of the 5^th chapter of Romans contains many powerful, evocative words. And very likely, if we reflect on them, we’ll notice that these words usually have stories attached.

There are words like faith, peace, grace, endurance, character, hope, and love.

These words weave their way through the letter Paul is writing, and as we connect to them personally, there are probably stories attached. . .

There are moments in our lives when we’ve felt our faith was deeply rooted and connected to the faith of others. . .

There are moments when we’ve felt a deep and abiding sense of peace. . .

There are moments when we became suddenly aware of the grace of God and the ways it impacts our lives. . .

There are moments when we’ve lived stories of endurance, character, hope, and most especially love. Or at the very least, these are the stories we want to live, don’t we?

We want to live stories of endurance, character, hope, and love,
and these are the stories we want to share.

Certainly these words are a part of our collective life together also — not only our individual life – but these words involve the very life that God is weaving through all humanity. These words are the stories God wants us to live.

Yet I also notice in this passage there is a challenging word too. It’s an honest word, and it is a word that likely has stories attached also. The word is suffering. There are moments in our lives when we have experienced deep suffering –

moments of loss, illness, confusion, and isolation,
moments when we began to question whether we were worth very much,
moments when we questioned whether our life has value and meaning.

Our world knows suffering too, including communities that surround us right now. We live in a world where poverty, racism, and classism all exist, along with the many divisions we create to separate some from others, declaring worth and value upon some while viewing the rest as ‘less than.’ The word suffering has stories attached too.

Interestingly, Paul says, “We also boast in our sufferings, knowing that suffering produces endurance, and endurance produces character, and character produces hope, and hope does not disappoint us. . .” Why? “. . . because God’s love has been poured into our hearts through the Holy Spirit that has been given to us.”

So many times, well-meaning people have looked at stories of suffering and tried to make them better than they really are. We have so many ways of speaking trite expressions, trying to make the suffering better in some way, but without recognizing the pain that is found within ourselves, our friends, our neighbors, and our world. We say things like,

“God will never give you more than you can handle.”
But we know that some bear burdens that do feel absolutely unbearable.

Or we say,

“Everything happens for a reason.”
This can make our pain seem as though it is somehow necessary,
like it is some crucial sacrifice toward an amorphous, future good coming into being.

Goodness does often come into being, but it doesn’t make our pain necessary.
It doesn’t mean it is God’s plan, hope, or desire for us.

I don’t think Paul is talking about any of these platitudes when he says, “we boast in our sufferings.”

Let’s hear that sentence again. Paul says, “We also boast in our sufferings, knowing that suffering produces endurance, and endurance produces character, and character produces hope, and hope does not disappoint us. . .” Why? “. . . because God’s love has been poured into our hearts through the Holy Spirit that has been given to us.”

I think Paul is saying that God’s love is the final word, and God’s love is weaving its way throughout our lives — so much so that it is even present in the suffering. Perhaps, it is known most intimately in the suffering, not because God needs us to suffer to discover it, but because God loves us so deeply, that God will be with us right there. God will love us always, and God’s love will be revealed in and through even the stories of suffering.

And that brings us to other words found in this passage. They are tiny words, and on the surface, they seem insignificant, yet they reveal God’s posture toward us.

Words like with.

Have you ever thought about how amazing that word is? Paul says, “We have peace with God.” With.  God seeks to be with us. God shows up, including the deepest stories of suffering. As God is with us, we feel peace, and sometimes we feel this beyond our deepest understanding. The word with reveals God’s posture toward us.

Or how about the word through?

Paul says we have this peace with God “through our Lord Jesus Christ, throughwhom we have obtained access to this grace in which we stand.” Through. We have received God’s love and mercy through Jesus Christ. We are reconciled through his very life. This word reveals God’s posture toward us.

Or how about the word into?

Paul says, “God’s love has been poured into our hearts through the Holy Spirit that has been given to us.” Into. This love comes into our very being, and the Holy Spirit dwells with us. Into. This word reveals God’s posture toward us.

In the midst of the season of Pentecost, today is Trinity Sunday. This is a day in the Christian calendar when we ponder the love of the Triune God. We don’t just do this solely with our thinking, working really hard in some way to wrap our minds around the reality that God is somehow three and one at the same time –One God, Three Persons: Father, Son, and Holy Spirit. This is not some game of mental gymnastics.

This is a day when we can ponder the Triune God with our hearts and our very lives.
This is a day when we ponder the Triune God with our very life stories.

And perhaps we could say,
this is a day when we ponder not only the love of the Triune God,
but the loves of the Triune God.[2]
These loves might just transform how we see our stories.

When we say that God is Triune, and
when we say that God is one in three persons,
we are saying that at the very heart of God —
at the very heart of Who God Is —
lies the existence of community.
God is one, and
God exists in a community of relationships,
as love is shared and expressed.

And here is one of the most beautiful truths about this revealed vision of Who God Is:

God wants us to join the community of these loves.

It’s not that we become God,
but each of us and all of us
are invited truly to an experience of the life of God.

This Triune vision reveals God’s posture toward us,
so we know when we suffer,
we are never alone.
We are surrounded by God.
We are surrounded by a community of loves –
Father, Son, and Holy Spirit;
Creator, Redeemer, and Sustainer –
and we are invited into the community of loves that exist around us
in our own relationships,

in this community of faith,
in this entire world
where God can be found
around every corner,
under ever rock,
throughout creation,
and revealed in and through every human life,
each one infinitely filled with worth and value.

These are the loves that surround our lives.
These are the loves that transform our stories.
So let’s hear Paul’s words one more time:

“We also boast in our sufferings, knowing that suffering produces endurance, and endurance produces character, and character produces hope, and hope does not disappoint us because God’s love has been poured into our hearts through the Holy Spirit that has been given to us.”

These are the loves of God for the people of God.

Amen.

–Renee Roederer

[1] Image: Andrei Rublev, public domain.

[2] My thinking on ‘the loves of God’ was strongly influenced a Trinity Sunday sermon preached by the Rev. David Nelson Roth at St. John United Presbyterian Church in 2006.