Smuggling Grace

Over the weekend, I had the opportunity to participate in something remarkably special. I returned to Louisville, Kentucky to celebrate Dr. Kent Hatteberg, greet friends I haven’t seen collectively in twelve years, and join our voices together to make some music.

When I was in undergrad, I sang with the University of Louisville Cardinal Singers, a choir that had a pretty amazing trajectory of memory-making via world travel. From 2003 to 2005, we ended up (quite unexpectedly, I might add) making a name for ourselves on the world stage of choral music.

I suppose folks in the United States enjoy a good choir should they bump into one, but there are places around the world that actually make a really big deal out of choral singing. Over the span of three years, we ended up competing in four world competitions that just all happened to be in Germany (Wernigerode, Bremen, Limburg-Lindenholzhausen, and Marktoberdorf) and the World Choral Symposium in Kyoto, Japan. The event that really put us on the map was the 2004 Bremen Choir Olympics.

I suppose it seems ridiculous that there is such a thing — a Choir Olympics, that is; I picture choristers trying to sing while jumping hurdles — but in actuality, this was an incredible event with 350 choirs from around the world that competed in different styles of music. We entered three of the categories: Chamber Choir, Contemporary, and Spiritual/Gospel. I will never in my life forget the utter shock and joy I felt during that award ceremony. The emcees began by announcing the results of the Chamber Choir competition, which was kind of the overall category.

They started at the bottom of the list, announcing the choirs in order. They never said any of the place names — “And now, in 23rd place!” for instance. They just went up the list. At some point, they started naming choirs that had amazed us with their music and artistry.

“Oh no, they forgot us. . .” I thought.

Then all of the sudden, two TVs lit up with the word CHAMPIONS in all-caps. At first, I was completely confused, but then as we looked at each other, we realized we were the only choir that had not yet been named. We actually won.

We were aware that we had done some of the best singing of our lives in this competition, but never once, did we even imagine this scenario as a hypothetical situation. We were all totally stunned. In fact, we didn’t quite know what to do. Then we realized we were supposed to leave our bleachers in the stadium and head to the front for the national anthem. We all received gold metals.

Then we received two more gold metals for our other categories of singing. Such a random thing in my life: I have three gold metals from the Choir Olympics.

But, of course, that’s not ultimately what I gained in this experience. Over those years, as students, we built really incredible friendships with one another. Collectively, we’ve kept in touch on social media, but until this last weekend, I haven’t been in one place with so many them since 2005 when I was 23 years old.

Kent Hatteberg, our conductor, made all these friendships and experiences possible. This year, he is celebrating his 20th year at the University of Louisville. In honor of this, we decided to throw a surprise party for him! It was also his birthday, so this was a double occasion. In fact, we had a cake for each.

We rented out space at Flanagan’s Ale House on Baxter Avenue in Louisville. In addition to catching up, the best part of the night was actually singing together. We had about 100 people present — all former students who had sung with the Cardinal Singers over the span of 20 years — in one place making music together. Dr. Hatteberg seemed so content conducting all of us.

At one point, during a piece called Hymne à Saint Martin, I just couldn’t keep it together anymore and cried grateful tears. This was just so very special, and I kept thinking about everything this community gave me during a critical time in my younger years.

And in the midst of it, I thought about the practice of return.

I suppose we could say that return is a spiritual practice —
to return to our memories,
to return to our emotions,
to return to our voices,

and most of all,
to return to one another,
actually present,
actually recognizing how sacred it is.

In light of all of these, thanks to Dr. Kent Hatteberg and the Cardinal Singers for a sacred practice of return this weekend.

– Renee Roederer

If you click this link, you can hear us singing Shenendoah, arranged by James Erb, at Flanagan’s Ale House.

Later, I had a laugh noticing the TVs behind us, which included some funny commercials and Jim Harbaugh clapping. I suppose there was a taste of Ann Arbor, my home, in this experience as well.

A few days ago, I spontaneously laughed aloud at the grocery store when I saw an assortment of decorative gourds. In and of themselves, there’s nothing particularly funny about them. They just reminded me of something.

They reminded me of my first job. How many people can say this? As a high schooler, my first job ever was

Gourd Shellacer.

Yep, I worked at a farm where my main task was to spray shellac on decorative gourds to make them SHINE. Shine with all their decorative glory!

And to me, the funniest thing about this is that when I later applied for my second job – a place where I ended up waiting tables throughout high school and college for the next six years – the application asked for my previous employment history. I didn’t know what to write for my previous job title. So I wrote,

Gourd Technician.

What a ridiculous thing to say. I suppose partly this was for my own amusement. But the person interviewing me did actually ask, “So what is a Gourd Technician?” and I had to answer!

I think in the moment, I laughed about it, said I was a Gourd Shellacer, but I didn’t know how to name that precisely on an application.

Thankfully, I got the serving job despite the oddities.

You know, if we pay attention throughout our day, I bet we can all find a bunch of silly, spontaneously memories. And they might just bring us some joy, as strange as they and we might be.

– Renee Roederer

Here’s the paradoxical thing about shame —

As a feeling, it is real.

As a reality, it is untrue.

There has never been a life chapter, a day, or even a moment when we were not worth love and belonging.

– Renee Roederer

So I’m an external processor.

I mean, you probably know this about me. I do blog five times a week. But beyond that, I live for the rhythms that allow me to reflect in words with others. Given my calling, I am privileged to receive the reflections of a large number of people on a regular basis. And I too, love speaking my own.

Well, two days ago, I found myself wanting to process some things that have been on my mind and heart. Over these last few months, been pondering my own sense of calling and all the gifts it has given me over these last twelve years. Throughout the ups and downs and winding roads of it, I marvel at the sense of community that has been built over time. These days, I feel a desire to rededicate myself to that calling and larger community vision.

In the midst of pondering these things earlier this week, I had so many thoughts and questions. Then I suddenly thought of Father Greg Boyle and said inwardly, “I wish I could talk with him about all of these things.”

Greg Boyle is the founder and spiritual leader of Homeboy Industries in Los Angeles, an organization that provides healing, hope, jobs, and economic opportunity for people who were recently incarcerated or have left gangs. He is also the author of Tattoos on the Heart, my very favorite book. In that book, Greg Boyle tells the stories behind the community at Homeboy Industries, reflecting theologically as he invites us into a spiritual practice of kinship and deep belonging.

I have admired Father Greg and the entire community at Homeboy Industries for years. When I lived in Southern California, I met him briefly once, and twice, I sat through the daily Morning Meeting at Homeboy Industries. This is a really moving daily practice where the whole community begins the morning together with laughter, celebration, and a “Word of the Day” meditation.

In addition to the general admiration I’ve had for Father Greg all these years, on Monday, I found myself actually wanting to talk to him, because I knew he was the perfect person to understand some of my reflections, questions, life directions, and stories.

So. . . perhaps because I needed to externally process something, I created a post on Facebook.

I shared a photo of a cup of coffee and wrote,

If you could sit down with anyone, dead or living, to receive some life advice, maybe over coffee or tea, who would you choose?

And here’s what I can hardly believe: In less than a minute — less. than. a. minute. — a friend of mine told me that a relative of hers is married to a relative of his, and that she could actually put me in touch to have a conversation with him.

Then later in the day, another person told me that her own good friend and colleague is also a very close personal friend of Father Greg. She could also put me in touch with him.

So. . . at some point in the next month, I think I’m actually going to try to make some plans to talk to Father Greg Boyle about my own calling pathway.

And I can hardly believe this has happened!

–Renee Roederer

 

Once more, I’m mindful of the impacts of the Me Too conversations happening on social media this week. In the midst of them, perhaps it is important to remind ourselves,

We can choose peace over productivity.

In fact, there may be a number of situations and contexts where we need to hear such freedom.

We really can choose peace over productivity.

We have constructed our culture in such a way (in fact, this is part of the Patriarchal way of organizing ourselves, and it hurts people of all genders) to value productivity above much else — including our own wellbeing and the wellbeing of our neighbors.

When we are hurting, how often do internalized messages bubble up to the surface, conveying. . . ?

“Come on. Get on with it.”

“This isn’t as bad as what ________ experienced. Why can’t I get anything done?”

“I don’t have time to think about this. I have so much to do.”

“Look competent.”

“Get it together.”

These are self-critical messages in contexts where our productivity and our constructed image are viewed more highly than our true selves and our need for wholeness.

Well, guess what matters more?

You — the real you — and your wholeness.

We can choose peace over productivity.

So what space do you need today?

– Renee Roederer

 

 

Last night, a multitude of people wrote two words on their Facebook Timelines: Me Too.

For many, these words were intended with at least two purposes:

1) to signify how widespread sexual harassment and sexual assault are in our culture (folks shared that these have happened to them; it’s not hard to see how large the numbers of people are who have been affected)

and

2) to signal to people that they’re not alone if they’ve experienced these.

While numerous people wrote Me Too on their Timelines, others chose not to do so. There are a number of reasons why people might make such a choice. It’s important to say this:

No one needs to share such words or the experiences behind them in order for those experiences to be real and believable. And no one has to share such words or the experiences behind them for one’s personhood or bravery to be affirmed. If you found yourself grappling with these last night, please know that you are indeed brave, and your personhood is indeed affirmed. Self-disclosure is always a choice.

Today, we are becoming more aware of the impacts of last night’s words. As we do that, we should be mindful of this:

Because self-disclosure, even if only two words, happened in massive numbers last night, many people are remembering some of the worst abuses of power they have ever experienced in their lives. In addition to recalling such moments mentally, our bodies remember too. Old emotions of misplaced shame and guilt can be ignited. These were often internalized in the moment of abuse, though folks were not at all at fault.

This is a good day to be gentle with ourselves and others.

Many people won’t want to be asked about their posts or these challenges (please keep that in mind) but we should be aware that many people will be suffering inwardly today.

My best thoughts are with any who are struggling through painful memories and physical feelings today. If you could use a person to talk to about any of this, please reach out.

– Renee Roederer

 

. . . what if we socialized people to desire love instead of power?

A few days ago, I watched a really helpful video from James Finley. He teaches at the Center for Action and Contemplation, founded by Richard Rohr. He wanted to discuss ways to care for ourselves and others during times of collective trauma.

As we know, people around the world are experiencing numerous challenges that are deeply disturbing. We are living in a time of great inequities and injustices. As we experience these directly or hear about them through the news, we are affected.

I find these words to be comforting and helpful. I encourage you to take some time to view James Finley’s video: A Message from James Finley.

When we make space to be present to the moment before us,
When we create intention to notice the surroundings around us,
We are soon reminded of people.

Isn’t that true?

We walk around the grocery store and see a food item that someone especially likes.

We cross an email off our to-do list and remember someone we’d like to check in with later.

We smell a comforting scent and remember the people present in a long-ago memory.

The remembrances of people are around us all the time. This means we are invited into community all the time.

I find myself thinking about the word ‘remember.’ Though we don’t typically think about it this way, in English, the word is literally phrased as ‘member again.’ This is a way to express belonging. In community, we are members of one another. We belong.

And when Jesus shared his very last meal with his closest friends and confidants, he blessed bread before them, and broke it, saying, “Take and eat. This is my body broken for you. Do this in remembrance of me.” He then poured the cup of wine before them and said, “Drink this, all of you. As often as you do so, do this in remembrance of me.”

In the recounting of this moment, the Greek word for ‘remember’ means ‘to make present.’ Jesus is not simply asking disciples to think about him when they eat future meals together. He is asking them to reenact this moment in a way that makes him present.

In this very Sacrament, and
In a life of sacramental living —
noticing, reflecting, contemplating —
people become present to us all the time.

So when we remember them —
as they are membered once more in our thoughts,
and made present to us —

perhaps would be meaningful if we reached out to say hello, making ourselves present too.

– Renee Roederer

 

 

Last weekend, Ian and I had a really wonderful opportunity to travel to the Upper Peninsula of Michigan for a few days. It was a needed gift to change up our routines, do some hiking, explore new areas, and see some beautiful fall colors.

One thing I try to do occasionally, especially in times of stress, is make some space to simply notice things. From time to time, it’s good to just let the surroundings speak to us.

This weekend, I noticed one thing that will stay with me for a long time:

On Friday, we walked into a café in Munising, Michigan. It’s called Falling Rock Café and Bookstore. As soon as we stepped in the door, I was moved by a particular sight – a huge number of mugs hanging on hooks. Each mug was labeled with a person’s name. Four whole walls of mugs and names.

All the mugs represented the regulars from the community in Munising.

There were rows and rows of first and last names. Some labels used relational titles like “Rev. _____” and “Coach _____.” I saw many Indigenous names. I saw some names in quotes, a nickname inserted between a person’s first and last name. All of these people could pull their own mugs down from the wall and order coffee.

This was all so touching. These mugs were a symbol of welcome. These mugs were a symbol of being known and valued.

I teared up a bit as I stood there looking at these long lines of mugs.

We all have a deep, human longing to be known and welcomed just like this. We need to know that we belong in our communities – that there is space for us.

Space for who we are. Space for our very names.

– Renee Roederer