Smuggling Grace

[Public Domain Image]

When I was 22 years old, I spent an academic year working as a substitute teacher. One day, I was assigned to a second grade classroom. Most experiences from the day were rather typical, but I became intrigued by one student’s behavior. Throughout the day, he issued a constant, verbal refrain to remind me that he was not like the rest of the children. Unlike them, he never needed to be corrected.

To the entire group of students, I would say things like,

“Okay, class, I need you to lower your voices.”
And he would respond with, “I wasn’t talking.”

“We need to stand in line as we walk down the hallway.”
And he would pipe up with, “I’m in line.”

“Eyes up here please.”
And he would declare, “I’m looking at you.”

This went on all day. The first time, it was kind of cute. Then it became increasingly annoying. Finally, it brought me to a place of curiosity, wondering what is going on in this child’s world. All day long, this refrain continued, even if I shared that he didn’t need to respond. His tone was never a huff of defensiveness. These verbal comments were spoken calmly as reminders that he made no mistakes, as if some intense form of perfectionism was already forming in his young life. When he said these comments aloud, he was reminding himself as much as he was reminding me. He needed this to be true. He needed to feel exempt from all forms of correction. His pattern was likely a defense to keep other feelings at bay. Perfectionism is frequently rooted in shame.

I have not thought of this memory in many years, but it came into my mind last night as some folks from my community were talking about racism. Specifically, we were discussing how white folks will frequently do just about anything to duck out of a conversation about race. If we* do enter, we have tendencies to remind ourselves and others that racism is real and wrong, but we’re not the ones who do or say racist things.

This is white fragility, a dangerous defense which works to keep certain feelings at bay. We don’t want to feel guilt and shame, so we remind ourselves and others that we aren’t racist.

Sure, most of us do not intend to hurt others through overt forms of racism. Yet we do make harmful mistakes, and we let stereotypes and fears go unquestioned. Most of all, we participate in systems of white supremacy which are designed to benefit and privilege white people at the expense of people of color. We inherited these systems, and collectively, we need to dismantle them.

But we can’t even begin to do that if we won’t enter honest conversations about race. We can’t even make a dent — in fact, we can create much more harm — if white folks do no internal work to recognize the internalized, racist ideas and instincts we carry within ourselves. We all have them. We were socialized to have them by virtue of the systems that surround us.

We want to feel enlightened as though we are above the fray. We are like that 2nd grade student.

The solution is not ultimately to get mired in feelings of guilt and shame. Those feelings may need to arise, but they’re not ultimately what’s at stake here.

What is at stake are the lives of people of color — lives which are subject to the violence and disadvantage of the systems of white supremacy we refuse to acknowledge. We need to question and dismantle the ways those systems operate.

An example is on my mind this morning. I encountered an important news story today: Five students who went to some of the least resourced and thus lowest performing schools in Detroit are now suing the state of Michigan, saying their constitutional right to literacy is being violated. The story discusses the perspective of one of these students: “He says he can’t even seem to get a teacher in every class. He is sick of being sent to the gym to play basketball during Spanish class because he has no Spanish teacher.” The conditions of Detroit Public Schools are inexcusable, harming the lives of young, students of color and their communities. This happens while nearby school districts with more white students flourish.

If we can’t reflect internally about racism’s role in our lives, how will we recognize that we participate in the continuation of these realities?

If we can’t talk to one another about race, how will we build partnerships to actually change these realities?

If we can’t move beyond our feelings and our “Not me!” denials, how will we ever see racism as the sinister reality it is?

–Renee Roederer

*I’m white and am addressing white people most directly in this post. For that reason, when I say “we,” I am referring most specifically to white people.

 

[I found this image here.]

Back in October, a spontaneous idea turned out to be very fruitful. I started a new spirituality group for Nones and Dones on Meetup.com. Perhaps you’ve heard the religious buzzwords ‘Nones’ and ‘Dones’ before. If not, Nones are a growing population of people who are religiously unaffiliated. Dones, meanwhile, are people who claim a religious identity but have left traditional, religious institutions behind (most frequently, Christians who have left institutional churches for good). I wanted to create a community space that feels inviting and safe for friendships and meaningful conversations, so in the group description, I knew we should say outright, “This is no bait and switch, trying to get anyone to join a church.”

Why? So many people have had experiences of showing up to an event only to discover it has a hidden, religious motive attached. To my joyful surprise, since the Meetup Group came into being, Michigan Nones and Dones has become a community. But to my sad surprise, I have discovered the depth and breadth to which people regularly feel manipulated by Christians. Though I expected some of this, the extent of these experiences is so much larger than I anticipated.

Fortunately, this is not the primary atmosphere of our community space when we are together. The participants create a different kind of experience. Personally, I concern myself with this a lot, as I am the most obvious, religiously affiliated person in the group (I’m a Presbyterian minister and often self-identify as a ‘quasi-Done;’ I love my faith and tradition, but I want to see a new wave of reform in churches). Perhaps because the space feels safe enough for it — it’s not a bait and switch — people can tell their stories authentically. I am learning so much from them. In this community, we keep the details of stories confidential, but I can say that manipulation is a common theme in the emerging narratives.

In fact, I don’t think it’s a stretch to say that for many people, their primary experience of Christians involves Christians trying to sell them something. It seems to take two primary forms:

• I am trying to save you from hell. This involves a lot of techniques to convince people that their ideas and backgrounds are wrong so they will see the right-ness of Jesus and have an experience of salvation.

I suppose if someone’s belief, theology, and expectation of hell is truly that strong, it would be somewhat loving to try to save people from it. But. . . I also wonder, if you believe that God can only show grace and love to people after they formally become Christians, can you authentically love the people in front of you right now? Can you learn anything from these people, or are you the sole teacher (ahem, salesperson) trying to move them from one set of beliefs to another?

• I am trying to save my church from decline. This involves a lot of techniques and marketing to sell the value of a church community to people in the hopes that they will affiliate, thus increasing worship numbers and bringing in more pledge dollars to sustain the financial needs of the community.

There’s nothing wrong with authentically welcoming and inviting others into an experience of Christian community. That can be a beautiful expression of discipleship and friendship. But. . . I think we need to evaluate which motives are fueling our invitations. Do we have authentic love and welcome for the people we invite, or are we trying to ‘get’ them back through the doors of churches to ‘get’ some form of institutional survival from them?

I recognize that these strains above seem extreme, but I find them to be very active. And I’m sad — truly so very sad — that sales, marketing, techniques, and manipulation are some of the most frequent experiences people have with Christians.

Meanwhile, however, I’m also discovering this:
People are pretty cool with Jesus.

There are a variety of beliefs about Jesus, but I find that most people, including Nones and Dones, have great admiration for him. Alongside that admiration though, Jesus has sadly become a symbol of our manipulation.

It makes me wonder then, what kind of life-giving conversations could happen around the teachings of Jesus if we were not working to convince, or if people were not bracing themselves to be manipulated? Whether folks are Christians or not, I’m also finding that many would welcome Christians following the teachings of Jesus more and more in the world.

So can we lean more fully into the love, respect, and teachings of Jesus?

If so, let’s start here:
Thou shalt not manipulate.

–Renee Roederer

I reflected upon 9/11 from several different angles yesterday. Then, just as I was ready to close the anniversary, a radio story brought it into focus in an additional way. The radio story was an NPR feature entitled, “Teaching Sept. 11 to Students Who Were Born After The Attacks Happened.” It wonders how educators should teach 9/11 to students too young to remember these events. Though young students did not live through these experiences themselves, they have only known a post-9/11 context. “They have big knowledge gaps” about the day itself, NPR states, yet these students are immersed in the consequences of a post-9/11 world.

“Many teachers struggle with whether and how to teach the attacks and their aftermath,”  the story states. In one sense, we are only fifteen years distanced from events, and we are still grappling with the complexities we lived on that day and the years that followed. But it’s crucial that we teach this story. And not just any version will do. It’s crucial that we teach a complex story.

We need a complex story.
Our children need that,
and so do we.

It’s important honor the grief and fear that Americans felt on that day fifteen years ago. We also need to grapple with the aftermath of 9/11, including the lives our nation took in response. It’s important to value the true heroism of the helpers on that day fifteen years ago. We also need to recognize that some need our help now, including those who encounter Islamophobia in our nation and around the world.

People lost their lives on September 11, 2001, and hundreds of thousands lost their lives in the aftermath. All of these lives are valuable — every single one — and their complex stories are valuable — every single one.

Lost parents,
Lost children,
Americans,
Iraqis,
Afghans,
Firefighters,
Hospital personnel,
Soldiers in warfare,
Soldiers in mental health crises post-warfare.

We need a complex story.

Our children need this because they are living the continuation of that story. How will they tell the story? How will they create the future story?

I was born in 1982, less than ten years after the close of the Vietnam War. And while I had great American history teachers in high school, we spent most of our time studying the Revolutionary Period, the Civil War, and World War II. As far as I can remember, we just barely touched upon the Vietnam War period. I have talked about this with people my age who grew up across the country, and their experiences are similar. We did not learn the complexities of this war or its aftermath while we were in school.

It is not only tragic but concerning if students remain ill equipped to understand the period in which they are living. It is dangerous if they remain ill equipped for the period in which they will lead, particularly if the 9/11 stories they do hear function primarily as propaganda.

We must invite complex stories into our consciousness, and we must actively teach them.

–Renee Roederer

This sermon was preached at New Life Presbyterian Church in Sterling Heights, Michigan and was focused upon Luke 15:1-10.  The audio recording is above and a written manuscript is below.

Luke 15:1-10

The opening sentence sets the scene.

“Now all the tax collectors and sinners were coming near to listen to him.”

Jesus had a way about him, and he had words to share. These words were opening hearts and igniting imaginations. His words and his very presence invited people into a reality called the Kingdom of God. It was so inviting that people drew near to listen, including people who knew what it is like to live on the fringes of society. They were coming near, and they were leaning in with their ears and their very presence.

“Now all the tax collectors and sinners were coming near to listen to him.”

That sounds like something to celebrate, but while this opening sentence is inviting, it sets the scene for a controversy.

The Pharisees and the scribes were grumbling and saying, “This fellow welcomes sinners and eats with them.” Yes, the tax collectors and sinners – the imperfect, the outsiders, the misunderstood, and the marginalized – they were leaning in and coming ever nearer. And people from the religious establishment saw this as problematic.

When they complained that Jesus welcomes sinners and eat with them, the Pharisees and the scribes were not grumbling about some odd meal that Jesus had – a bite to eat at some point with these individuals. They were saying, “He associates with these people. He associates with these kinds of people.”

And they weren’t wrong. Jesus associated so closely with these people that he identified with them in many ways. Jesus lived his life as an outsider too. He had the audacity to live as an outsider among the outsiders, and from that position, he spoke as the teacher – the Rabbi who imagined, envisioned, invited, created, and embodied the Kingdom of God.

From this place of controversy, he speaks. Today, he offers holy words and issues an invitation:

To the Pharisees and the scribes, Jesus said, “Which one of you, having a hundred sheep and losing one of them, does not leave the ninety-nine in the wilderness and go after the one that is lost until he finds it? When he has found it, he lays it on his shoulders and rejoices. And when he comes home, he calls together his friends and neighbors, saying to them, ‘Rejoice with me, for I have found my sheep that was lost.’” Which one of you would not do the same?

That’s an interesting question, isn’t it? Would they do the same? Would we?

Jesus continues. “Or what woman having ten silver coins, if she loses one of them, does not light a lamp, sweep the house, and search carefully until she finds it? When she has found it, she calls together her friends and neighbors, saying, ‘Rejoice with me, for I have found the coin that I had lost.’

Which one of you would not do the same?

That question lingers in the air.

And it is an interesting question, isn’t it? Would they do the same thing? Would we?

Jesus says, “There is joy in the presence of the angels of God over one sinner who repents,” and “There will be more joy in heaven over one sinner who repents than over ninety-nine righteous persons who need no repentance.”

Ninety-nine righteous persons who think they need no repentance.

God celebrates those who are coming near, especially when they have been cast off or placed far away. . . sometimes, because they have walked in that direction themselves. . . and sometimes, sadly, my friends, because they have been cast out by people like you and me. . . people of the religious establishment.

God celebrates when these beloved ones come near.

Which one of you would not do the same? The question lingers. Will we do the same? Will we celebrate?

These are interesting questions, of course, because it might seem like a wild and illogical idea to leave all ninety-nine sheep, not in the pin, but in the wilderness, just to seek out one. We might ask, “Who would actually do that?” It might seem like a wild and illogical idea to turn a house upside down to look for one silver coin only to then throw a lavish party to celebrate, perhaps spending even more than that one coin. We might ask, “Who would actually do that?”

This is the wild, illogical, beautiful, and life-giving grace of God. The God behind this grace is the very God behind the Kingdom of God, the reality to which Jesus invites us. This is a grace-filled reality where ninety-nine are valuable, yes, but no more valuable than that one. That one is so valuable that the shepherd will do all he can to seek and celebrate that one sheep. That one is so valuable that God, a searching woman, will do everything she can to seek and celebrate that one silver coin.

My friends, we are valuable in this grace of God, and that grace meets us today,
for we are always being sought,
we are always being found,
and we are always being celebrated,
even when we feel alone,
even when we feel lost,
even when we feel forsaken.

This grace meets us,
when we are thrown unexpectedly into grief,
when we hear that challenging diagnosis,
when we struggle continually with addiction, and
when we fear the pains and violence of this world.

This grace meets us today,
when we remember this day’s challenging anniversary,
fifteen years after that painful 9/11,
a day that changed our nation,
a day that changed our world.

Wherever we are on this day,
God’s grace seeks us.
Wherever we are on this day,
We are valued, loved, and celebrated.

Grace seeks and finds us in the Kingdom of God.

Jesus invites us into this reality,
for the grace which claims us
becomes the grace which calls us.

Jesus asks, “Which one of you would not do this?” Today, no matter how wild or illogical, we can say ‘yes’ with our lives. Today, we can follow the God who seeks. Today, we can follow the God who lavishes others with love and sacred value.

And of course, throughout this scripture and this sermon, another question has lingered all along: Will we go out and seek the presence of our neighbors? And will we do this with a different mindset than we have had before? Too often, many of our neighbors have been pushed out by the religious establishment. Or if they have been sought, they have been viewed primarily as ‘lost ones needing to be saved’ or as ‘opportunities to save our churches’ from decline.

Can we see them in the way that God sees them,
as people who are treasured and valued with gifts to share?

Can we seek them in the way that God seeks them,
honoring them and celebrating them all along the way?

Perhaps in the seeking, we will go out from what is known and comfortable,
and learn that our neighbors have ways of leading us.

So let us seek and be led,
by the presence of our neighbors,
and most fully, by the presence of the God who seeks us all.

The grace which claims us
is the grace which calls us.

So let’s follow.
Amen.

–Renee Roederer

When couples are newly married, I sometimes ask, “What’s the most frequent, repeat gift you received from your registry?” You can only have so many can openers after all. Answers are often amusing. (When I married my husband, we ended up with four crock pots.)

Yesterday, I wrote a post entitled, Church: Weird, Magic Fixes and discussed the human tendency to suggest odd, unhelpful “fixes” to perceived problems. When I asked church friends and colleagues, “What kinds of weird, magic fixes have you experienced in churches?” answers were also amusing. Very amusing. And while I imagined I might receive repeat answers, I did not anticipate that multiple people would respond with, “Sock hops for the young people.”

Sock hops for the young people! 

Two colleagues in two different places have had people suggest that their church hold sock hops, in the hopes that young people will flock to the church building and ultimately participate fully in worship and membership. These sock hop suggestions were well meaning. After all, those who made these suggestions loved sock hops during their own teenage years. But that’s hardly a magic fix for today! Hilarious.

So here’s where all of this is going:

In this follow-up post, I would like to share some of the weird, magic fixes that people have suggested in churches. They can take many forms, but many fit this formula: “If we do  ______, the young people will return.”

Then I want to close with a different list. People also told me stories of congregations serving their neighbors for the sake of their neighbors, asking nothing in return. It turns out that churches don’t need weird, magic fixes. We can just live our calling. We can live our sacred, beautiful, life-giving calling.

So here are two lists, both amazing in different ways.

1. True examples of weird, magic fixes in churches (shared anonymously with permission). . .

• “If we take field trips to the roller rink, we will grow a youth group.”
• “If we have a social media policy, people will stop using social media during meetings.”
• “If ushers wear suits and ties, more visitors will return.”
• “If we give youth things to do instead of coming to church, we’ll have more youth involved in our church.”
• “If we have the same annual car wash and hot dog sale (which loses us money every year) we’ll show the community that we have a strong youth program.”
• “If we had raffles and bingos, our mortgage would be paid.”
• “If we got rid of dishwashers, more people would be involved in church.” (This is real! Someone suggested that people have less community connections these days because they don’t have to wash and dry dishes together.)

And my personal favorites. . . that is, in addition to the TWO sock hop suggestions. . .

• “If we had an auto repair school, youth would get connected here.”

Are you ready for this, because this is real!

• “If we had a Titanic Dinner on the 100th anniversary of its sinking with period costumes, the youth would serve the meal for us and love this church.”

Church folks can certainly come up with some interesting ideas! But you know what else? They can also love their neighbors for the sake of their neighbors.

2. Here are some real things churches are doing these days to love, serve, and connect with others.

• “We serve dinners at local shelters and provide meals to college students.”
• “We have literally kept families from going homeless.”
• “We host an after-school program for students that tend to fall through the cracks.”
• “We invited refugees to a day of celebration and welcomed them to our city.”
• “We hold support classes for children whose parents are going through divorce.”
• “We support NAMI (National Alliance on Mental Illness).”
• “We provide a warming day-shelter for people who are experiencing homelessness.”
• “We offer free space in our building for many groups and local organizations from the wider community.”
• “We provide transportation for children so they can visit their parents who are incarcerated.”

These examples aren’t magic fixes. Rooted in faith, these are beautiful examples of human beings honoring the worth of human beings. And it turns out, commitments like these are enough. Ministry for its own sake — for God’s sake; for humanity’s sake — is abundantly more than enough.

–Renee Roederer

Over the weekend, I heard a story that fascinated me. Silly as it sounds, it is a true story:

A small school district has four elementary schools, one middle school, and one high school. For decades, the high school mascot has been the Dolphins.* The school board decided to promote unity among students at the high school level, hoping to quell any factions, sub-groups, or cliques (for the record, I have never known of a high school without these). So how did they go about this? They declared that every school in their district will have same mascot as the high school. From now on, every school and every student will be a Dolphin.

K-12, all Dolphins, all the time.

While I suppose it might be nice to be on one big team. . . I’m a bit curious how this works with elementary school sports. Can anyone accurately commentate an event? Do players sometimes accidentally throw the ball to the wrong team? Do the cheerleaders shout, “Goooooooo, [insert particular school name] Dolphins!” as a qualifier? I find all of this to be funny.

But I also recognize that this decision had real costs. The school board spent a great deal of money to renovate all elementary and middle school gyms. Coaches had to reorder team uniforms. The district even painted the fire hydrants Dolphin blue. Old mascots were painted over, and previous school colors were banned. In the name of unity, the school district imposed uniformity.

Teachers, principals, and parents were largely not consulted. They had to comply, all in the hopes that someday, kindergartners from the future class of 2029 would never form cliques. Because they’ve been Dolphins all along. This was a lot of money spent on non-problem.

But here’s the real kicker: In the process of chasing a “magic fix,” the school district and its board diverted a great deal of funds away its primary mandate and vision – Education. I find some of the particulars of the situation to be comedic, but the broader issue is concerning.

Since I am an ordained minister, after hearing this story, I began to make connections to church life as well. These days, religious demographics and patterns of congregational affiliation are shifting, and in the midst of these changes, churches are pondering how to adapt. Some congregations long for ‘the good ol’ days’ when they knew what to expect before these shifts were underway. Others are doing all they can to preserve their congregational life well into the future. That’s not necessarily a bad thing, but when it becomes the primary mindset and goal of the congregation, weird, magic fixes are easily born.

They usually take an attractional form. What can we do to attract more people into our building, and then what can we do to get them to pledge? Perhaps more people will come if we have a fog machine. . . or a drum set in worship. . . or a snazzy set of newspaper ads (that nobody reads). . .

These survival fears genuinely deserve compassion, but when they take center stage, they can derail the primary mandate and vision of what it means to live and act as the Church. This is especially true when it comes to money.

Last week, Carol Howard Merritt published an excellent article in the Christian Century entitled Money Can’t Buy Me Life. She writes about churches that become so obsessed with growing an endowment, that they stop doing actual ministry. It’s an important read. I’ll close with one of her quotes:

“Our future does not depend on our bank balance; it depends on whether we are making a difference in the world. Stewardship doesn’t mean we stockpile cash until we all die; it means that we look for ways to use our resources to feed the hungry, shelter the homeless, welcome the stranger, and tell the good news.”

In other words, we can acknowledge our fears but abandon weird, magic fixes. Ministry for its own sake is always more life-giving.

–Renee Roederer

*This school district will go unnamed, and I have changed the name of the mascot.

Lovely friends, it is the day after Labor Day. We are returning back to work after a long weekend, and for many students and families, today marks the first day back to school. But let’s not lose sight of today’s truest gift: It’s TACO TUESDAY.

Last week, Marco Gutierrez of Latinos4Trump made an asinine comment on air during an interview with MSNBC. He warned that if immigration is not curbed in the United States, “you’re going to have taco trucks on every corner.” It’s painful to hear someone speak this way about his own culture. [1]

But his comment also backfired. It became an instant meme and built enthusiastic desire among people in the United States. Why, yes, it would be amazing to have tacos on every corner! The Clinton-Kaine campaign began to maximize on it as well.

Unfortunately, we don’t have taco trucks on every single corner yet, but what if we could do the next best thing? What if we could build friendships around tacos? Lots and lots of tacos?

That’s what some of us are going to do. We’re starting a two week event to build friendships over tacos.  As the fall begins, we’re getting back into typical routines but starting anew. Some of us are back home after summer vacations. Some of us are heading back to universities. Some of us have kids going back to school.

Wherever we are, we might return to these routines with new hopes, desiring a deeper sense of community. We want to meet new friends and get to know others better.

So here’s what we’re inviting people to do: Treat a friend to tacos.

Is there a person you’ve wanted to get to know better for a good while now? Invite that person along for tacos.

Is there a friend or former coworker you’ve been meaning to contact for a good while? Reach out and have a delicious taco meal together.

Is there a person you’ve wanted to ask out on a date? Let this opportunity be your excuse! You can’t go wrong with free tacos.

In the midst of the hostile rhetoric during this election season, we can patronize the businesses of immigrants. We don’t have taco trucks on every corner yet (unfortunately) but together, we can do the next best thing.

Join us.

–Renee Roederer

[1] Gutierrez’s fuller quote was as follows: “My culture is a very dominant culture. And it’s imposing, and it’s causing problems. If you don’t do something about it, you’re going to have taco trucks on every corner.”

 

A good friend from Texas asked me recently, “What’s it like to live in Ann Arbor?”

Though much could be said, I started with the seasons. “Every single season is beautiful here,” I said. Even if winter feels too long, at times — my Texan friend was flummoxed that snow could stick to the ground continually for months! — it is beautiful. This town is gorgeous all year round.

But it didn’t take long for my friend to ask questions about the high-pressured culture of the University of Michigan as well. I had quite a bit to say about this too.

Ann Arbor is a high power, achievement town, and the University of Michigan drives a great deal of that culture. I admire the brilliance and inquisitiveness of the many people who live here for an academic season of their lives as they pursue degrees at all levels. Along with the faculty, students at the University of Michigan make contributions to research and innovation in more subject areas than I can easily count. It is truly impressive.

Yet along with these high levels of achievement, come high pressures to succeed and succeed continually. People internalize quite quickly that they must be the leaders and the best — that’s literally the university’s motto — and these pressures can be felt in very tangible ways, even if they aren’t always easily named. It feels as though there is an unnamed cost as well. Competition kicks in, and people ask internally, “What happens if I’m not the best? What if I fail?”

Achievement is high here, but so is anxiety.

Leaders and the best certainly sounds like a motto of privilege. In many ways, it is, and I could write an entire post about that. But today, I ponder the human cost of this internalization. It’s twofold:

• It can be dismissive of people who don’t have the opportunity to attend an elite, expensive university with its many academic and economic options. Many people rightly hear this motto as one of pride.

• It can distort human lives from feeling whole, as if achievement is all that matters and makes a person worthwhile. After living in this town for three years, I don’t primarily experience this motto as one of pride. In its internalization, I see and hear people asking all the time, “What if I can’t measure up? What if I’ll never be enough?” These are questions of shame.

These sweeping distortions of self-image are part of the human experience, not only in Ann Arbor, but everywhere.

Whether we view ourselves through the lens of pride (“I’m better than others”) or through the lens of shame (“I’ll never be enough”) we live apart from the truth that we have sacred, intrinsic worth. We forget that we have intrinsic value apart from anything we do or achieve. Our worth and value cannot be lost even when we fail.

Here is the truth: We are beloved, finite, imperfect human beings with sacred worth – no more than that, no less than that. And we need to remind each other of that truth, both because we need it and because we need each other. We harm ourselves and others if we climb over one another, scrambling up a ladder of competition to prove our own worth and value. We need to be rooted in community and in the sacred message that we are loved, simply and fully as the ones we are.

So,
Who needs to hear this from us?
How do we need to tell ourselves?

However we might answer those questions, let’s commit to speak some truth this week.

–Renee Roederer

Here is a Roederer quirk: We’ve given names to all the animals that show up regularly in our yard. I’ve written before  about our sweet bunnies Rosa and Lita. But we’ve named other critters too.

Last year, two pesky groundhogs kept showing up. We named them Turnip and Spinach. (That’s what they liked to eat). This year, a younger groundhog has shown up from time to time, and we named him Son of Spinach. By the way, it is especially satisfying to yell Son of Spinach! from the house when we see him in our yard.

But of all the names we’ve assigned, perhaps my favorites belong to the hummingbirds –  Janet and Doug. They’re such silly hummingbird names! Daily, these two frequent our hummingbird feeder and Rose of Sharon bushes. This morning, their presence woke me up to a realization I needed.

It’s this: That tiny piece of land behind my house is so complex and so beautiful. It takes up so little space overall, but it is an absolute miracle. I spend so much time hoping that the big picture things will be miracles — that they will provide meaning, connection, and transformation. . . that they will impact real people. . . that the way will be clear for them. And while we can all lean into this direction and participate in big picture things coming into being, none of them are up to us alone. We need others, and in my tradition, we say this is ultimately God’s work. It’s not up to us, and it’s not all about us; but in a beautiful paradox, we also participate in it fully, and it is for us.

Janet, Doug, and their precious flowers reminded me of this. The small details that surround us are absolutely complex and miraculous. And I needed to remember that. I’ve been putting a lot of pressure on myself lately. It’s easy for the best big picture narratives to be replaced by alternative, big picture posing narratives. They can feel larger than life, but they are not the spacious, life-giving directions to which we are called.

These alternative narratives can take many forms, like. . .

. . . when we become obsessed with having our life-direction all figured out

. . . when we seek to prove that we aren’t who those others said we are

. . . when we are terrified of failure

. . . when we chase money and recognition

. . . when we carry the impostor’s syndrome wherever we go

It seems that many of these alternative narratives are caught in pride or shame. Both are distortions of who we really are — beloved, finite human beings, created as miracles, who are called to participate in the big picture changes needed in our world. We are no more than that (pride), and we are no less than that (shame).

We can easily get stuck in these narratives, but sometimes, the small, miraculous details wake us up and root us. Most of all, they remind us that we need to be rooted in the source of it all. The mysterious one who created the tiny hummingbirds also created the cosmos. And us. Tiny, yet beautifully loved and significant us.

–Renee Roederer

 

Yes, this is a mashup photo of Buffy the Vampire Slayer and The Waltons. These two shows may seem like an odd couple, but for the very same reason, both have been on my mind this week.

With all my heart, I love Buffy and the universe Joss Whedon created through it. The show is masterful with the use of symbols and metaphors, and over seven seasons, the character development is immense. On Sunday, I watched the series finale again. I had not seen it in years. Then I circled back to the opening and watched the very first episode too.

I couldn’t help but view the opening scenes as a grand, albeit campy, prelude to where it was all headed. The end illumined the beginning, and I was watching with that end in view.

Later in the week, I was thinking about this once more when a beautiful memory came to mind. The memory is about David, a person beloved and deeply influential in my life. When he was living through a challenging cancer diagnosis, he suddenly became obsessed with the reruns of another show: The Waltons.

We all knew we were not allowed to call David during the 9am hour. That was The Waltons hour. If we did call David, he would scold us playfully. But he was also serious. He would not talk to anyone during that hour, nor would he do anything else. It was all about The Waltons.

This morning ritual went on every weekday for about a year. Then one particular day, he watched the series finale. The final episode reveals the future directions of the main characters. It skips ahead to reveal what their lives will become.

A few weeks later, I said something like, “I’ll give you a call tomorrow.” Then teasing him, I added, “But don’t worry. I won’t call during The Waltons.”

David told me he had finished the series. I assumed he would just start again at the beginning, but instead, he said, “Actually, I’m done with it. You know, I’ve been thinking about this. I needed to learn that everything would turn out alright, and that all those characters would be okay in the end. What I needed to learn most is that all of you will be alright too.”

David was speaking about his diagnosis, knowing that he would eventually leave us. He binge watched The Waltons, and with the end in view, he was comforted. He knew we would love and grieve deeply, but we would also live well.

David wasn’t merely talking about his illness alone, however. He was also talking about purpose. The word end has two meanings. It can mean finality, but it can also mean purpose or goal. Though it would indeed be painful, David needed to know our lives would continue after he was gone. But even more, he needed to know that our lives would continue in the purpose of the love we had shared with him.

I am so glad that we had that conversation. Years later, I know that he was right.

We still know that love.
We know love in our bones.

And more and more, I hope to live with that end in view.

–Renee Roederer