Smuggling Grace

I sat facing the congregation, wearing a stole, listening to the organ prelude. Worship was about to begin.

As I approach my seventh year working in public health within a nonprofit, I can honestly say I love the path I’m on. It’s exactly where I want to be. Though it’s been a long time since I served as a pastor, I still lead pulpit supply frequently, filling in for colleagues when they’re away. I’ve also led several church retreats over the past year. While this is no longer where I spend most of my time, it remains an integral part of my upbringing and my sense of belonging.

As I listened to the organ prelude, my mind wandered to some of the most formative people in my life. They’ve been on my mind as I chart a new course, one added to the others. Though I’ve been writing daily for many years, I’m now working on my first book. I recently finished a chapter reflecting on my upbringing in a Presbyterian church.

Here’s a paragraph from that chapter:

I was raised by a Christian congregation, and that community became a chosen family and home in my life. When I share this, I don’t simply mean that I grew up attending worship services. For me, this was far more than a weekly routine. I was raised intentionally by St. John United Presbyterian Church in New Albany, Indiana. In that congregation, a whole circle of people decided to love me and treat me as if I were their very own daughter. It transformed the direction of my life.

As worship began yesterday, I thought about how there’s no way I’d be sitting here, about to lead this service, if it weren’t for those people. This role I’m in emerged simply and powerfully because I received so much love there.

I was thinking about how plants grow toward the sun. We can see them stretch in that direction. Could it be that we, too, grow in the places where love is shown to us?

Had I been surrounded by a different group of people, might I have developed roles I couldn’t have anticipated? And isn’t that why I also work in public health and nonprofit now? Because love found me there, too?

I enjoyed reflecting on these questions yesterday morning.

So, where is love showing up for you? And how are you growing and stretching toward it?

— Renee Roederer

Someone I admire recently shared something that I appreciated. After years of moving toward a helping profession, they said:

“It’s not an occupation; it’s a vocation. I felt the calling.”

I could hear the energy in those words and how much meaning they carried. Our vocation isn’t always a job, and our job isn’t always our vocation.

What about you? In your life, what feels like a vocation rather than an occupation? Where and how are you sensing your own calling?

— Renee Roederer

— Photos by Renee Roederer

This week, spring is in full swing where I live. The landscape is becoming green again, and flowers are popping up everywhere. What’s been catching my attention the most, though, are the flowering trees. When I’m walking, driving, or biking around town, I’m often struck by a sudden burst of white, yellow, or pink from trees that weren’t showing any signs of these just days before.

These trees don’t all bloom at once. Over a few weeks, different trees come into bloom, each in their own time. It’s as if each one takes its turn, one after another, showing up in a way that surprises me every time.

A dear friend of mine bought a house last winter, and when she returned from a vacation, she saw something that caught her off guard. A tree in her backyard, which had been nothing but bare branches for months, was suddenly covered in white blossoms. “I didn’t know this tree did that!” she said with delight.

Unless we’re really familiar with identifying trees, if we spend months just looking at bare branches, we’re not likely to know what will happen when spring finally arrives. We can’t always anticipate the way one tree will suddenly burst into bloom, or how another will turn a brilliant shade of pink. It’s all about waiting for the right time.

The trees reveal themselves in their own way. The blooms show us exactly what kind of tree they are.

And maybe people are like this, too. Sometimes, we have to give others the time and space to reveal themselves. It’s easy to assume we know someone based on first impressions or fleeting moments, but sometimes it takes more than that. It takes patience, understanding, and being willing to wait for the right time to see the full picture.

So, as we wait for things to unfold, sometimes, the best things reveal themselves when we give them the time they need.

— Renee Roederer

I was listening to a friend tell me a number of stories when all the sudden, she switched her language into present tense. I’m going to guess that she wasn’t even aware of this, but it drew me in all the more. I thought, “Oh, she wants me even more alongside her right here,” and through that shift in her language, I was.

I was grateful to be invited.

This experience made me want to pay attention for these kinds of moments — these sudden shifts into present tense, particularly while someone is sharing a story that happened in the past.

This is one of the myriad of ways that we can accompany each other. A story, whether funny, meaningful, tragic, or traumatic, slows down, and in the present tense, our hearer is with us. And in a very real way, this presence and this invitation to witness the story, changes the story. It expands it. It can reframe it or even transform it.

In my life and in my work, I’m going to be listening for this. And in my own telling of stories, I may choose to use it myself.

–Renee Roederer

In the wake of the death of Pope Francis, I recently read about something that deeply moved me, and I felt compelled to share it. Amidst the devastating violence in Gaza, Pope Francis took an extraordinary step—every night, he called the Christian community in Gaza, speaking to them personally and offering his prayers and words of comfort. He advocated consistently for peace and security for all people in Gaza.

These nightly calls were no small act. In the midst of unimaginable hardship, these moments reminded them that they were not forgotten. As George Antone, head of the emergency committee at the Holy Family Church in Gaza, shared, Pope Francis would speak not only to the priest but to everyone in the room, making each person feel known and supported. “He used to tell each one: I am with you, don’t be afraid,” Antone recalled.

This wasn’t just a token gesture—it was a consistent, heartfelt act of solidarity from the Pope, who, despite the distance and the turmoil, made sure that every single person in that community felt seen.

I find it moving to witness how Pope Francis not only prayed for these communities but took consistent, actionable steps to stand with them. His legacy is a testament to what it means to advocate for life—not just for survival, but for the flourishing of all people.

As we remember his work, I am reminded that true care—true advocacy—isn’t a passive gesture. It’s an active, consistent presence. It’s offering not just words, but a commitment to stand with those in need. In a world where many feel overlooked, it’s crucial to recognize the power of advocating for life, for peace, and for a future of self-determination.

— Renee Roederer

Source
Reuters. (2025, April 21). Gaza’s Christians ‘heartbroken’ for pope who phoned them nightly. Retrieved from https://www.reuters.com/world/gazas-christians-heartbroken-pope-who-phoned-them-nightly-2025-04-21

We’re all longing to see expressions of community coming together, supporting one another, and being creative. Over the weekend, I opened the weekly newsletter from Hank and John Green (highly recommend it), and one of the videos they featured was about a Book Brigade. When I played the video, I instantly recognized the location: Chelsea, Michigan, a town just a short drive from where I live.

In the video, community members came together to help a local bookstore move all its inventory from its old location to the new one. And it looks like they had a great time doing it. So, I invite you to enjoy the Book Brigade!

Power Like a Seed
by Rev. Sarah Speed
A Sanctified Art LLC

In a world that wants power like a machine gun,

power like a bomber plane,

power like a gated fence to keep the hungry out,

I want power like a seed—

power that will crack me open and grow

something good;

power like an open door,

an invitation that says, “Come on in;”

power that feels like a strong spine with a soft heart.

I want the power to listen, to lean in, to ask follow-up questions.

But more than anything, I want the power to bring

us together, to lift you up.

There are different kinds of power.

One will build a wall.

One will plant a garden.

We should know by now, only one will bear fruit.

— Rev. Sarah Are Speed

— Photos by Renee Roederer