Here and Now

Photo by Jennie Roberts Jenkins

 

Do we think damnation
 is a distant future
  of afterworld punishment
   reserved for those
    whose conduct
    is unbecoming
    to a divine scorekeeper;

a retribution
 which might possibly
  be escaped by either
   a deathbed conversion
    or a cultural/religious
    “Get out of hell, free!” card?

Guess again!

It’s the pervasive
 nausea, hypertension,
  and malignancy constructed
   with the anxiety and fear
    of competition, comparison,
    and a divisive isolation
    of self-elevation
    and othering.

The smoke we smell,
 the angst we feel,
  the empty ache
   we cannot fill,
    are manifestations
    of the torment
    we have self-constructed
    and are currently living.

There is but one antidote;
 a priceless elixir
  our insurance is
   incapable of covering,
    our coffers are
    unable to procure.

It is grace.
 It is gift,
  for all of us.

Let’s go ahead
 and open it 
  here and now.

© 2020 Todd Jenkins

Redemptive Journey

 

We remember well —
all too well,
if we’re allowing truth
to seep through —
how much it hurts
to give our deepest feelings
a seat at the table.

They dance
as everybody’s watching,
brazenly swaying
to a beat
beyond aural comprehension,
in the recesses
of our parents’ basement,
where the exuberance
of our adolescence spills
its embarrassing awkwardness.

Hexed by rampant anxiety,
we have neither control
nor understanding.

All we can do is sit,
nervously gaping
at the unfolding drama.

Sure that our emotes are,
among all, most cringeworthy,
the glacial shift
from attempted suppression
to willing ownership
is painstaking;

but it is also redemptive;

and in the journey,
our honesty has the potential
to cut a rug or at least
a swath broad enough
along which others can follow.

© 2020 Todd Jenkins

Could There Be?

 

Could there be a cosmos
  where hope
  is not wishful thinking,
  but prophetic imagining?

Could there be a world
  where kindness
  is not weakness,
  but strength?

Could there be a nation
  where neighbor
  is not feared,
  but revered?

Could there be a community
  where compassion
  is not suspect,
  but practiced?

Could there be a family
  where forgiveness
  is not withheld,
  but freely poured?

Could there be a heart
  where grace
  is not earned,
  but gifted?

Could there be a God
  who lavishly unfolds love,
  not as reward
  for obedience,
  but as nourishment
  for transformation?

  Yes.
Yes.
  Yes.
Yes.
  Yes.
Yes.
  Yes.

Yes!

© 2020 Todd Jenkins

Pain’s Path

 

Here’s hoping,
 here’s praying,
  here’s throwing everything
   at my disposal
   toward a major reroute
   of the traffic jam
   of screaming ambulances
   of pain that are racing
   back and forth
   on the Nerve Freeway
  between the unauthorized construction site
 of your debilitated body,
and your brain.

May there be a major reroute,
 pronto, by which
  these minions of malice
   are led down
   a remote dirt road
  to nowhere,
 and left to dwindle
into obscurity.

So let it be written;
 so let it be read;
  so let it be imagined;
so let it be felt.

© 2020 Todd Jenkins

Worth

Photo by Jennie Roberts Jenkins

 

  We long for a world
  where knees are not
  the feet of people
  who have the gargantuan weight
  of their own sociocultural insignificance
  piled upon them,

   where knees are not
   the shoes of those whose backs
   are crimson-striped
   with the whip of oppression.

    Show us, O divine hoper,
    a table ‘round which
    all gather and voluntarily kneel
    because their collective soul
    has felt its worth,
    a priceless gift birthed
    in community.



“O holy night, the stars are brightly shining;
It is the night of the dear Savior’s birth!
Long lay the world in sin and error pining,
‘Til He appeared and the soul felt its worth.
A thrill of hope, the weary soul rejoices,
For yonder breaks a new and glorious morn.
Fall on your knees…”

© 2019 Todd Jenkins

Fading

 

Here we sit,
betrayed by circumstances,

  or at least befuddled
  by the way
  our breaking hearts
  and crumbling souls
  have abandoned us
  in the turmoil
  of our cultural angst.

    Here we sit,
    birthing shallow longings
    propped up with little more
    than the toothpicks
    of greed and graft,

  piling temporal resources
  into our luggage
  as if these peccadillos
  bear any resemblance
  to the eternal fires
  of love that burn
  deep in our marrow,
  refusing to be extinguished,
  no matter how long
  hope seems to have
  delayed its arrival.

Here we sit.
We can do no other,
until the silence gives way
to recognition
of a kindred pulse
keeping time with ours,
slowly raising us
from the tomb
of our disbelief.

© 2019 Todd Jenkins

Ready or Not

Photo by Jennie Roberts Jenkins

 

    A life is gone;
    its vanishing,
    a train wreck
    of unconscionable proportions,
    even for people
    who had no idea they lived
    anywhere near the tracks.

  Maybe it feels like you knew
  the abyss was there;
  as if you kept seeing it
  over and over,
  even if your sight was hind.

    Does it feel like the hole
    dug itself, or that,
    when our bearings are lost,
    even the most vigorous shoveling,
    though it be intended
    as a digging out,
    often multiplies
    the downward spiral?

  We have beaten ourselves up
  so many times,
  as if finding a target
  for our rage, even and especially
  when the bullseye is self-directed, 
  would somehow
  improve the optics;

    but here’s the reality:
    self-blame is not
    just beside the point,
    it is irrelevant.

  What we need, O God,
  is to find our way
  to the trail
  of bread crumbs leading
  from this hell-hole
  toward the grace-infused hospitality
  of the deep gratitude
  of your wholeness;
  out of the hole
  and into the whole;

    so here we come,
    ready or not;
    though we know
    we’re the ones who’re not,
    and you’re the one
    who’s always ready,
    arms open wide,
    ears leaned-in to listen,
    heart softened to soak up
    our tears and our tales.

  Lead us to those
  whose own brokenness
  has drawn them near enough
  to your heart; those
  who can wrap us
  in the comforter
  of unconditional love,
  so they can blanket us
  with the warmth of hope.

    © 2019 Todd Jenkins

Beside You

 

There lies within
the deepest well
both flashes of heaven
and flames of hell.

And those who walk
along earth’s roads
must find a way
to bear these loads.

For life itself
surely guarantees
that each of us
will face both of these.

The question isn’t,
“What will you do?”
it’s much more about
“Who is beside you?”

A friend whose heart
is open and cracked,
whose words are sparse
and carefully stacked;

who sits to listen
and catches the tears,
who holds the story
of all your years;

this is a person
within whose face
I hope you see
reflections of grace.

As these paths
are fully trod
may we find ourselves
in the presence of God.

© 2019 Todd Jenkins

Paralysis

Photo by Jennie Roberts Jenkins

 

My sense is
that the church’s paralysis
is largely a result
of the fear/grief
from mainline Protestantism’s
decline in influence,

as culture and society
give more credence
to a plethora
of competing claims.

There is often
a general response
of either anger toward those
who no longer participate
in institutional religion,

or a desire
to invest considerable
energy and resources
in wooing them back;

but rarely
is there much
introspection into why
an entrenched modus operandi
has become insufficient.

Is not our task now
to grieve well and
begin moving forward
toward a more genuine gospel
that is free
from the encumbrances
of empire and privilege?

© 2019 Todd Jenkins

“Bless Your Heart”

 

As the holidays approach,
  and gatherings
  of diverse family members
  from afar draw near,
I often anticipate
  this three-word declaration
  vibrating across the room.

In the dialect
  of southern culture,
it can be the tender whisper
  of a mother’s embrace,
wishing for you
  all the peace and acceptance
  she knows you need
  but haven’t found,
ushering you into
  a safe, warm space
  that desires
  to deeply undo
  all the pain and suffering
  you have endured.

It can also be
  the sharp sting
  of one who views
  your perception
  of the world as misguided,
if not puerile, and yet
  still wishes you no harm.

If you heard it
  spoken warmly to you
  when you were a child,
I hope it helped
  to heal you.

I hope you can
  find your way back there
  when you most need to.

When you speak it
  as an adult,
to another adult,
I hope it brings you
  a thimbleful of catharsis,
and that it might
  help you leave
  the rest unsaid for now.

After you’re grown,
  when it’s uttered toward you
  in a decidedly unmotherly fashion,
I pray you’ll recognize it
  as a flashing
  “check engine” light
  or conversational tap-out.

I hope I can speak it,
in exactly the way
  you need to hear it,

and I hope I understand
  when it’s said to me.

“Bless your heart!”

© 2019 Todd Jenkins