Respecting the awesome power of words!

Latest

weR1

trails2

Throughout history, people
have cordoned themselves off
by self-identification in layers,
climbing and clamoring to stand
on top of something or someone –
anyone or anything – just as long
as they do not believe
they are at the bottom.

In so doing, the bodies beneath
their feet are eventually construed
to be less than human.

The hardest lesson of all,
and one that upends
the whole fragile pile,
unfolds when we wake up
and realize that dehumanizing itself
is what sentences dehumanizers
to their own judgment;

and those whose hope, 
no matter how fragile and
compressed by the vitriol,
has held through the storm,
are the only ones who can lift us
all toward the sacred purpose
of our shared humanity.

© 2017 Todd Jenkins
Advertisements

Life

zlife

    It is never really
    if the pain, loss, hurt,
    or grief come,
    but when.

  It is not just
  "What will you do?"
  or "Where will you turn?"
  but also, most significantly,
  "Who will you be?";

not just in it,
but also through it,
beyond it, and even
because of it.

  It's more than
  "How will it change you?";
  it's also "How will you offer
  others a chance to change?" 
  and even "How will you
  change the world?"

    Welcome to life,
    caterpillar.

© 2017 Todd Jenkins

 

Selah

zselah

 

As an acrostic of storms
accumulates on our news feeds,
their names aligned
like Beelzebub's old-school Rolodex,
we beseech you, O God
of wind and water,
to breathe a calming counter-wind
and send sponge-clouds
to hold the deluge,
so rain is more gently squeezed out
in manageable and absorbable amounts.

As the earth trembles to our south,
gaping wide to swallow portions
of Central American civilization,
we pray for a tangible presence
of your sacred tether, O God.

Give hope to those digging
through the rubble
in search of life.
With and in your strong
but tender hand of comfort,
O prayer-catcher,
gently hold the tears
of those buried in the grief
of loved ones lost.

The forests are ablaze, not
with the light of your glory,
O God, but with a consuming
fire of destruction.

You, who created winds
that can be whipped into storms,
we implore you
to breathe extinguishing spirits
and send blanketing rains
upon the woods and neighborhoods,
shielding firefighters
and all life in peril's path.

May our prayers have hands,
feet, wallets, and hearts
that know not national boundaries,
speaking, acting, giving,
and breaking for all, near and far,
who find themselves
battered and unmoored.

Let us refract your love, O Lord,
through the dispersive prism of grace,
that all may know your rainbow promise.

Wind and water, earth and fire,
all elements of creation's glory;
so let it be imagined;
so let it be intoned;
so let it become.
Selah, selah, selah.

© 2017 Todd Jenkins

Beat

FullSizeRender203

 

Why is grace so difficult
to accept unconditionally?

  Because we know, too well,
  the difference between
  who we are on the inside
  and the image we project
  for sociocultural, economic,
  and religious acceptance
  on the outside.

    Because our small worldview
    and our limited understanding
    of the universe's sacred narrative
    cause us to accept scarcity
    as more plausible than abundance.

  Because comparison and competition
  have been deeply ground
  into our psyches.

Without grace,
we are one slip-up,
one wrong turn,
one moment of exhaustion,
one hesitation,
one secret revealed,
from relegation to the heap
of the also ran and
the obviously unworthy.

With grace,
by grace,
through grace,
we are finally and fully free
to abandon ourselves
to the beating of hearts
and the breath of stories –
ours and everyone else's.

© 2017 Todd Jenkins

Home Depot

Randy Calvo 01

Photo by Randy Calvo
For the hearty souls, 
O God, who find 
the Depot Home away from home, 
and yet in no way home, 
we give you thanks and pray. 

For those who understand 
Matthew 20 far better 
than they wished, 
who line-up like cattle in the chute, 
or slaves on the block, 
striking a paradoxical pose 
of desperation and indifference, 
hoping against hope
to find a generous master for a day,
we offer prayer, 
knowing that it is but the beginning. 

Let us be emboldened, 
by the words and fire
of our supplications,
O Lord of labor, so we 
may recognize them as neighbors, 
aflame enough to challenge
the systemic injustice 
driving their daily auction. 

Let us be courageous enough 
to see their families, 
dependent on their labor, 
and to understand their work is also
something on which
we, ourselves, are dependent.

Whether they live around the corner 
or across the border, 
give us courage to enact love 
in tangible and nourishing ways. 

Let us skip the 23andme, 
practicing the radical hospitality 
of our spiritual genetics 
with these kinfolk of ours. 
Let us open God's storehouse. 

© 2017 Todd Jenkins

 

Fire on the Mountain

Joe Stephenson 65Photo by Owen Todd Jenkins
Then Moses said, “I must turn aside and look at this 
great sight, and see why the bush is not burned up.” 
(Exodus 3:3)

From the valley below,
fire could be clearly seen;
lighting up the overcast afternoon
like a great oil lamp.

Was smoke, however,
in short supply,
as this particular source
of combustion was beyond ordinary?
The storyteller leaves this detail
to our imaginations.

Moshe was so struck by its glow
that he soliloquied
like an actor in character,
declaring his intent to approach,
just in case the source
of the fire turned out
to be territorial.

That's when the voice thundered,
not so much objecting
to the trespass itself,
as requiring deep,
personal tactile engagement.

Barefoot and vulnerable,
the shepherd on the lam
risked responding,
to the point of objecting
to a return to the scene
of the crime, even if it was
on debatable grounds.

"Whom shall I say has sent me?"
Moshe inquired;
a perfectly valid question,
given the double-digits
of generations who had
crossed the bar since last
the Hebrew narrative
included a divine cameo.

"Is" came the reply,
or more specifically, "Am".
The verb of being,
existence,
presence.

And it is enough.
Enough for a returning bail-jumper.
Enough for a hungry prodigal.
Enough for you.
Enough for me.

© 2017 Todd Jenkins

Grain and Oil

IMG_7351

 

I have grown simultaneously weary 
of pretending to know 
more than I know, 
and of withholding the truth 
by which I feel convicted. 

I will simply be me, 
and listen to you. 

This, with the widow 
of Zarephath's supply 
of the grain and oil of grace 
(1 Kings 17:16), 
will have to be enough.

© 2017 Todd Jenkins

 

All in

zallin

Pray with your mouth,
pray with your feet,
pray on the rooftop,
pray in the street.

Pray 'til the end,
pray from the start,
pray with your hands,
pray with your heart.

Pray with your money,
pray with your boat,
pray with your muscle,
pray with your vote.

Pray with your breathing,
pray with your mind,
pray with your stories,
pray with anything you find.

Pray out of the water,
pray out of the air,
wherever and whatever,
make sure it's all prayer.

Pray when you arrive,
pray while you're on the way;
with all your being and doing,
always and forever, pray.

© 2017 Todd Jenkins

As If

zasif

What's it like to have
a hurricane named after you;
your own moniker attached
to a high velocity wall
of hydro destruction?

Do you wish the random generator
of tropical storm names
had passed you by,
the same way
the lottery ticket gods
have done for generations
of desperate hopers?

Do you take it upon yourself
to stand up for those
in harm's way, as if
you've been singled out,
personally, to rail toward
the heavens with pleas
of mercy and deliverance,
willing their protection
with each breath you take?

Maybe, even when our name
hasn't been broadcast,
we can act and pray
as if it has, for no other reason
than the shared humanity
of our beating hearts.

Lord, send your angels…

© 2017 Todd Jenkins

Creeksong

zcreeksong

Let me be a creek,
O holy one,
meandering through the deep woods 
of creation like a lovestruck couple
on a spring picnic,

singing creeksong
for all who wander near,
smoothing over the jagged rocks
as the years roll on,

teeming underneath with life
for all, shallow in some places,
rapids or deep pools in other,

smooth as glass in places,
reflecting the sky's crystal blue
and cotton-white clouds
so we'll all remember
to look to the heavens
from whence our help comes.

Let me be a creek,
O holy one; a creek
for your everflowing love.

© 2017 Todd Jenkins