Photo by DeEtta Harris Jenkins
There are expenses we regularly calculate, but there are others we ignore. In order to see the big picture, we can't just ask, "How much does it cost to do such-and-such?" or "How much does it cost to not do it?" We must recognize that costs can be attached to more than our wallets. Here are some of the gospel's calculating questions: What will it cost my heart & soul to do or not do this? What will doing or not doing this cost my family? What will this action or inaction cost my neighbor? What will these choices cost the planet? The universe is expanded by gracious choices. It is diminished by greedy ones. The cost is outrageous for all these priceless lives; secretly calculated in hearts too small to hold Love's grand truth; too scared to see all of us have the same value; too busy counting and comparing to feel the ground beneath us quaking, the skies above us tearing. We shrink because we sense difference, recoil with superiority's confidence, while the universe expands and diversifies and the holy one weeps. 2017 Todd Jenkins
When greed has run amuck, words are turned inside-out, like shirts that have missed a much-needed trip to the laundry, stinking to high heaven, and only discerned by those who are attentive to the seams. Those in whose favor everything's been tilted for generations, and in whose pockets piles of plunder reside, misconstrue language to attack others upon whose backs castles are built. "If they are without," the dictionary is rewritten to declare, "anything we allow them to have must be entitlement." And the one who created the universe, via a vocabulary with integrity, winces, as tears roll down like an ever-flowing stream, because those whose hubris is actually entitlement have abandoned their own kin. © 2017 Todd Jenkins
Photo by DeEtta Harris Jenkins
(A riff on Acts 2 & Numbers 11) 188.8.131.52 D Numbers 11: 27And a young man ran and told Moses, “Eldad and Medad are prophesying in the camp.” 28And Joshua son of Nun, the assistant of Moses, one of his chosen men, said, “My lord Moses, stop them!” Spirit, Spirit, wild-eyed wonder; into room and hearts you rushed, tongues of fire and claps of thunder; mouths to ears your burning gushed. Risen one ten days ascended; dif'rence must be set aside; call to hope freshly extended; forgiveness freely applied. Eldad, Medad break out speaking, ut’ring truths as yet untold. Call on Moses, "Stop the leaking; they're too brazen, far too bold!" Rules braided in hangman's tight noose, keeping others in their place, now untwisted, completely loose, making room for gushing grace. To be sure, and not be unfair, faith soars high on earth's quaking, mercy pours richly everywhere with Spirit's new inbreaking. Millennia have waxed and waned since holy fire filled the air. As Peter's tongue boldly explained, ears of fire are everywhere! Fill our spirits from your deep reach with connection, love, and care; give us hearts and voices to preach grace’s story everywhere. Give us, O torch sent wild and free, strength to withstand all danger, risking all we are and can be welcoming knocking stranger. © 2017 Todd Jenkins
To the person for whom there's never enough, there's always suspicion others want your stuff. The one who is consumed with greed, will never be touched by hunger and need. If comparison's the game by which you thrive, the train of joy will never arrive. Look at what you have, instead of what's lacking; it’s an important step to send discontent packing. Seeing the big picture is a form of art that fashions a glad and generous heart. © 2017 Todd Jenkins
Photo by Lee Lindsey McKinney
Fear divides, intent on conquering with its, “Vive la différence!” Love unites, earnestly calling us together, “Vive la similarité!” What matters is not the color of our skin, the roots of our faith, or the nation of our origin, but whether privilege can truly be acknowledged, voluntarily relinquished, and power bestowed with grace, so long-held shackles can be hammered into step-ladders of hope. It is past time for us to work better, together, nourishing and quenching a world hungry for dignity and thirsty for respect. © 2017 Todd Jenkins
When chaos, disaster, disease, and even death invade others' lives, our presence, mostly in silence, will mediate grace much more wholly than telling them our comparative story. The time for narrative connection may come, but give us courage, O God, to wait until we're invited. It won’t likely occur until grief and agony have held their sway, and hope has wafted in through a window partially cracked by our steadfast, listening presence. © 2017 Todd Jenkins
They demanded and even forced your labor, offering no or little wages. Silly me; I assured myself I was doing comparatively well, and somebody had to be at the bottom, mostly glad it wasn't me. They took your dignity, with images and cultural narratives painting you as lesser, or airbrushing you out of the picture altogether. Foolish me; I looked in the mirror and saw the right shade and shape, assuming I still had shreds of my own remaining. They kicked you out by banning and deportation, as if culture, language, and religion were legitimate wedges. Trembling me; I fell for scapegoating, ignoring the malignancy of systemic dis-ease. They broke your spirit, kicking you in the gut with insufficient opportunities, boot on your throat with charges of laziness. Ignorant me; I thought I could prop mine up with consumption and dogged pursuit, not of my dreams, but of what they told me to desire. They're here to steal your soul, and it slices through my own, clearly awakening me to our eternal tether. Now, I realize I've been a part of "they" all along, with my blind eye, my silence, my privilege, my vested interest votes. Maybe we can't go back, but I know that, wherever we must go from here, it will have to be together. © 2017 Todd Jenkins
Matthew’s gospel has a whole lot of quaking going on. I want you to think about this quaking. Why is it here in the story? What does it mean?
27:50-53 …&……. 28:2
Sometimes it takes a little quaking to get us out of our ruts and our comfort zones, but our quaking differs considerably from God’s. Power’s shaking can’t hold a candle to love’s quaking.
I was going to race to the tomb, but the women beat me to it. I would have tried to roll away the stone, but the angel-quake took care of that. I might have raced to tell the rest of the disciples, assuming I wasn't among them, behind locked doors, quaking with fear. The problem is that most of these opportunities are 2,000+ years gone.
Here’s the question I think both supersedes and surpasses our fascination with “Some bright morning, when this life is o’er, I’ll fly away.” It’s this:
“In the big scheme of things, if death doesn’t have the last word, what does this change about life?” That is, “What difference does resurrection make in your and my here & now?”
28:7 The great hope & promise of resurrection is “he is going ahead of you”. Where would we be willing to go, what would we be willing do to, and who would we be willing to become if we really believed that he is still going ahead of us?
28:8 Resurrection sets us free from having to be God & from the burden of keeping ourselves alive. THAT’s the bizarre combination of “fear and great joy” that the women feel as they leave to keep moving toward the place to which the risen Christ is calling them.
This Easter, I'm praying for the courage to set aside all the shoulda, coulda, and wouldas of my life. Then, the only things left to do are to: look for him among the living; & reflect his light into the pain, suffering, and grief of others; & believe I'm forgiven so I can practice forgiving others; & step aside so grace can expand into the places I'd rather it didn't; & share my broken-hearted love in broken ways, with other broken people; & take a pinch of bread and a sip of wine, believing that sacraments make him real in ways beyond my fathoming; & practice the laying on of ears, listening to both the entombing and the untombing stories of others. & finally, to breathe – just breathe – when I cannot muster the wherewithal to do anything else; This is what I'll do, trusting it will be enough. Yes, the reality of resurrection comes to pass, not just "Some bright morning, when this life is o'er..." but also each day in the here and now; not by my own acts or righteousness, but by the love of God in, through, and around us all. Easter’s quake keeps trembling, raising the hair on your arm and the back of your neck, raising hope in your heart, raising your capacity for compassion, raising you and I to levels of love we’ve never imagined. By the grace of God, Easter's not our burden to prove. It's our gift to live. © 2017 Todd Jenkins
This one was written in 2015
How can we more fully move beyond a respect for the flag and knee-jerk patriotism to a discussion of the actions of a government driven, not by a desire for liberty and justice for all, but by the fear, greed, and homogeneity of a few? If our culture is going to change for the better, we're going to have to create a safe environment for deeper conversations. We're going to have to face, admit, and address our own comfort and complicity in the power structures that exist. We're going to have to live glocally – thinking globally and acting locally. © 2017 Todd Jenkins
Photo by Ben Padgett
Small, weak people divide others, in order to conquer, fearful there won't be enough. Calm, safe people accept others, in order to include, hoping generosity will suffice. Courageous, strong people gather and invite others, in order to be transformed, trusting abundance will bless. There’s less a mountain to climb here, than an atmosphere into which a sacred fire wafts us; as featherweight embers, we rise into the heavens. When the flame’s heat dissipates, winds carry us on invisible wings to shores whose beauty we’ve yet to imagine. © 2017 Todd Jenkins