Photo by DeEtta Harris Jenkins
(A riff on Acts 2 & Numbers 11) 22.214.171.124 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
We are a people of scars, neither guaranteed protection nor escape from pain's slice and consequences. But we are also created for healing; not healing whose visibility or consequences vanish; people who are found by a forgiveness that debrides our wounds, rinsing away anger, malice, resentment, and vengeance, disinfecting them with grace, packing them with mercy; people whose flesh falls back together, not in seamless invisibility, but rough, bumpy reminders of our past; people who somehow find the courage to seek catharsis in our history's telling; people whose hearts are forever being pointed toward the true north of hope. Yes, this is who we are; not perfected but blemished, not fearless but courageous, not arrived but journeying; journeying together. © 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
“Observe the drama; don't be the drama.” On the beach, you can remove your sandals and walk parallel to the ocean, letting the waves lap at your feet when they're at their weakest – the turning point – just before the water's energy pulls it back toward the edge of earth and sky. The wet and not-wet, soft and firm sand at the edge of the tide is holy ground. Further inland, from which daily existence seems to call, it feels like burning bushes are more common, and our feet quickly begin to scorch as we are pulled from fire to fire. Fire-walkers will tell you that, even with seasoned soles, we must wait for the ash to form over the smoldering coals before we dare to pass over someone else's drama. I think this requires sitting and listening longer, moving and speaking less. Maybe it also requires love. Perhaps there is no true resurrection without love, because, sans the particularity of deep-marrow knowing and being known, bringing back people from the dead is a parlor trick at best, and Groundhog Day at worst, in which we have to suffer the same anonymous meaninglessness of life over and over, convinced that a single detail changed will somehow create a fairy tale life. Let us love deeply; deeper today than yesterday; deeper tomorrow than today; deeper giving than we've received; deeper from the tomb than we can imagine escaping. Yes, deeply, for this is how we find ourselves being raised out of that which never really approached life anyway. © 2017 Todd Jenkins
Momming is identified, not by biology, but by its web of care, its haven of hope, its manuscript of guidance, its blanket of prayer, its fire of indignation, its roots of relationship, its watering can of nurture, its stove of nourishment, its taxi of deliverance (and sometimes rescue), its bottomless bucket of belief, its bone-deep compassion and grief, its purse of support, its sermon of conviction, its cheer of encouragement, and quite a few more that often fade into the backdrop. A toast to you, and all the ways you've mommed us: may your spiritual DNA keep the universe expanding toward grace! © 2017 Todd Jenkins
Day by day, as they spent much time together in the temple, they broke bread at home, and ate their food with glad and generous hearts… (Acts 2:46)
This past Sunday’s sermon was from Acts 2:42-47. The sermon title was “Glad and Generous Hearts” (from 2:46). This week, after the sermon (of course!), I saw the sermon come to life.
Patrick (pictured above) is a 24 year old student in Malawi. He is studying to become a midwife, and dreams of opening an orphanage after he graduates, to care for the many parentless children in his country. Patrick is an orphan whose parents died years ago (dad in 1998, and mom in 2006). He is raising three younger siblings.
Here is a photo of his family: Patrick, his sister Thandie, brother Madziko, and sister Dorothy. A fifth sibling, a brother, died last year because there was no money to pay for medicine to treat his malaria.
A pastor friend of mine (who oversees a mission organization pairing US partners with orphans in nearby Rwanda) is paying Patrick’s tuition each semester, with whatever money he makes from part-time side-work reselling vintage items he finds in thrift stores, and other “found” money that materializes on occasion.
A few people in one of the small congregations I serve are pitching-in to provide educational uniforms and fees, as well as a small amount of money for food, for his two youngest siblings. Without funds for their education, they have been unable to attend school. Thandie, Patrick’s oldest sister, has finished secondary school and dreams of attending university to become a licensed caregiver for people with special needs (mentally and physically challenged), but there are no funds for her college education now.
This picture is of Patrick and two other orphans from his community. When he was home on break from school this week, he met these two, six year-old Innocent, and nine year-old Innocecia. He spent his own money to buy them clothes, shoes, books, school supplies, and food.
Whenever I imagine that I don’t have enough money to share with others, Patrick’s story helps me keep things in perspective. It reminds me that the human heart holds the world’s greatest treasures: love, compassion, and generosity.
© 2017 Todd Jenkins
Photo by Anne Shurley The world is full of three kinds of people:  The one man (Yeah, it’s most certainly a male.) who's more convinced than anyone else that all of the privilege and power he wields is rightfully his, and his alone.  The yet-to-be-jaded children whose bones have not developed a single sliver of brittle entitlement.  All the rest, whose worldview lies somewhere on the spectrum between the other two; a perch that’s narrower than we might imagine, and heavily tilted toward our own experiences. We are all a lot closer to one another than we imagine; our common humanity capable of weaving unbreakable bonds of hope. Our stories, the loom upon which the warp and weft of this tapestry are created. Are we ready to listen? © 2017 Todd Jenkins
So much of what's important in life is learned from paying attention, which is precisely what the Magi did. That, and risk an adventure to a faraway place to behold a sight no one had ever seen before. Herod was a hoot, quite sure they had come to blow smoke up his royal robe; but when they confessed their desire to find a child who'd been born to lead the very people he was sure he controlled, he flipped his lid. Surrounded by yes-men attuned to his agenda and his alone, he never stood a chance; but that didn't stop him from scheming a murderous plot. First, he feigned interest in also worshiping this new king. Never mind that Herod's idea of worship included a slit throat. The sojourning stargazers were nothing, if not persistent, trekking all the way to Bethlehem, where they were not disappointed, paying homage and leaving their now-famous trio of gifts behind. Of course there would be one more dream in this mystical tale; this one urging them to go "home by another way." Now that we know the story, how seekers from a faraway land were first to bow the knee, how a displaced family became refugees, how dreams drove the whole story, and how God chose this precarious tale as a path to arrive in-the-flesh, do we have the courage to live with such imagination, expectation, and abandon in our own incarnational narratives? The children are waiting, and hoping that our answer is yes; praying that our answer is life. © 2016 Todd Jenkins
Love is not what hurts us. People, who do not understand how to love at all or who love imperfectly or who give up on love altogether, hurt us. But it is our willingness to take a chance on love that puts us in such vulnerable circumstances. Without such a risk, we would never have the opportunity to know love's gift at all. Life hurts, not love; but it's not nearly as painful as the empty ache and anesthesia of being too afraid to open ourselves to love or be loved. © 2016 Todd Jenkins