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Posts tagged “connection

Fire@50

IMG_9436Photo by DeEtta Harris Jenkins

(A riff on Acts 2 & Numbers 11)
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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

Enough

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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

 


Scar

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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

 


This Just In

LL McPhoto 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

 


Holy Ground

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“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

 


You

FullSizeRender (100)Yes, you…

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

Generosity

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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.

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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.

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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


Looming

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Photo by Anne Shurley



The world is full
of three kinds of people:

[1] 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.

[2] The yet-to-be-jaded children
whose bones have not
developed a single sliver
of brittle entitlement.

[3] 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

 


Home by Another Way

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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

Ache

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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