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Posts tagged “faith

Sprout

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Even and especially in the face
of the most pernicious division and
hatred that fear can muster,
hope is resurrected
in the strangest places.

Like clandestine roots
from a chopped-down tree,
lingering beneath the soil,
it pushes up shoot, bud, then blossom
in a spoke-like pattern;
each eruption signaling
an unabashed attempt
to raise another trunk.

Buzz them all down and,
in a week or so,
another generation rises up.
Dig up the runners near ground level,
and their deeper cousins will surface.

When observing the natural world,
it doesn’t take long
to see that betting against hope
is a losing proposition.

© 2017 Todd Jenkins

 


Music

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"We dance," they say,
because that is what
it feels and looks like
to stumble along life's path
with Grace as a partner,

catching you as you fall,
dipping you with such smoothness
that it all looks planned,
even if after the fact,

twirling you when you begin
to spin out of control,
always holding on to your hand
so you can be safely
pulled back from the edge,
no matter how far
or often you teeter.

"We dance," they say,
because the haunting music
underneath it all is pure love,
carried by the rhythm of Grace.

© 2017 Todd Jenkins

Matter

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Grace is not a tool
for individual release of responsibility.
It is not measurable, earnable, or expandable
by anything we can think, say, or do.
It cannot be hoarded
or saved for a rainy day.

It is our manna, gathered daily
as hoar frost upon the ground,
neither planted nor cultivated.

Grace is the nourishment
that feeds communities of faith.
It is the glue
that holds together cultures of diversity.
It is the hope
that infuses all creation.
It is the loom upon which
sorrow and joy are woven into love.

It is the gift
that transforms death into resurrection.

Feel grace; touch it;
be touched by it.
Reflect it to others.
Live by it, through it, in it.
It is world-transforming.
It is what was there
in the beginning,
what remains no matter what;
it is all that matters.

© 2017 Todd Jenkins

One and the Same Time

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By memory we define ourselves;
bits and pieces of days gone by,
fed by stored mental photographs,
watered by emotion's tears
of both sorrow and joy
at one and the same time.

Through memory we anchor ourselves
to pasts cringeworthy and exemplary
at one and the same time.

Growing memory, we construct ourselves
into observers of each present moment,
anchored by virtue's roots and
rising above villain's graves
at one and the same time.

In sleeping memory,
we dream ourselves into tomorrows,
slogging through valleys of despair
and wafting on currents of celestial breath
at one and the same time.

Searching for  memory,
we watch loved ones lose
bits and pieces of their story,
lamenting fragments
faded long-past sepia
and rejoicing in brief flashes
of love and cognizance
at one and the same time.

In memory we hallow special days,
honoring so many brave ones
who've sacrificed and pushing back
against the hell of war's existence
at one and the same time.

Resurrecting memory,
we weave a sacred response
to grace's unfettered gift,
lamenting all the times
it steadily swirls around us unnoticed
and praising Yahweh for the glimpses
convincing us to dive in headlong
at one and the same time.

By memory we were and
are and will continue to be held,
when we've forgotten all and
when we’ve remembered scarcely enough
at one and the same time.

Memory: our deepest curse
and richest blessing
at one and the same time.

© 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

 


Raised

rozsalinePainting by Rosalind Golden Saline

Surely light years beyond
wildest hopes and
deepest imaginations,
he is raised,
not just from the tomb,
but also from the debasing
of mocking, the torture
of scourging, and the excruciating
execution of crucifixion.

Was his appearance
nearly incognito because
of the impossibility of it all,
or because transcending death
alters persona far beyond
human fathomability?
Perhaps it was both.

His face, tilted skyward,
eyes closed,
no longer in agony,
now in serenity.

His skin at one
and the same time ashen,
yet fully thrushed with life;
its shading defies
ethnocentric limitations.

His lips, resting in a fashion
best-described as tranquility.
Completely antithetical
to terrestrial powers that sought
his demise via violence,
his presence exudes a gentleness
only love can elicit;

right hand lowered and open,
both revealing a lack
of animosity and weaponry,
and clearly displaying
still-fresh wounds,
beckoning us toward
our own deepest healing;

his left hand pointing heavenward,
living water flowing from it,
new life springing up
from a parched desert floor;
light bursting from above,
revealing creation’s eternally-held dream.

Last, but also perhaps first,
the robe;
swirling transfiguration's glow
with stone-rolling angel's ensemble;
but even those two foreshadowings
are inadequate descriptions
of its hope-infused cloud.

Sit with the elements;
letting life's river wash over you,
divine wind swirl your heart,
and corpus  of unconditional love
carry you into the grace
of each tomorrow's resurrection.

© 2017 Todd Jenkins

IS

IMG_7490Photo by Anne Shurley

 

So many stories surrounded
with 'splainin’ on all sides,
to help us engage
senses, mind, and spirit;
historical and geographic settings,
names and titles, details galore.

Did you ever notice
how little detail is provided
for the gospel accounts
of resurrection?

How the women arrive in the garden –
always the women –
with their minds set on one thing,
when their hearts are taken aback
both by the presence of angels
and the absence of a body?

How no one – neither narrator
nor character nor angel – 
wastes any ink
or breath to tell us how?

Nothing but active verb
in present tense.
He IS risen.

That's what we need to know.
From there, we follow,
letting the IS of resurrection
bring us straightforward
into the world's active presence.

Metaphor and poetry may be
the heart of our God-speak,
as no vocabulary or alphabet
are capable of capturing
the divine self;
but faith's foundational eruption
from the tomb simply IS.

© 2017 Todd Jenkins

Easter Excerpts

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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

Faith

Deb KrugerPhoto by Deb Kruger

 

In some ways, it's an off-the-grid path
  showing up where the trust highway
fades into the night.

You move forward,
  feeling your way through the woods,
  because standing still or going back
are unacceptable options;

hoping against hope
  there's somewhere worth going,
    someone worth finding,
  or someone who's already found you;
hoping you'll eventually get there.

All the while, the wind whispers
  through the trees,
    as you strain your ears,
  begging to hear your name,
or a plausible facsimile thereof.

Sometimes you're desperate enough
  to change your name
    to whatever sounds
  the waving branches make,
with their dysrhythmic clack-clacking.

Other times, you pick up your name,
  clear as a bell,
    just like the last time a loved one
      stood on a moonlit porch
    and gathered you in
  by casting your multisyllabic pattern
into the wind.

Somewhere beyond this forest
  lies a place and time
    you've only visited in your heart;
      a place that must be home,
    because nothing else
  could hold you under a spell
of such mystery and magnetism.

This – all of this –
  and then some more
  that you'll figure out along the way,
is what we call faith.

© 2017 Todd Jenkins

 


C-Prompt

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The journey of faith
is the return
to the blank screen
and the C-prompt.

It is here,
after we have endured
and then set aside
all the formatting
of social, cultural,
and egotistical influences,

that we are ready
to perceive and
be acted upon
by the divine coder
of all creation.

© 2017 Todd Jenkins