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Posts tagged “hope

Pall

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To say it casts itself,
like fisherfolk with their nets,
is as apt a description
as I can render.

Only there are no holes
to let light through,
only thick, suffocating,
blanket-like heaviness
to trap you underwater.

No one knows
where it comes from
or how it chooses
to settle on you
and not a stranger
whose flailing would barely create
a noticeable tremor in our web.

Clinicians speak
of perfect storms
and chemical imbalances  --
the likes of hail and hell
you wish and pray
were completely beyond conjuring.

When the darkness falls heaviest,
and your ears and heart
begin to funnel words
into ever-shrinking strings,
let these be the ones
sinking all the way
to the bottom of your soul,
to a place where pain is held
by love -- the only power
strong enough to not let go:

You are love with us.
You are love with.
You are love.
You are.
You.

© 2017 Todd Jenkins

 


Fire@50

IMG_9436Photo by DeEtta Harris Jenkins

(A riff on Acts 2 & Numbers 11)
8.7.8.7 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

Priesthood of All Believers

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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

Poet

IMG_9436Photo by DeEtta Harris Jenkins

To borrow a book title from one of my seminary professors, 
Dr. Walter Brueggemann, Finally Comes the Poet.

space-maker, mold-breaker, heart-shaker…

thought-drifter, shape-shifter, dream-sifter…

bell-ringer, tear-bringer, sweat-wringer…

trip-booker, fresh-looker, love-cooker…

beast-tamer, peace-framer, grace-namer…

risk-taker, earth-quaker, hope-baker…

© 2017 Todd Jenkins


Wafting

B Padgett Fort Payne

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

Looming

IMG_7547

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

 


Past

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"Put the past behind you."
he said, so matter-of-factly
you'd think it was
as easy as rinsing scraps
of scrambled egg
off your breakfast plate.

I've come, not just to believe,
but to feel in my marrow,
that our past, however different
from what we hoped
or who we think we are currently,
is the DNA through which we exist.

And the pull of life and
breath itself are toward
an integration into a now
that owns the past
rather than being owned by it,

and a future that frames
both past and present
as path toward a tomorrow
in which who we've been
and who we are
are not only incapable
of thwarting our created purpose,

but are being transformed
into the very rails of hope
on which we ride.

© 2017 Todd Jenkins

 


Pursuit

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In the end, as in the beginning,
and every place and time
in between, God refuses
to accept our rejection;

both our personal distancing,
and our sociocultural writhing away.

We are divinely desired,
and we will always be
sought by the sacred.

It is the uniqueness
of this seeking that makes it
both confounding and compelling
at one and the same time.

We have experience and metrics
for a whole host of stalkings,
all of which are unyielding
and often even violent;

but the steadfast pursuit
of unconditional love is
another creature altogether.

It is aromatic breath
from the depths
of the darkest places
into which we flee
or are pulled;

not necessarily the scent
of a sweet dessert
to which we are irresistibly drawn;

more like a mysterious fusion
of spices and herbs
gently tickling our olfactory imagination
in places we never knew
sensation could exist,
wondering us toward a depth
both haunting and hopeful.

Pay attention to your nose
because, when it comes
to paths toward the holy,
it knows.

© 2017 Todd Jenkins

ing

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In consideration
of hatred, fear,
xenophobia, and division
for personal or political gain,
it's easy to sit back
and speculate, "What
would you do?"

Once speculation has
not only left the station,
but also disembarked
from multiple platforms,
the only question
worth asking is,
"What AM I DOING?"

Present participles are
the only engines
worth putting on this track.

© 2017 Todd Jenkins

Rise

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When Hope's balloon
  is being deflated
    on purpose, by those
    who can't or won't dare
  to dream, but only traffic
in nightmares of fear,

and the long ribbon that
  allowed it to stretch heavenward
    enough for all the world
    to see has begun to resemble
  a motionless, coiled
snake upon the ground,

it is up to Don Quixotes
  in our midst to inhale
    the escaping helium,
      at risk of life itself,
      and laugh – no, cackle –
    in the face of sneer-mongers,
  drawing our desperate selves
toward the candle of our courage,

as we sit 'round the flickering flame,
  watching it push back the night,
    while tales of quiet inspiration
    waft skyward like wisps
  of smoke, each one another sign
of our collective indomitability.

We shall rise.
  Yes, we shall rise,
  because the carbonized embers
of our lives can do no other.

© 2017 Todd Jenkins