Left in the Lurch

Knowing reaches into the future.
Not as far as we’d like, but
something is better than nothing;
memory and hope must somehow intersect.

Information comes at us in fits and starts.
Life’s puzzle’s in infinite pieces;
doesn’t arrive all at once in a box;
sometimes we’re sure some major pieces are lost.

Good news sometimes, bad news others.
Mostly somewhere in between,
whose final determination must wait
for more time to pass, paths to cross.

It’s hurry up and wait most of the time,
arriving at a known milestone,
waiting for the journey’s next leg to appear:
“Recalculating” life’s operative word.

Memories not only of knowledge gained,
but also of futures planned,
sunsets and evenings, new days dawning,
all hang in the balance as earth and sky touch.

Hope: once simple, pure, and light;
now queasy from life’s roller coaster;
whole-grain heavy, fibrous husks and all;
certainly different but more substantial.

Feed us from the heart, O Lord,
of your promise lived-in-skin;
richness and depth of hope that is
broken-in and not just broken-down.

© 2010 Todd Jenkins

Church Again

When the work of doing church
Overcomes the gift of being church
There comes a time in every life

We organize and plan ourselves
Into a full-blown hurricane
Of meetings, measurements, and pain

Forgetting that we ever heard
The peaceful call of Jesus’ words:
“Come to me… and I will give you rest.”

O, how we long to once more feel
Joy of resting in God’s grace
Revel in sacred time and space

Receive again your invitation
Join the worshipful congregation
Let church be church’s gift to you

© 2010 Todd Jenkins

Bigger than That

Sometimes we have a difficult time connecting God with everyday life because of the limits of our understanding. Other times it is because of the limits of our expectation. A couple of Sundays ago, during worship, I experienced a little of both.

As you may know, we send a small gray duffle bag home with a different family at the end of worship each week. We ask them to put something in it and bring it back before worship the next week. During worship, Pastor Jessi or I open the bag and attempt to make a connection between its contents and the life of faith.

It looked like a large black and gray speckled rock that had been tumbled smooth from many years in a river bed. But it weighed only an ounce or two. It was about the size of those souvenir footballs the cheerleaders throw into the stands at football games. The ends were a bit more rounded than a football—more like a rugby ball—and there was a small hole at each end. I couldn’t tell if it was hollow or filled with something extremely lightweight.

My first guess was that it was a float for a trot line or crab trap. Finally I had to ask. “It’s an Emu egg,” I was told. An egg? Really? That big? I was so taken aback by the sheer size of this egg that my mind went blank. Had I not been so surprised that an egg could be that large, I could have made all sorts of connections between it and our faith practice. Between my surprise and the time it took to correctly identify the object, I failed to make any everyday life and faith connections.

That’s the way it is with God, sometimes. I get so comfortable with the little bit about God I think I’ve figured out that I don’t make room for any more. I’m not expecting and I don’t allow myself to imagine anything more. An old friend once told me, “Each time you think you’ve figured out what God can or will do, don’t forget: God is bigger than that.”

© 2010 Todd Jenkins

Garden Prayer

Creation began in a garden, O God.
Resurrection did also.
And now we have taken
the blooming flowers of
our own and other gardens
and placed them on a cross
to remind us that we are all your gardeners.

We dig with our hands,
we plant in our hearts;
we water with our tears.
We wait for life to scatter
its unfragrant fertilizer, its refuse.

We wait for you to send your Son.
And new life is raised up;
raised up in places we had given up for dead;
raised up in places we didn’t know existed;
raised up in lives we wouldn’t have
given you two cents for.

You’ve heard us speak the names
and verbalize the circumstances
that frighten us most;
the people and places where
resurrection hope is sorely needed.

Show us this day, and
every day of our lives,
glimpses of your
unimaginable resurrection power,
that we may live as
fully Eastered people;
that we may reveal your grace
to all generations now and forevermore. Amen.

© 2010 Todd Jenkins

Courageous

Where does it end
and something else begin?
And just what might
that something else be?

Courage: the power within
to face insurmountable odds
as if the odds don’t matter,
because they really don’t.

It doesn’t banish fear at all,
just keeps it in perspective;
ratcheting-up the power
of promise and possibility.

When others’ feelings are
of more concern than our own,
and a bigger picture is in focus,
courage is in the neighborhood.

In those deep-soaked,
courage doesn’t fade at the end;
it metamorphoses into
its silent sister, Hope.

© 2010 Todd Jenkins

Tender Hands

(For all those who have been
knocked down too hard & often.)

Tender is a relative word;
depending on the subject,
depending on your situation,
depending on your expectation.

A farmer’s tender hands
can gently coax life from a crop
but you wouldn’t expect
to mistake them for silk.

A loved one’s tender hands
express love’s fragile emotions
whether they are sandpaper coarse
or Shea Butter smooth.

And then there’s God,
to whom we often attribute
anthropomorphic digits and extremities,
always expecting utmost tenderness.

Problem is, there are too many times
when our expectations come
face to face with life’s circumstances
that have run roughshod over us.

This we ask, beg, pray, dear Lord:
When life throws us under the bus,
let us firmly, clearly feel the touch
of your strong and tender hands,
in every hug, smile, tear, word, meal.

© 2010 Todd Jenkins

Faith Factor

The television drama (There’s nothing remotely connecting it to “reality”, so I refuse to use that term.) “Fear Factor” has been on for years. I’ve only watched brief segments of the show as I surf the cable airwaves for worthwhile distraction. The show seems to be a competition to see which contestant is able to most quickly and completely navigate an obstacle course filled with fear-inducing animals or activities.

Our culture is filled with “Fear Factor” mentality. We are constantly warned that:
• what we have could be stolen or damaged;
• we don’t have the “right” (translated: expensive) or enough things;
• our children will be at a disadvantage if we don’t purchase them enough things or involve them in ALL the “right” activities;
• someone hates us and is out to destroy us, so we must practice preemptive hate to protect ourselves;
• there’s never enough, and we should hoard and protect all that we have.

The Sunday morning (and other days/times) gathering of Church is to declare an alternative reality. This other reality begins with the outrageous notion that all of creation belongs to God. As long as we speak in general terms, this isn’t too outrageous a claim. The universe is massive and, even collectively, humanity can hardly fool itself into claiming ownership of such vastness. It’s when we take it personally that things become difficult.

There is an old joke about two poor farmers who are sitting around the fire after a hard day’s work. One of them asks, “Joe, if you had a million dollars, would you share half with me?” His friend replies, “You know I would, Tom.” Tom asks again, “Joe, if you had two Cadillacs, would you give me one?” Again, the reply, “You know, Tom, as good a friend as you’ve been, if I had two Cadillacs I would share one with you.” The third time, Tom asks, “Joe, if you had two hogs, would you give one to me?” Joe stops short, “Tom, you know I’ve got two hogs!”

That’s the way we often view our possessions. It’s all God’s except, of course, for the things we own personally. The outrageous claim of the gospel is that we are Stewards, not owners. We have been entrusted with some of God’s creation “for a while.” This entrusting includes a responsibility to use creation—all of it—according to God’s plan.

That means we don’t have the option of “tipping” God (whether that’s 10%, 15%, 20% or more) and doing whatever we please with the rest. Our checkbook, credit card statement, and bank statement become theological documents. So does our calendar. With them we are declaring the extent to which we believe all creation is God’s.

If you’re expecting that this is the place where I tell you how you should spend your money and how much you should give to the church, I’m sorry to disappoint you. That’s an ongoing conversation between you and God. What I will tell you, is that the church is a place where that conversation can be shared, discussed, and gracefully lived out. Church is the place where the gift of Stewardship sinks in, and the joy and generosity of its practice are lived out. Collectively as a congregation, and as families and individuals, we have the opportunity to grow our faith and use our resources in ways that we believe God is directing. This is how we develop our “Faith Factor”, which is the most powerful antidote to “Fear Factor.”

© 2010 Todd Jenkins