Week Found

I found a week twice this week
but didn’t know what to do with it.
I didn’t really find a week,
but it sure felt like it,
when I believed on two separate occasions
that scheduled events and due dates had arrived,
only to find out a short time later that
I had a week’s reprieve for them both.

When I lose a week,
which happens much more often,
I sometimes wonder where it went.
I like to imagine that
I was abducted by aliens or some other
equally-dramatic scenario,
so that I don’t have to
take personal responsibility
for my calendar bulging like a three-day udder.

But when I find one,
which I can only remember happening recently,
what myth will help me explain this phenomenon?
What can I claim as the cause for a week found?

I know I didn’t do anything special
to deserve this bonus;
didn’t somehow save up some
chronographic karma
that suddenly paid dividends.

What will I do with this found week?
Is it like found money—
do I have a choice of splurging with it
or investing it wisely?
What would you do with a found week?

I ended up using it much like any other week,
but I think I enjoyed it a little more;
savored its days, hours, minutes more deliciously,
simply because I realized that,
if only in my mind and for a brief while,
I nearly lost it before I ever had a chance to taste it.

Cheers to a found week,
to the grace of living all over again,
even if it’s really only once,
a week that almost disappeared!

© 2010 Todd Jenkins

We Are Falcons!

We are Falcons
from Lincoln County High!
We’ll always be Falcons
until the day we die!

When the sun goes down,
and the air is chilled,
we strap it on & buckle up
as the Pit is filled!

From the first kick-off
‘til the final whistle blows,
our hard work and
our teamwork shows!

Falcon fever pitch,
rising higher and higher!
We’ll rock your world!
We’ll burn you like fire!

We let our game be
the walk that we walk!
We let the score be
the smack that we talk!

We'll knock you on your butt!
We'll leave you in the dust!
When the final whistle blows,
you will respect us!

We are Falcons
from Lincoln County High!
We’ll always be Falcons
until the day we die!

Praying

This past Sunday’s sermon was not only about prayer, it was prayer. We could preach about prayer 52 Sundays a year and never come close to covering all of its aspects. We could pray 24/7 and never finish. Someone once said,” Prayer is not what we do, it is who we are.”

Some people are bothered by the notion that prayer or, as in the case of Hebrew [OT] scripture stories, conversation with God changes God’s mind (Genesis 18:22ff; Exodus 32:14). Others are quite convinced of and comfortable with the notion that God’s actions are tied directly to people’s prayers (Matthew 21:21-22). I know that:
• Prayer makes a difference in mine and others’ lives;
• Prayer makes me more attentive to the work of God in the world and in my life;
• Prayer is about reinforcing my trust in God;
• Though I don’t fully understand the “how” of prayer’s efficacy (Does it change me only, or also God?), I still practice it, in the similar way that I use a microwave even though I do not fully understand nuclear science.

Here are some other thoughts on prayer from C.S. Lewis:

“I pray because I can't help myself. I pray because I'm helpless. I pray because the need flows out of me all the time- waking and sleeping. It doesn't change God- it changes me."

"Almost certainly God is not in time. His life does not consist of moments one following another...Ten-thirty-- and every other moment from the beginning of the world--is always Present for Him. If you like to put it this way, He has all eternity in which to listen to
the split second of prayer put up by a pilot as his plane crashes in flames."

© 2010 Todd Jenkins

Where's the Grace in THAT?

I tried not to proof-text my sermon too much this week, but the Pharisees (Luke 15:1-10), who grumble that Jesus “eats with tax collectors and sinners”, seemed to be tailor-made for the “Dove World Outreach Church Media Frenzy” of this past week. I’m guessing that Terry Jones is oblivious to the irony that he is a prime example of how ridiculous and dangerous it is to generalize and stereotype an entire faith by the actions of a handful of extremists who claim to be acting on that faith’s principles.

I don’t recall Jesus burning the Torah, as a way to spread the gospel message. When I contemplated the possible burning of the Qu’ran, Islam’s holy book, the first thing that came to my mind was, “Where’s the grace in that?”

A pastor friend shared a story about C. S. Lewis, who was once asked to settle a scholars’ debate about the most unique characteristic of Christianity. Lewis is reported to have said, “It’s grace.” God’s love is “string-free” and not dependent on our goodness, wisdom, actions, or anything else related to who we are or what we’ve done.

That’s a very powerful characteristic, but also one that challenges us. When we are on the receiving end of grace (like the 1 sheep of 99 and the 1 coin of 10 in Jesus’ parable), it is a wonderfully unimaginable gift, and we are deeply grateful for grace’s great-reversal of the “less-than” sign (Remember your math class?) that the world aims at our life. When we are called to give it, however (especially to someone who has hurt us), it is a little bit more difficult to swallow.

Some moments we find ourselves square in the middle of Pharisee Street, grumbling about grace’s long reach and compassion, convincing ourselves that we are good enough to be judged by law, instead. Other times we are well aware that we are the one sheep of ninety-nine in desperate need of grace. In many situations we find ourselves among the ninety-nine, wondering whether another “one sheep” is worth it.

Our congregation’s vision, adopted by the Session, prominently displayed on our church sign (the last frame in the video), and the primary tool by which we attempt to measure all our endeavors is, “Reveal God’s grace now and to all generations forevermore.”

If you are interested in a visual and audio reflection on this, which I used as the final illustration in our TouchPoint Worship Service, check out the YouTube video I posted. I would put a direct link in the blog, but I can't figure out how to do so, even though there is an "Insert Link" button right in front of my face. Isn't technology wonderful?

© 2010 Todd Jenkins

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=9peBFXBFFP0

Mom the Invincible

This was written for a friend's mom who recently underwent a "medical procedure."

At her age it surely seems
“the I’s” her middle name.
From everlasting she has been
to endless years the same.

The Dr. says it is only
a simple procedure,
but when it is your mom at risk
you want to be quite sure.

I know she’s not invincible
and surely, so does she.
So, hold her in your palm dear God,
she means the world to me.

Amen.

© 2010 Todd Jenkins

Ordinary Ministry

We work, play, and casually interact with people every day who have unspeakable tragedy lurking just beneath the surface of their lives. Sometimes we’re on the other end and the tragedy is our own. Most of the time there's no longer a visible indication of this suffering but, occasionally (more often than we probably realize), there are "thin places" where the fresh coat of "normal" does not completely hide what has been buried in the shallow ground.

We stub our metaphorical toe on another’s invisible pain. We accidentally rake across non-sequiturs of rage, anger, or shock. Momentary silence creates a complete change of subject. Punctuation’s pause opens the door to overflowing catacombs of emotion.

Pay attention! These are the places where we can rise to the occasion and be fully present. These are the times for which we are created. These are the experiences by which, if we can resist the reflex of withdrawal, we are warmed by love and soldered together by God’s healing touch. These are the foundational blocks of the priesthood of all believers. These are the blessed sacraments of ordinary ministry.

© 2010 Todd Jenkins

Puzzle's Pieces

Summer's been hot and dry, not just on the outside, though I've collected a few moist towelettes for future use. Here's one from a few weeks ago:

For the one whom God has sent speaks the words of God, for God gives the Spirit without limit. John 3:34

“God has a plan” we’re told
at every twist and turn.
When I stop to look and listen
I sometimes catch a glimpse.

Not enough to figure out
why our lives are full of hurt,
much less the way things
are working together and out.

Six billion is the last number
I heard used to name the count
of earth’s people currently alive,
so maybe we’re all part of a puzzle

with that many pieces to fit together.
This doesn’t even begin to include
all those who’ve passed before us:
pieces of the communion of saints.

But since we’re being honest here,
which poetry has a way of doing
with few words to hide behind
and truth erupting from its vast blank space,

I must confess that most of the time
I find myself imagining a much smaller puzzle,
a 10 or 20 piece version whose box reads,
“Six months to one year.”

Is that how long it’ll take me to finish,
or how old (mature?) I’m acting,
or the limits of my vision?
Some days it seems like all three.

In this much smaller puzzle, of course,
as intimate and manageable as it is,
I am always the central, most important piece,
in the same way that channelers

always reach back into our past
and find that, once upon a time,
we were, of course, royalty,
and never lower-caste peasants.

But as the universe’s true size and age
sink into my dense gray matter,
I sometimes ponder its enormity
that might as well be infinity.

Suppose I am merely—
and I say merely because
I’m thinking small and selfishly again—
a tiny piece of gorgeous blue sky

that fits into a few million other blues
to reflect the absolute beauty
of a single snapshot in time,
captured on an artist’s canvas?

How many times do you think
that eyes roll and sighs flow from God,
exasperated that I’m looking to become
anything and everything except

the very thing for which I was created?
Not that my piece of the puzzle
is not placed in a single right location—
the only spot that it correctly fits—

but that I refuse altogether
to let it fit in any of the many places
it might have twisted and clicked
to fit a hole in the universe’s scheme

that my absence makes so obvious.
On my computer the other day
I saw an image that, from far away,
looked like nothing more

than a single, familiar celebrity’s face.
But when I clicked on any given spot
I zoomed in to find that each pixel patch
was actually composed of many other faces.

Funny how easily we can be convinced
by fear, anxiety, envy and control,
that our own comfortable little perspective
must be THE true universal reality.

© 2010 Todd Jenkins