Sunday, February 19, 2006

there's that anger
which seems so silly -
yelling at the person
ahead of me in traffic;
wanting to throw my computer
out the window;
turning my back on my spouse
in the middle of an argument.

there's that anger
which seems so satisfying,
so self-righteous:
i recycle faithfully,
while my neighbors don't;
i walk as much as possible,
while my best friend buys a new SUV;
knowing i did the job the 'right way'
while my colleagues all cut corners.

but then,
there's that anger
which doesn't seem to touch me:
the plight of the homeless
i see every day on the way to work;
the encouragement
to not rock the boat
by pointing out that most of us
have more clothes, more shoes, more food
that we will ever need
while others have hardly any of anything.

so, like Jesus,
fill me with that anger
that is just, and holy, and you -
so i can let go of the anger
that is silly, profane, and only about me.

(c) 2006 Thom M. Shuman

Sunday, February 12, 2006

Make Me Passionate

i sit on the edge
of my seat,
eager to listen
to the commentator
describe the latest
event in the Olympics:
make me as passionate
for your Word,
O God.

i will want
to rush out
and sign up for lessons
on how to ski,
snowboard, ice skate
all because
of what i see on TV:
make me as passionate
to drop everything
and help those in need
that i see every day,
O God.

i will be eager
to spend every spare moment
in front of my HDTV,
not wanting to miss
a single event
from Torino:
make me as passionate
about spending time
with you,
O God.

(c) 2006 Thom M. Shuman

Sunday, February 05, 2006

it wears on us,
Creator of the ends of the earth,
it wears on us.

another day
of opening the paper,
another young girl
raising a child
before she has outgrown
playing with dolls;

another trip to the mall,
and seeing them (again),
that knot of pre-adult boys
all looking the same:
pant waists down around their knees,
necks choking with bling,
hats turned every which way
but proper;

it wears on us.

the ones we are
too weary to handle,
you gather up
and hold on your lap;

the kids who fatigue us,
you lift up
and place on your shoulders
as you dance through
the streets of the kingdom.

(c) 2006 Thom M. Shuman