Sunday, May 28, 2006


We remember, Grieving God,
those, in so many places,
in so many times,
who have died in war;
and we pray
we might honor them
by becoming your children,
makers of peace to our broken world.

We remember, Mothering God,
children who have grown up
around us in our schools,
in our neighborhoods, in our churches,
and who have now gone to war;
and we pray for children
throughout the world
who are the orphans
of violence and death.

We remember, God of Truth,
the wars which rage within us,
the aggression we feel towards others,
our unwillingness to forgive,
our desire to foster divisions and discord,
our discomfort in being called
to love our enemies;
and even as we despair,
we pray for new hope,
as we struggle to see you in our world,
we pray for discerning hearts,
as we confront ancient fears,
we pray for new love,
and for your old, old peace
to be born in us anew.

As we remember,
we pray, Healing God.


(c) 2005 Thom M. Shuman

Sunday, May 21, 2006

Old Songs

we love the old songs:

we hum to ourselves
about the old, old story
and feel like we are slipping on
a frayed, comfortable shirt
which will keep us warm;

we sing in the shower
of all those places
where the saints have trod,
and wonder what ever
happened to them;

the fears of aging
jerk us awake
in the middle of the night
and into the silence
of our souls
we whisper
'Jesus loves me, this i know,
for the Bible tells me so . . .'

we love the old songs so much
we might miss the new ones:

the sunrise announcing
a new beginning each day;

the laughter of children,
louder than despair's dirge;

the softness
of a parent's love
which smooths our rough edges;

teach us new songs,
Joyous Heart,
teach us new songs.

(c) 2006 Thom M. Shuman

Sunday, May 14, 2006

there was a time
when i knew
without a doubt
that you were
a white-haired old gent
holding a ruler,
ready to smack my hands
whenever i was bad;

there were years
when i longed for you
to come storming down
to shake up society
and make it more like heaven:
where everyone is loved,
no one is shoved aside,
little children are as valued
as the wisest and richest,
where we go swimming
in that cascading river
called Justice;


i see you for who
you have always been:
Wisdom warning me
to look both ways
as i cross sin's streets;
Compassion whose lap
always has room for me;
who always accepts me;
who walks beside me
every day.

abide in me,
Mothering God,
abide in me.

(c) 2006 Thom M. Shuman

Sunday, May 07, 2006

sinking in a sea
of stress and success,
you buoy me
with your living waters
until i am at peace;

running down
endless corridors
to never ending meetings,
you detour me
to the pathways
leading to your joy;

stumbling through
the thorn bushes
of a culture which seeks
to tear my soul to shreds,
you prepare a picnic
in the garden of grace;

famished and malnurtured
from wandering
the shadows on sin and death,
you fill me
with sweet tasting hope;

from the very life
i convince myself
i am seeking,
you slow me down
so goodness and mercy
can catch up with me

and push me
into your heart.

(c) 2006 Thom M. Shuman