Sunday, June 17, 2007

I am

am i . . .
a magnetic strip
that can be swiped and scanned
so my loyalties and love
can be purchased
like a tank of gas or a jug of milk?

am i . . .
a keyboard on which,
with a few swift strokes,
my personality can be
modified, spell-checked
and saved in a new file?

am i . . .
a bank account
just waiting to be hacked into,
and emptied of
all my dreams, my hopes, my joys?

am i . . .
a vineyard
to be eminently domained
by some developer
who wants to build a skyscraper
on the foundation of my heart?

i could be . . .
cradled in God's justice,
grounded in God's grace,
planted in God's family,
living in God's heart

i belong to

(c) 2007 Thom M. Shuman

Sunday, June 10, 2007

tickle me, God

when i am down
to my last few drops
of the oil of obedience,
and distractions hammer
at my door
inviting me to come out
and play:
fill me
with that trust
which has no end;

when the flour of faith
is but a dusting
at the bottom of my heart
and sin's silliness
points me
in the wrong direction:
feed me
with that love
which never wears out;

when i put my feet
under the table
for just a few hands
of hold-em poker with death,
and she moves 'all in':
pull the chair out
from under me
and yank me to my senses;

when i beleive
there are no miracles left
(at least, for me):
tickle me
with your grace
till i ache
with life.

(c) 2007 Thom M. Shuman

Saturday, June 02, 2007

Is God Triplets or What?

While the theologians have gathered
for their annual
'Decoding the Mystery of the Trinity"

God is out early every morning,
Grace padding alongside unleashed,
stopping to chat
with the single mother
just getting off the 6 a.m. bus
from her night job;

Jesus is doing
with the "losers"
down at the skate park
and later hanging out
at the video arcade;

Spirit pauses
from wiping the tables
down at the soup kitchen,
stretching her back
till it pops loud enough
to startle Catechism
drowsily purring under the stove;

in the evening,
while they mess up the kitchen
fixing dinner,
they chat about their day,
laughing and shaking their heads
at all they have seen and heard;
then they draw straws
to see whose turn it is
to keep watch during the night,
while the others
stumble off to bed,
yawning and scratching their heads
at the mystery of humanity.

(c) 2007 Thom M. Shuman