Wednesday, January 28, 2009

the exorcist (Mark 1:21-28)

are you holding
in your hands
(behind your back)
as you come towards us;
you come to plunge
the listlessness
of our lives into
the pools of your peace,
or will
silence the dubious choirs
which echo 24/7
in our souls,
to be able to
expunge those little
who bounce up & down
on the bedsprings
of our souls?
for us
what you will,
Holy One of Conundrums,
hope slipping out
of that tiny tear
in our heart's pocket,
and questions piling up
on the dining room table,
we wonder,
if it was left to
would we
embrace your healing touch
or renounce you
as the enemy
Jesus of Nazareth?
(c) 2009 Thom M. Shuman

Thursday, January 22, 2009

pushy, aren't you?

by the shores of complacency,
i am content to simply
mend the nets
of my washed-up life,
pull me to my feet,
plop me in the boat,
stick the oars in my hand,
and push me away
to find the ones
you would have me
bring to you;

as i scrape my toes in the dirt
at the city limits
of petulant procrastination,
waiting for the bus to pull up,
grab the ticket
to Tarshish out of my hand,
put on the backpack filled
with hope and humility,
and push me towards
those who have waited
so long and patiently
for that simple word
which can change them

(c) 2009 Thom M. Shuman

Thursday, January 15, 2009

was it you?

that insistent
that resounded like a
dumping me out of
a warm snuggle
with my worries,
urging me down
the path,
stumbling through the shadows,
stubbing my toe
on all my doubts
scattered about like toys
i forgot to put away;

was it you?

doggedly shaking me
while i drowsed
in the shade of
the figments of my imagination,
dreaming of that day
when all my stereotypes
become self-fulfilled,
when all my suspicions
are confirmed by
my prejudices;

was it you?

taking me by the
pulling me out
of the safe waters
of the womb of my expectations,
persistently prodding and poking,
forging and framing
(focusing so hard on your task,
the tip of your tongue sticking
out of the corner of your mouth),
following the blueprints
sketched out by the Spirit;

it is you,
isn't it?

(c) 2008 Thom M. Shuman

Thursday, January 08, 2009

still, waters

like water skimmers,
we simply glide along
the smooth facade of our lives,
till you come running up,
diving right in,
coming up with rivulets
caressing your big grin,
as you splash water
in our eyes so we can

we drift along
just below the surface,
occasionally coming up for air,
hoping you cannot spy us
hiding in the shadowed pools,
but you step in
with your waders on,
tying the special fly
the Spirit made for you,
casting, casting, casting,
again and again,
until we take that first bite
of your grace
and we are hooked;

throwing caution to the wind,
you drive out onto our frozen souls,
setting up the shack,
chipping through the ice,
dropping your line in the hole,
patiently waiting
(while you pass the bread
and bottle around
with your two buddies)
to pull us into
the warmth of your heart.

(c) 2008 Thom M. Shuman