remnant (Jeremiah 31:7-14

those who cannot

see past the end

of broken promises

will find themselves bumping

into your

hopes;

those who stumble along,

twisting their ankles in

despair's potholes,

will discover you

on your knees,

a trowel in your hand

smoothing out the cement

poured

into the cracks in their

lives;

those who carry one

kid on their

hip, with another

about to burst out,

will be invited

to your play

group;

those who populate

the walls

at proms, and the

young men with two

left feet

will win the ballroom

competition;

those who can't carry

a tune

(and haven't for the last

60 years or so)

will record a CD

with Susan Boyle;

those who always

see their glass half

empty

and about to be

knocked over,

will do a cannonball

into your pools of

pure grace.

(c) 2010 Thom M. Shuman

we're innocent! (Matthew 2:13-23

we stroll down the
               streets,
   shoulder to shoulder
   with the other carolers,
            never noticing the teenagers
            huddling in the shadowed
                        doorways, trying to
                        assemble their broken
                                        dreams
               into that puzzle called
                            life;


we rush to the
polling places,
     eager to vote down levies for
             schools,
                 hospitals,
                      disability services,
and 'tsk, tsk' at the stories
      of cutbacks on art/music/drama,
            of scenes of mothers
            waiting hours in emergency
            to get medicine for
                          their babies,
      of veterans living on the streets
               and sleeping under bridges;


we reach for the remote
when the news from the wars
comes on,
      missing the scenes of bomb craters
      that are now playgrounds for
                        kids,
           of families who search
           through the rubble, only
                to find their worst fears,
       of houses of worship
                     which are now
             battlefields;


we've lost our innocents
and don't know where to
                find them . . .


do you?


(c) 2010 Thom M. Shuman

mr. sandman (Matthew 1:18-25)

in those soft, hushed
  hours of the night,
     you dream

of no one noticing
as you slip in
  to be one of us,
      and a baby cries;

of all the outsiders
being welcomed
           as if they
     knew the secret
               handshake,
  and a woman
        at a well
     feels a shiver
     run down her soul;

of pantries in soup kitchens
        never being empty,
     of shelters being open
            24/7,
  and a little boy
        hands you his lunchbox
        packed with
              a fish sandwich;

of death
  kneeling in worship,
            offering all that it owns
        back to you,
  and Beloved folds up
  his bedclothes, and walks
      into the morning.

in those soft, hushed
  hours of the night,

you . . .

(c) 2010  Thom M. Shuman

being (Isaiah 35:1-10)

to those
   whose hair has
            risen
      on the back of their
               hearts,
   we are to broadcast
      (gracefully modified)
            seeds of hope.

to everyone
         whose knees
   are swollen and
               wobbly
      from standing at
         two jobs,
   we are to be
             braces.

to all
      whose hands
   are palsied by
               poverty,
      we are to be
                  gloves
   woven from skeins
      of food,
         warmth,
            shelter.

to anyone
      whose feet are
           blistered
     from walking the burning
        bricks of foolishness,
   we are to be
                 shoes
      which will easily
           slip on
   for the Way.

(c) 2010  Thom M. Shuman

frazzled (Matthew 3:1-12)

so frayed, so frazzled,

so harried, so hassled . . .

it's so hard to get prepared:

just when we think every present is bought,

and unexpected one arrives and,

of course, we have to go out

to buy one for that person;

as we gaze at the outside lights

that have been hung and arranged

(so lovingly, so carefully),

a strand goes out,

and so another trip to the store;

we know the way to the malls so well

we could drive there with our eyes closed

(and probably do sometimes!);

the path to the post office is well worn

from all the trips to mail parcels,

to get more stamps.

Christmas Day draws nearer and nearer

and the activity level increases

(as does our stress);

the days grow shorter and shorter

(since we obviously don't have

enough hours in each one

to get everything done!).

so frayed, so frazzled,

so harried, so hassled,

we might not hear the voice

calling to us:

'prepare the way, the Lord is coming!

his path will lead you

straight

to the kingdom.'

open our ears, Lord, open our ears.

(c) Thom M. Shuman

the lamb (Luke 15:3-7)

not moving a muscle,
curling up so tight
    my nose touches my fears,
nestling deep in the
            hollow of
        forgetfulness,
i wait . . .
    knowing
        if i bleat a
                word
            or make any
                    sound,
    that the mischief
        of peccadilloes
            which has been
    standing quietly at the edge
                will swoop
        down upon me
    and strip my soul
                bare;

then louder
    than the arrythmia
        of my quaking heart,
i hear the soft, familiar
    tread of your grace,
        and you reach down,
    putting me (phobia frozen)
        over your shoulders
in a fireman's lift
            to carry me
   
        home.

(c) 2010  Thom M. Shuman

leaning, leaning . . .

i am only a little boy:
   my first day at school
   starts tomorrow;
i'll be brave for my mom,
and not let her see my cry;
          but, can i lean on you?

i am only a young girl:
   i'll get back on the bus
   this week wondering
      if the boy who teased me last year
      will be in his old seat,
         if that group of girls
         who giggled behind my back
         will still be knotted together;
               so, can i lean on you?

i am only a teacher,
not a super hero:
   i have good days
   and rotten mornings;
      i have tears
      shimmering in my eyes
         behind the happy face
         i wear every day;
               can i lean on you?

i am only a hypocrite
slipping into my clay feet each morning
   striding forth into the world
      bent by my skeptic spirit,
   hoping that today
          i might be bowled over by
             faith;

till then,
   can i lean on you?

(c) 2010  Thom M. Shuman

teach us how to pray (Luke 11:1-4)

our Father . . .

    when i wander down despair's streets,
    and get mugged in the alley of arrogance,
        build me a home at the corner
        of Grace and Hope
            in your kingdom;

    your will
    is that scratchy hair shirt
    hanging deep
    in the back of my closet -
        nudge me to get it out
        and wear it till
        it becomes so frayed and soft,
            i could never throw it out
            with the garbage;

    when i hunger
    for a hubris-and-selfish sandwich
    with all the fixings,
        feed me
        with the simple crust
        of the Bread of
            Life;

    tempted to charge
    all my sins
    on my revolving account
    with the Evil One,
        let me cut up my card
        with your sheer mercy
        and walk around
            with pockets full of grace
            to share with everyone
                i meet.

our Father . . .

(c) Thom M. Shuman

hard

    to embrace gracious

        freedom

            so eagerly,

        that i take on every

                menial task

            on behalf of others;

    to avoid the aisles

     stocked with temptation's

            empty calories,

        but shop in the produce

                section of the kingdom,

            filling my cart

            with all sorts of luscious

                         goodies,

        giving them away

        as i walk down the

                street;

    to follow you

    down paths overgrown

        with aching loneliness,

            potholed with grief,

                worn smooth where

                those who turned back

                    walked;

you have asked

a hard thing, 

    yet i see your footprints

        stretching out before me,

     and take the first (of what

        will surely be many

                 faltering)

steps.

(c) 2010 Thom M. Shuman

miraculous (1st Kings 17:8-24)

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 believe

there are no miracles left

(at least, for me):

tickle me 

with your grace

till i ache

with life.

(c) Thom M. Shuman

get up! (John 21:1-19; Psalm 30)

my burdens, struggles,

worries and doubts

lie on the floor

    scattered after

    last night's game

        of hide-and-seek;

i had to get up

in the middle of the night,

    changing the sheets

    on the bed, soaked

        from the nocturnal

            anamnesis

                of my foolish

                    day;

most mornings,

    trust hungover the bow,

    mercy hanging in rags,

    hope slipping off the hook,

        i cast out my life,

        only to pull in

            despair's emptiness.

but there you are

down in the kitchen:

    flour all over the counters,

    dirty pots stacked high

            in the sink,

juice poured,

tea steeped,

    hollering up the stairs,

        'get up, lazy faith!

        breakfast's ready!'

(c) 2010 Thom M. Shuman

Holy Humor Sunday

dour-faced

in the presence

    of stunning sunsets;

stricken with chronic severity

while surrounded

    by gurgling babies;

frozen-souled when touched

by the warmth of

    grace;

if we are made in your image,

it's no wonder people think of you

as a grouchy old geezer,

    God of Joy.

       so, breathe on us . . .

fill our souls with:

    laughter which chases away

        the long faces;

    chuckles which wipe frowns

        off our brows;

    great guffaws

        which shatter hardened hearts;

           fill us,

           Breath of sidesplitting shrieks,

so we can celebrate

the last laugh on

    death.

(c) Thom M. Shuman

because (John 12:1-8)

because

we have preserved our joy

in manna jars

    for the long winter of despair,

    storing them in the dark corners

                of our souls,

        we have forgotten

        its gritty taste;

because

we have put a tight lid

on our joy,

    and put it in the back 

    of the pantry,

            we have forgotten

            how it can tickle

            our noses;

because

we are so busy 

    prattling pious platitudes

    about the poor, the least, the lost,

            we ignore your words

            which anoint them

            as your children;

because

we have put up 

the shutters and storm doors

    to keep your future

    from sneaking in,

        we have missed

        the sweet breeze

        carrying your hope

             to us;

because

we are who we are,

        restore us, Holy Grace,

    and make us 

    a fragrant offering

            to the world.

(c) Thom M. Shuman

jordan

we sit waist deep

in the dusty ashes,

scooping our dried-up

dreams in our hands,

letting them sift

through our fingers,

watching them gently

swirl in the air;

you come along,

a bucket of warm hope

in your hands,

sitting down next

to us, you suggest,

'maybe if we add this

to the mess,

we can create something

wonderful.'

so veddy proper,

in the top percentile

on the prim-o-meter,

we walk stiff-necked,

straight-backed through life

where you hide around

the corner,

giggling with your lifelong

pal, Spirit, arms full of balloons

bulging with victus aqua,

hoping to deluge us,

until

we loosen up enough

to lose ourselves

in you.

(c) 2010 Thom M. Shuman