longest night

come, God-of-compassion,
   to be with all
   whose loneliness
   makes every night
      longer than the
      one before;
come, God-of-brokenness,
   to mend those
   whose shattered
   lives seem impossible
      to put back together;
come, God-of-hungry-hearts,
   to companion the
   people sitting at
   one-chair tables
      in restaurants overflowing
         with parties, and
      in apartments with
         scarred linoleum floors;
come, God-of-the-gentle-arms
   to cuddle with
   all the children
      who cry themselves
      to sleep;
come, God-of-every-moment,
come, God-of-every-person,
   that we might be
   the people others find
      in every moment
      of their lives.

(c) 2015 Thom M. Shuman

poem/prayer for December 20, 2015 (Advent 4 - C)

when the little
         become the
         leaders of the
      mighty;
when the least
         get the most
         of our
      attention;
when the lost
         find their way
         into our
      hearts;
when the last
         become the
         ones we
      follow,
then all our
lives will be
   secure.

(c) 2015 Thom M. Shuman
        

poem/prayer for December 13, 2015 (Advent 3 - C)

even with

no visible evidence
of hope,
   except for a young woman
   giving birth in the
   shadows of poverty;
no resounding words
of grace,
   except for the teenager
   helping a Syrian child
   learn a new language;
no superhero
coming to our rescue,
   except for the volunteers
   who ignore borders
   to bring healing and kindness;

again and again,
God says,
'Rejoice!'

(c) 2015 Thom M. Shuman

poem/prayer for December 6, 2015 (Advent 2 - C)

    berakah

that evening
   as he watched
   you pull that
      creased, frayed,
      holey, hand-written
         paper headed
         "Promises"
   out of your shirt
   pocket for the
            umpteenth
      time, watching your
      brow wrinkle as you
      tried to make out
            the fading words,
   he put a marker
         in his book,
      set it down on the table
      with his glasses on top,
         slipped into his
         jacket, and kissing
   you on the forehead, he
   headed out the door,
      heading to
Bethlehem.

(c) 2015 Thom M. Shuman