canticle 107

your grace is as close
as every breath we take;
your love clings tighter
to us than any velcro fastener;
and so we tell everyone
of how you reach out
and gather us from
every edge to which we wander.

some arrive at borders,
weary and broken,
hungering for hope
more than any food,
thirsting for just a sip
of peace and freedom.
they cried to God, who
welcomes them with open arms,
setting a place at the table.
they compose songs of joy
to be sung in the evenings,
with stomachs full and
souls overflowing with laughter.

some huddle in shadowed doorways,
sleeping rough in parks,
listening to the well-off
passing them by on the way home
from fancy restaurants and boutique bars.
they had worked hard all their lives,
but made redundant, jobs converted to tech,
they lost everything, especially dignity.
they cried to God, who
brings light into the dimmest corners,
who shatters despair with hope,
who puts them to work sharing grace
with those who think they have enough,
singing of the One who has never used
the word hopeless about anyone.

some became addicted to opioids,
offered without thought by those
seeking to make money off another's pain;
some heard the dreaded words
'the cancer has come back,'
while others lie awake gripped
by the strong arm of depression.
they cried to God, who
offers the love's brokenness
and wraps them in bands of compassion
soaked with the tears of grace,
and they run to share with others
of the One who will shelter them
in welcome and kindness.

some are buffeted by angry words,
tossed about on the seas of bitterness,
set adrift by those filled with hate.
they knew the love of God,
the hopes God has for all,
but the waves of vilification and judgment
tossed them far into the air,
and sank them into rejection's depths.
finally, when it seemed even hope
had abandoned all hope,
they cried to God, who
told the tweeters to be still,
and the trolls to shut their mouths.
in the quiet of God's heart,
they found their true home,
joining their sisters and brothers,
all their mentors and models
in shouts of acclamation.

for there is One who
will turn floods of vitriol
into dusty dry riverbanks,
who will let the hate's wine
become bitter vinegar poured
into the cups of those who
turn their backs on others.

and he turns food deserts
into farmers markets for the indigent,
fixes the broken pipes so grace
flows without ceasing;
he teaches the hungry the best recipes,
and settles them into
neighborhoods of hope,
where they plant community gardens,
to put fresh produce
on each other's porches,
blessing others as deeply
as God has blessed them.

but those who think they are
holier than others are put in their place,
sent into time-out until they relearn
the ABCs of love's language.
and the vulnerable?
they become God's trusted council,
grace's children applauding with joy,
while the despots lose their voices.

if we have any smarts at all,
we will pay more attention
to God's faithful love.

(c) 2019 Thom M. Shuman

canticle 85

once, we sat in the backyard,
telling stories and watching fireflies;
once, you looked past our foolishness
and boxed up our fibs and shipped them away;
you pushed your anger to the back
of the highest shelf, so you couldn't reach it;
you placed your outrage in the bottom
of the freezer, buried under all the summer fruit.

can you do it again, God of our hearts,
look at our faces, not our faults;
cancel the call to the divorce lawyer,
tear the page marked 'judgment'
out of your calendar?
teach us (again!) to take
great gulps of grace
so we have breath to sing.
open that picture folder marked 'love'
so we can remember together.

tell us the old bedtime stories
of peace which never falters,
of people who never break promises,
of mercy as near as our breath,
of wonders just beyond the horizon.

like old classmates at a reunion,
love and faith will run to hug one another;
justice and hope will exchange vows
under the wedding canopy.
from the tiny seeds of faith,
tall trees will reach for the sky,
and the stars of goodness
will twinkle throughout the night.

you offer us sweet corn for dinner,
and fresh peaches out of your orchard.
honesty will run before you,
shouting that you are on the way
to gather us up in your arms

(c) 2019 Thom M. Shuman

may i

broken,
   may i bring healing;
lonely,
   may i open my arms wider;
privileged,
   may i care more for the vulnerable;
rejected,
   may i offer a safe space;
angry,
   may i learn the language of peace;
ridiculed,
   may i affirm others;
hated,
   may i love;
wronged,
   may i be just
hurt,
   may i forgive

(c) 2019 Thom M. Shuman

canticle 15

God?

who is welcome in your house;
who gets to play in your backyard?

those who listen to your lullabies of hope,
and share the deep longings of your heart;
those who do not bully others,
who care for friends,
who treat strangers as neighbors;
those who stand up to troublemakers,
and are at the side of justice seekers;
those who learn from their foolishness;
those who are generous to a fault,
and who don't turn against others
for any amount of money.

these are the rocks
in your zen garden

(c) 2019 Thom M. Shuman

canticle 52

seriously?
you're going to go around
bragging about
how you mistreat the vulnerable,
how you plan havoc for outsiders,
how your words cut others to shreds?
obviously,
you choose evil over good,
telling fibs over facts,
and angry accusations that
swallow peoples' hopes up whole!

but you're in for some surprises:
God will run your cruelty through a shredder,
will turn your McMansions into shelters,
will pull up your anger and plant hope;
then, the ones you looked past
will see your foolishness, laughing
out loud when you land flat on your foolishness,
as the safety net you paid so much for
is turned into a trampoline;
seriously!

But for me, I am like that seed
little kids plant in paper cups,
trusting that I will grow,
nourished by the tears of God,
the warmth of God's love,
the fertilizer of God's faithfulness,
and I will stretch my heart to the Light,
rejoicing in the miracle of God
in my life, my heart, my soul,
joining all creation patiently
waiting for the goodness
which is our heritage and hope

(c) 2019 Thom M. Shuman

canticle 82

Glancing around the dinner table,
God asks, once again,
"How long will you keep messing up?
Why do you keep siding with injustice
and do the bidding of the cruel?
Justice is the gift you offer
to the forgotten, the vulnerable;
speak out, and stand up
for the ones ignored by the powerful.
Release the grip of the hateful
on children and families, and
welcome them into your hearts."
Although we have all sorts
of degrees on our walls, we
are dumber than dirt itself.
God reminds us, "You are not me,
and time is running out on
your arrogant grasping for holiness."
Come, O Lord,
with justice and mercy
for every corner of life.

(c) 2019 Thom M. Shuman

once again (Luke 10:25-37)

you remind us
that our neighbors
are the despised ones,
not the folks who
are just like us;
that those who
dare to care for us
are the ones
we least expect to
glance at us;
that eternal life
is found in the ditches
with the broken,
the forgotten, the bullied;
and once again,
we mark you as
having failed the test
we offered to you,
frustrating Jesus

(c) 2019 Thom M. Shuman

canticle 30

i can easily sing
as you pick me up
after tripping over my faults,
and you duct tape the mouths
of the bullies who taunt me.
but you also hear my midnight moans,
and bandage my scraped knees.
you throw down a hope ladder
to help me climb out of the blues,
and so i join the acapella
group beatboxing your name.
your pique withers, your ill humor fades
but your grace is never withdrawn.
my heart breaks in the night,
but Joy tiptoes in to wake me in the morning.

on those really sunny,
all-is-well-with-the-world days,
nothing will bother me.
you hiked with me to watch
the sun rise over the mountains;
then you ran down the hill
out of my sight,
and i couldn't find the path.
i yelled for help, wondering
'who's going to rejoice
if there's no one to hear?
does dusty death know your songs;
will the grave shout your name?
if you can hear me, reach out
and show me the way!'
then, i will shuck open grief
and find joy's pearl,
i will slip out of my hair shirt
and put on your wonder,
singing to you, not just
on those really sunny,
all-is-well-with-the-world days,
but on all my eeyore ones
as well

(c) 2019 Thom M. Shuman