poem/prayer for Trinity Sunday

at the
         crossroads,
   i could keep
      going the route
      i have been
            traveling
   all these years, with
      no end in sight,
      no benchs where
         i might rest;

i could go
         back,
   retracing my steps,
   hoping i might
      be pick up
      all the pieces
             of life
      littering
         the sides
         of the road;

I could turn
         towards
   that street which
      (with its broad
       tree-lined walks,
    houses so freshly painted
    they look brand-new,
       and lawns which will
       tolerate no weeds)
            looks
   too good to be
                real;

or
      i could simply
      turn down that
               way
         everyone warns
         me about,
   following you,
   the family playing
            leapfrog,
      splashing noisily
      through every muddy
            puddle,
   building a kingdom
   from all the discarded
         people left
      by the curb.

(c) 2014  Thom M. Shuman

dare we? (Pentecost - A)

hesitant enough
to whisper your name,
   much less tell any one
   of your presence in us:
         dare we ask for
         tongues of boldness?

our hearts
fatigued by
   the cancer of poverty,
   the fears crouching in
                the shadows,
   the children wandering
                our streets:
         dare we ask for
         a transplant of
            compassion?

souls numbed
   by broken lives
   and shattered dreams,
grace iceberged
   by the chill of our culture:
         dare we ask for
         just the smallest
                     spark
         to engulf us?

dare we hope
      dare we dance
dare we yield
      dare we dive
      into your red-hot
              love
   so we can live?

(c) 2014 Thom M. Shuman

signs (John 17:1-11)

not in a great
         flood
   washing us all
            away,
   but
      in the muddy
            puddle
      where children
      float boats
      created out of
      leaves and twigs,
   we find your
          power;

not in the superstars
      who step off
      the red carpet
            for a quick
            selfie,
   but
      in the kitchen
      of the grandmother
   setting out a platter
   of just-baked
           cookies
   and glasses of cold
                  milk
      for the kids
      coming in from
            school,
   we feel your
          presence;

not in the candidate's
      confetti-strewn
            ballroom
         with ecstatic supporters
         popping champagne,
   but
      in the indigents
      hospital ward
   where nurses treat
   their patients as if
         they were royalty,
      we glimpse you
              glory.

(c) 2014 Thom M. Shuman

orphanless (John 14:18)

it was on
      a crowded street
      where hope let
                   go
         of my hand,
   and as i was
   being swept
   towards the jagged
                rocks
      of despair,
            you
   reached out and
   grabbed hold,
         refusing
      to let go;

when love
         died,
   after battling apathy
   for so many years,
      i was left
      to my own devices,
            until
      you
         came along
         and gathered
         me into your
   heart;

looking out your window,
      you saw
               me,
   bedraggled,
         sin-soaked,
      mewing pitifully
      in the elements,
               so
   you opened the
              door
   and invited this
            stray  
      into your
         forever home.

(c) 2014 Thom M. Shuman

the innkeeper (John 14:1-14)

pregnant
      with all our
   unborn worries, fears
         and doubts,
      we show up
      at your doorstep
   (no place else to go)
            and you
         throw open the
              door,
      exclaiming, 'come
         in out of the
            qualms!'

hungering
      for that hope
         which is priced
         way beyond our means,
   we stand by the
              bin behind
           your restaturant,
         waiting for darkness
               to fall so we
               can search for
      some scraps, and you
      beckon us from the
         kitchen door, saying,
   'we've got a big pot
      of grace that's just
      going to waste.  Come
      in and have as much
      as you need.'

weary-footed,
         dusty from the
      long journey through
            life, we close
               our eyes, feeling
         our hearts taking their
            last beat,
                  and we awaken
      in a sun-filled room,
      clean pajamaed, between
         fresh sheets and
            you
                  smiling down
                  at us,
  whispering, 'get up, sleepyhead.
      everybody's waiting
      to see you
            downstairs.'

(c) 2014 Thom M. Shuman

stained glass shepherd

in the silence
      and security
      of this holy place,
            i stare at
   the window where
         you are encased,
   the bright sun
             illuminating
         you
      tenderly holding
            one of your
            lambs (and
         surely, it is me),
   as you prepare
      to lead it to
         that lush pasture
      where crystal fountains
         never run dry,
   where grass never
            burns up in
      the heat of day,
         where all the
         predators are
               tricked
       by the detour
            sign at the
         bottom of the
               hill;

as i walk
      to my car, i do
      not glance back
   or else i would see
         the cracks
         in the glass
      where the world
      has hurled its
            stones;
   the sheep, limping
         and reeling
      from the violence
         they have
         experienced
      in the valleys
      of shadows;
   your torn robe,
      your scarred hands,
            your life
         pooling in
               silence
      for every
          single
          lamb.

(c) 2014 Thom M. Shuman

Thom

the stranger (Luke 24:13-35)

to the woman
      who had no more
         tears to shed
      after crying night
      after night after night,
   and to her husband
      who had no more
         words to offer
      that might be hopeful,
a stranger
          (or three?)
  came with a
          promise;

to a fellow
         on the run
         from a foe
      who was as rentless
      as he was ruthless,
a stranger
      offers a little water
         and bakes a small
         biscuit, 
   a simple meal of
             promise;

to a couple
         walking down
      grief's road along
      the edge of
            Dark Valley,
a stranger
      offers broken
            bread
   to strengthen them
         for the journey
      into God's
            promise;

to us,
   Holy Stranger,
              come
         and feed us
         on your
      promises.

(c) 2014 Thom M. Shuman

poem/prayer for April 27, 2014 (John 20:19-31)

they lie just
         under the bed,
   doubt bunnies
      waiting patiently
      for me to get
         dressed for
               faith,
    so they can
    cling to my
       pants and socks,
          traveling
          with me
   through each day,
      giggling as they
      stain my pristine
               piety;

on summer evenings,
         as i sit
         on the deck
   trying to center
      myself in
            you, they
         flit about
         in the shadows,
   their tails flickering
            skeptically
      as they seek to
            distract me
      from such
         moments,
                  until
   you gather them
   up in an old
            olive jar,
      so you can
          see your way
          to me,

where,
    holding my
      life-scarred hands
            in yours, and
   rubbing grace's gritty                
         balm over the
      world's sharp wounds,
you whisper,
   'my friend and my beloved!'

and
      continue
   to believe in
                me,
      despite
      everything
      you have
   seen.

(c) 2014 Thom M. Shuman

the watchdog (John 11:33)

he comes
      on padded feet,
   sniffing the wind,
         recognizing the
         smell of the
      Threatening One
            who would
            steal away
         his best
              friend,
      snarling and
          nipping
        at its heels,
             until
      Azrael slinks off
          into the
        shadows;

then turning towards
     the stone, he
   barks quickly
       that all is
       safe, and
    waits (with
      joy in his
         heart)
   for Laz
     to come
out.

(c) 2014  Thom M. Shuman

Thom

the hounds (Psalm 23:6a)

Only goodness and steadfast love shall pursue me
   all the days of my life (JPS TANAKH Translation)

pacing myself
      for the marathon,
      i slowly start
     out on the
         journey,
   ignoring the chances
      to stop and catch
         my breath,
   waving you off
      as you try to hand
         me a cup of
         stilled water,
   refusing to pay attention
      to the detour
             signs
   marking an easier
         way;

thinking ahead to
      that shadowed valley
   lying on the other side
         of the steep
                hill
      i start to climb,
   i do not hear
            you
     whistling to
        To-wb and
        Wa-he-sed,
      and letting the hounds
           sniff my scent,
   you send them on
              my trail,
      until catching up with                
                 me,
         they nip my heels
             (gently)
   turning me towards
                  home

where you wait
        with supper
      on the
             table.

(c) 2014  Thom M. Shuman

up here (Matthew 17:1-9)

         if
it was up
to us
      we would

metamorphose
         you
   into a
   cockroach, so
      you could be
      the star
   in the traveling
   flea circus;

download
         you
   onto that
   flashdrive
      that fits so
      comfortably
   in the bottom
   of the drawer and
         never sees
      the light of
            day;

transpose
         you
   into a minor
      key
   praise song, so
      we can complain,
   'why would anyone
         want to sing
         that
      tune;'

but
   into the
         Beloved,
      the one to
         Whom
   we need to
      listen?

not on our
         mountaintop!

(c) 2014 Thom M. Shuman

reward (Matthew 5:38-48)

our reward
         for
   being strong (and
      foolish) enough
   to try living your
            way?

toothless,
      we can sit down
   at your Table
         to let those
         we don't like
   spoon feed us with
      your grace;

cloakless,
      we can walk
   through the streets
         of the kingdom,
      warmed by your love
   on the coldest days;

foot weary,
      we dip them
   in the cool waters
         of life,
   shaking them dry
   and slipping them
            into the
            soft slippers
      spun of service;

empty-pocketed,
      we have simply
            made room
            for all those
         gifts
   we beg from you (which
      you share without
              any
         hesitation)

(c) 2014 Thom M. Shuman

fulfillment (Matthew 5:13-16)

"you are
the methylchloroisothiazolinone
   of the earth,"
         just doesn't have
      the same oomph,
            does it?
so
may we be
         the jalapenos
      in a world content
        with banality;
         the zest
      that stings minds
            focused
   only on themselves;
         the tartness
       that awakens mouths
            which speak
                  only
       platitudes.

"you are
the LED of the world,'
         just doesn't
         seem to grab us,
            i'm afraid.

but
let us be
         the torch
      that shows the
            shadowed
      the way out of
   their troubles;
         the nightlight
      which comforts
            the fearful;
         the lighthouse
      which warns of
               dangers
         we all face.

then
      may all who are
      searching
               find
   that community,
         not necessarily
         on a hill,
      but in all the
            ordinary
   places and
         people
      around them.

(c) 2014 Thom M. Shuman

           

blessings (Matthew 5:1-12)

give me, O God, this day:

         humility,
   so i can see you in the
      most vulnerable;

         a cup
   to catch the tears
   of all who weep;

         an arm
   for the longanimous to
   cling to as they walk
      through life;

         a broken heart
   which can heal those
   who have harmed me;

         guilelessness
   which looks at the other
   and sees your beloved (not
      an object);

         friendship
   which embraces those
   we are taught to fear;

         hospitality
   which welcomes those
   who are ridiculed as
      they shadow you;

         words
   of hope, of comfort, of grace
   whispered in the ears
      of all who are slandered
      for your name.

(c) 2014 Thom M. Shuman

Thom

ideally (Isaiah 9:1-4)

we would carry
      the Light
   into the shadowed
            corners
         rather
   than sticking it all
   on a tree
      once a year;

we would
      distich
   ourselves to others,
         rather
   than piling on
             more
      than they can handle
           alone;

we would take
      all the ways and means
      in which we harm
         people (including
   those holier-than-thou
               shirts
      off our backs) and
         use it all
   as fuel to warm
   the lives of those
            we despise.

(c) 2014 Thom M. Shuman 

waiting, you waited (Psalm 40:1-3)

hearing my squawk
      of surprise
               and then
   my wails of
         wretchedness,
you came
      running,
   stopping at the
      crumbling edge;

you reached down
   and clasped my trembling
            hands,
   pulling me up
      out of the
      slimy clay that
            fought
         to hold on to
               me;

you unwrapped the towel
      from around your
                  waist,
   and setting me
   on your lap,
         you proceeded
         to wipe off all
      the muddy traces
      of my mistakes,
   drying my feet off
            toe by toe,

all the while
             chuckling,
      and
         asking me,
   'why do you keep
   getting into these
                messes?'

(c) 2014 Thom M. Shuman

Thom

still waters (Baptism of the Lord)

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
see;

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) Thom M. Shuman

edge-y (Advent 2-A)

at the river's edge, we
      rub elbows with the
      piously righteous,
   jostling for the best
   position to hear
         the camel-coated, 
             slicked-hair,
             bow-tied
   evangelist
      with his honey-drenched
                words;

at the river's edge, they
            gather,
   the bear wanting to teach
         his cubs to fish,
   the cow sipping a cool
           drink,
   the ewe and lambs
   keeping a wary eye
      on the wolf pack
      playing on the
         sandbar;

ar the river's edge, we
            wait
   for you
         to take off
         your dusty sandals,
      and jump in
      feet first
   drenching us with
            Spirit's
        new life.

(c) 2013 Thom M. Shuman

oxymoron (Reign of Christ/Christ the King - C)

King of kings
Lord of lords
Glory Hallelujah!

    really?

are these word just
a neat, peppy praise song,
fun to sing
      but empty of meaning?

no kings around here
that i know of,
      but a lot of politicians
      who act as if folks
            are agin' 'em
   if you are not with them;

no lords around here
         except those who
         think they can
         lord it over everyone else,
   but debt and worry and fear
   control my life;

glory seems to be
      in short supply these
                      days,
   and hallelujahs
      don't seem to mean much
           to most folks;

but you

      you are a mystery solved
      in the impossibilities
               of life;
      an enigma wrapped
               in wonder;
      a majesty born
               in humility;
      a life blossoming
               out of death.

and you

      you i could follow
   forever.

(c) 2013 Thom M. Shuman

shake, rattle, and roll (Haggai 1:15b-2:9)

shake the heavens, the earth,
   the sea, the dry lands -
            shake them until
            your peace covers
      creation like a carpet
                of autumn leaves,
         and your hope burns
                    bright
  in the night skies of our
                    lives;

rattle the cages
      of those churches
   who are locked into
         always doing
      the same thing over
           and over and over
      (and never getting it right),
          always being trapped
          in that mythical
                  past, never able
   to take a step
      forward;

push the denominations
off their self-imposed
             pedestals,
      so they can roll
      down the hill,
   splashing into that pool
          of wonder,
       to emerge dripping
                 wet
             with your
                joy.

but me?

just nudge me gently
   so i can turn over
   and go back to sleep,
              content
      under the warm quilt
      of
         complacency.

(c) 2013 Thom M. Shuman

sycamore street (Luke 19:1-10)

when the ragtagged fellow
         came by with his
         empty cup held out,
   looking for a cool drink
   on the hottest day of the year,
               i turned on
               the hose very slowly
      so he could get
      a few drips;

walking by the volunteer
         standing by the red kettle
         and ringing the handbell,
   i reached in my pocket
   and dropped a shiny coin
      listening as it clinked
      against the other change;

as the plate
               passes
      down the pew
      toward me, i pull
   out my wallet
         and pour
         a wee dram
            for God;

a drip
      a drop
            a dram
   a dollop of generosity
   here and there . . .

if i'm not careful
all my possessions
will dribble away
                 and i'll end up
                 like poor Zach
   down the street.

(c) 2013 Thom M. Shuman

anathoth (Jeremiah 32:1-3a, 6-15)

hope is

the pool of cool
            water
   found on the driest,
      hardest days of
      the journey, where
   i can be refreshed
         with life;

the needle and thread
            held gently
         in your fingers,
   as you cradled me
   on your lap
      gently stitching
               my soul
      back together;

the parcel in the
               kingdom
   i purchased when
   i said 'yes' all those
            years ago,
      and no matter
      how many times
      i have lived
                  'no'
         since then,
   the deed is still kept
         safely deposited
         in your heart;

the smell of the warm
                  bread
         just out of the
      oven and placed on
      the table set with glory,
            telling me
   you have been waiting   
                 for me
         to come home

hope
        simply

is . . .

(c) 2013 Thom M. Shuman

the coin (Luke 15:8-10)

the world,
in a dither (as
            always)
    dumps out her purse,
    trying to find the car keys
        & the piece of paper
        with the estate sale's
                    address,
never noticing
    as i fall to the floor,
    rolling across the hardwood past
        the dozing cat (who barely
                twitches a whisker)
    until i end up tangled
        in the clump of dog hair
            curled under the chair;

you come along,
lifting the cushions
    from the sofa and loveseat,
        sticking your fingers
        into the crevices at
            the sides and back;
empty-handed,
you gaze around the room,
                suddenly
        grabbing the yardstick,
    you sweep back
    and forth under the chair
            to recover me;
    rubbing off the dirt,
touching up the nicks
        till i shine,
warming me in your
            hand, you whisper
    'i know
        exactly how to use you,'

going to the front door
    you give me away
        to the young man
        standing on the porch,
    who is trying to come
            up with the
        cost of a bus ticket
                    home

to his father.

(c) 2010 Thom M. Shuman

capernaum (Luke 7:1-10)

in the child
            sleeping at
   the shelter,
  dreaming of a job for
       her dad
     and an apartment
         for her family. . .

in the mother
            helping
      her son with his
         homework
               so he can pass
               the entrance exam
            for the private school
      her third job will pay
            for . . .

in the senior
            who gets up
         in the middle of the
      night,
               to change the
            wet bedding of
         his alzheimered wife,
      believing she will
                         (finally)
                  remember his name
               at
                     breakfast . . .

we encounter that
         faith
      we thought we would
   never
               find
               again.

(c) Thom M. Shuman

a prayer for Moore, Oklahoma

O God, hear our prayers:

for teachers
   who became tornado shelters
   as they covered their children
          with their bodies;

of parents
   whose hearts shattered
   at the sight of the bearer
   of bad news;

for children
   whose last image
   was that of a beloved
               playmate,
      before they saw
      your weeping face;

for rescuers,responders, searchers
   whose grief must
   be left at home
   until their work
                  is done;

for families
   whose earthly goods
   consist of
      a picture in a
             broken frame,
      a half-torn letter,
      a broken kitchen chair;

for all
   whose beloved community
   has now become that
             shadowed valley
             of loss;

for all your people,
O God,
      hear our prayers.

(c) 2013  Thom M. Shuman

maybe (John 17:21)

we would be one

if that place
across the street
   would stop braggin'
   about all its
              missions;

if those big box
        entertainmentplexs
      would realize
      how serious worship
           must be;

if others
      would recognize
    that certain doctrines
         just can't be
         compromised;

if everyone
      would just stop
            fighting
        over the questions
        we already have
               answered.

we could be one
                if
       it wasn't for
  us.

(c) 2013 Thom M. Shuman

almost (Easter 6-C)

it almost didn't happen:
   every door was slammed
                in our faces,
   every road became more
                 and more
              potholed,
   the shadows chased us down
                 each alley
         until we hit the wall,
      then
             you put on your hardhat,
             unfolded the blueprints,
             rolled up your sleeves,
         and built that city
         which is open to everyone;

it almost didn't happen:
   your bed was unslept in,
            empty hangers in
                  the closet,
      your laptop and cell phone
            left on the desk,
   and the house echoed with
                the emptiness
                of our hearts,
      then
            the doorbell rang,
         and when we opened the door,
            the Babysitter stood there,
       a big smile on her face,
       suitcases full of peace
                at her side,
         and gathering up our
                           fears
            she took them out to
                     the curb
          for the trash pickup
          scheduled next morning.

(c) 2013 Thom M. Shuman

marching orders (John 13:31-35)

i could step
      over the homeless
               woman
      sleeping on the
                  sidewalk,
         or i could
   lift her to her
   feet, embracing her as my
               sister,
      as you have . . .

i could continue
   to carry that grudge
         in my heart, letting
      it rub blisters
      all over my soul,
         or i could
   forgive that person
   who gave it to me so
                  long ago,
      as you have . . .

i could keep
            a list
         of all those who
         step out of line, not
      heeding all the
                 rules
      carved into stone
                 weathered
            by time,
         or i could
   invite everyone to join
                      hands,
      dancing in that circle
      where all are welcome
               just as the are,
        
as you have . . .

(c) 2013 Thom M. Shuman

The Lord is (Psalm 23)

The Lord is a first responder
    who runs towards the blast
    not away from it;

the Lord is a trauma nurse
    who is in her car in the parking lot
    ready to go home after her shift,
    but goes back in when she sees
    the ambulances arrive;

the Lord is employees
    who turn their restaurant
    into a shelter for the injured
    and frightened;

the Lord is a mother
    who makes sure her home
    is secure and then checks
    on her neighbors;

the Lord is a father
    who comforts his children
    while his own fears
    assail him . . .

in the darkest of valleys,
   the Lord is
   always with us.

© 2013 Thom M. Shuman

meanwhile (Easter 3-C)

we are still struggling
   to come up with ways to
             rationally,
        carefully,
    all-so-theologically
                 explain
      just what happened
      a couple of weeks
                     ago

         and

you are
            blinding
   people with your grace
      so they can find
      the right road;

you are
            jumping into
        the Pit,
   cupping your hands together
      so people can put a foot
                 in them, getting
        a boost up into the
             kingdom;

you are
            holding hands
   with all the kids, singing:
     'ring around the throne,
      God never leaves us alone;
      amen!  amen!  we all fall down!'

you are
           standing at the grill,
      sliding the fish and
                  bread
      onto the warm plates, hollering
             to the disciples,
   'orders up!'

(c) 2013 Thom M. Shuman

doubt-less

       
conjoined at that 
            new birth 
      you spoke of 
      just before dawn 
               broke, 
   my lifelong companion 
   promised never 
          to leave me 
          stranded, especially 
     as i sought 
        to follow down 
           those mystery-filled 
           paths you 
   wandered, 
                 until 
      that evening 
            you pointed the 
        Way 
           with your scars, 
    and taking her 
              trembling hand, 
     we took 
     that first 
                 hesitant 
   step into 

belief.

(c) 2013 Thom M. Shuman

just suppose

what if 
   the homeless are 
               right, 
      that affordable housing 
      for everyone is a 
             possibility 
        and not a problem; 
 
what if 
   the poor are 
        telling the truth, 
     that we silence their voices, 
     stepping right past them as if 
               they were invisible, 
          in our rush to be their 
        advocate; 
 
what if 
   the broken and the sick 
           are correct, 
      that they should 
      be able to receive 
            the medical care 
                 we do; 
 
what if 
   the testimony 
   of the women is true, 
         that the grave is empty 
         and the Gardener 
      is planting new life 
   for every one, 
          every one, 
             every one. 
 
(c) 2013  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

prodigies

dragging his emptied life behind,
one wheel wobbling,
ready to fall off at
the next crack in
his misery,
the children trailing behind
laughing and throwing
derision's husks
at the wastrel
wondering towards home;

the lenses of his glasses
so grimed with envy
he can't see past the end
of his sharpened red pencil,
he stands in the shadows,
arms full of ledgers
where each and every slight
is recorded,
ready to make his case
at any moment;

recklessly
burning the midnight oil,
the robe lapping his knees,
the ring rubbed smooth
from so much twisting,
he watches until
the stars doze off,
starting up from the chair
every time a figure appears
in the periphery of his
hope,
wearily sinking back
as the shadow passes
the end of the drive;

so many prodigals . . .
yet
you welcome each
at your table,
eager to waste all your grace
on us.

(c) 2010 Thom M. Shuman

providence (Isaiah 55:1-9)

starting in the middle
      of the night, supervised
      only by the stars, you
   meet the delivery trucks,
         getting case after case
              of milk into the
              refrigerated coolers,
      stacking the loaves of still warm
                  bread on the shelves,
         running the meat through
           the slicer )thin enough
           for deli sandwiches), then
     turning to your partners who,
               like you, are wiping
     their sweaty brows with the
        hems of their aprons, you announce,
   'throw open the doors!  And remember,
    everything is 100% off.'

while the Kid
is running the sweeper
              through the dining room,
     and setting the tables
     with the best silver and china,
   and Sophia is putting the finishing
          touches on the dessert trays,               
                  you make one final
       check of the food in the ovens
       and simmering on top of the stoves,
     then, turning to the servers, you
   remind them that everyone is to be treated
   as if they were at a State Dinner, and
         on every check, they are simpy
         to scrawl
           Total: $0.00 (grace included),

then,
      you stand at the open door,
   greeting every person with
        a smile, calling each one by name,
              welcoming them
     to your banquet of
          joy and wonder.

(c) 2013  Thom M. Shuman

cluck, cluck (Luke 13:31-35)

surely
      you meant an
   eagle,   majestic
         and soaring above
         mountaintops,
      with an inscrutable eye
           on all below;

or maybe
it was a
      stork, bringing
   good luck (even a baby?)
         to the house
            it visits;

perhaps a
      nightingale,
   singing to cheer our
        solitude;
      an owl,
          imbuing us with
        wisdom;
   the wild goose whose
      dignity belies
          its free spirit . . .

but a chicken? 

   squawking, clucking,
   scrabbling around in the
                      dirt
      for food, gawkily
         flapping her wings,
    while scrabbling about
       to protect her chicks
            who are doing
            everything they
                     can
      to get away from her . . .

. . . that's your image of

            God?

(c) 2013 Thom M. Shuman

Your Body, LLC (1 Corinthians 12:12-31a)

we stick our tongue
         out of the corner
         of our mouths
      as we try to make
              the chart
           flow
         properly (if
   the vote is 'yes'
      then we go
           in that direction,
        if 'no' then
    we take a different
              route)
      but you simply whisper
         'follow me (even
        if it seems we
        are going in circles)';

the time line is posted
            all over the
      facility, from the
         boardroom to the
              bathroom, so
   everyone will know the
   exact sequence of when
      our transformation
      efforts will take
                  place,
          and you persist
        in showing up when
        we least expect, asking
   'is this a bad time?'

we pull up
         the template on
         our computer, ready
      to fill in the names
      of the organization's leadership,
   so it is clear as to who has
   what authority, who reports to
                      whom,
           who the links in the
           chain of command are,
       and
              you place a gift
              in the heart of each
         person (even the ones
                not listed on the
                    chart) and
   invite us to join hands as
      we dance in a circle
         around you.

(c) 2013 Thom M. Shuman

Cana (John 2:1-11)

when you might prefer
to do nothing,
you are reminded of
what you should do,
so

prodded,
you take our
tears
pooled on the
floors of our
hearts
and, with a word,
they flow together
into the sweet wine
of joy;

nudged,
you gather up
our shattered
words of despair,
and rearrange them
into songs
of hope;

pushed,
you step into our
comfort zones,
pulling us up
out of our lazy
concerns,
dancing with us
until the dawn breaks.

© 2013 Thom M. Shuman

Advent 4-C

      coming day

leaving the throne
in the hands of the
            cherubim,
      you choose
         to come
   and clean up
        the royal mess
      we have made
    of everything;

from the pinnacle of
              glory,
      you choose
         to come,
   peddling your
           words
       in
     the hollers and
           hills
         of our hearts;

stirring your tears
   with all your might until
         they are reduced to
             grace,
      you choose
         to come,
   partnering with the
           insignificant,
   honoring the
           unnotable,
   pickpocketing the
           opulaent
      to buy out the store
        for those lined
          around the block
    at the
       foodbank.

you choose
   to come
            even
     in these days.

(c) 2012 Thom M. Shuman

Advent 3-C

       come again?

if what
           the novelists portray,
        the moviemakers show,
           the radio hosts talk,
        the tv preachers yell
     is all true,
                    then why would
          i want you to
               return?  but

if you come
        so

      those thirsting for hope
           will find it gushing
              out of the taps,

   those cursed by the world
         will be embraced
              in your arms of love, 

      that the despair which overwhelms
                         so many
           will be gathered with the
                      chaff
           and used to warm the
                  homeless,

        those who have lived
                on the scraps
            we toss into the trash
              will be at the
                  head table
             of your feast,

   and every one, every last one
               of us
      will find our way
           home;

well then,
          i will wait,
   and while waiting,
          i will rejoice,
   and while rejoicing,
          i will make this
      great news
known.

(c) 2012 Thom M. Shuman

benedictus (Luke 1:68-79)

all it takes
          is a word
      (no - just a few letters)
   and we can begin to
        bandy about all
        sorts of things
     about this person
          or that,
        but gossips of
            grace -
   when is the last time
      anyone accused us
           of such
     behavior?

having feasted on bias
       until only the
                     core
   remains, we take the
     seeds and plant them
         as deep as we can
         in those who look
       up to us, so this
               fear
         will never face
         extinction,
      while the kernels
           of compassion
        remain in their
        original packaging,
   gathering dust on the shelves
                 of our
         souls.

while the experts
                and
      talkingheads continue
   to intimate that
         the cliff is drawing
              nearer
     and no one remembered
          to fix the
          brakes,

dare we
become
           rumormongers of
      hope
             that
   the beginning is just
         dawning?

(c) 2012 Thom M. Shuman

anhelo (Advent 1-C)

in the
         chair
   idly leafing through
   one more well-thumbed
            magazine,
      the tube slowly dripping
      that poison which is
         supposed to cure
               him, he quietly
           craves a human
   touch;

at the deli counter,
      the lengthening list
          of this tray,
             that cheese,
      those particular crackers
                 all
   turning her eyes to
             glaze,
        she hungers
               to find the aisle
    stocked with
           solitude;

their slow shuffle
         matching the small
         steps of their children
   as they move along the
      slowly whining conga line
             of fidgeters
         getting closer to
               The Lap,
      the parents whisper a hope
           that this is the
                 year
   we look in the manger
              and see
         the baby
      shawled in innocence,
                   not

a tiny santa.

(c) 2012 Thom M. Shuman

shiloh (1 Samuel 1:4-20; 2:1-10)

you wait

          at shiloh,
where we can bring
    our brokenness
                   and,
    with the pebbles
       formed from our tears,
    the rocks chiseled
       from our hardened
                          hearts,
    the stones others
        have cast at us,
                 we build a
            cairn
to mark this place
   as holy ground;

          at shiloh,
where our cries
             are
                   plainted
    with the mother
    who cannot afford
          medicine for her
                      child,
    with the teenager
    whose heart bleeds
                      first love,
    with the family
    whose future has been
                      foreclosed,
       we whisper
             our aching loneliness
    to the listening
                              One;

          at shiloh,
where our worst
    is enveloped by your
                          best,
   where our emptiness
              is filled
              at your table of
                           grace,
   where our despair
          is transformed by your
                            hope;

          at shiloh,
you wait . . .

© 2012 Thom M. Shuman