You Talkin' To Me?

you can't be speaking to me . . .
can you?

after all,
i am a selfish person
in a culture which
worships the self;

i haven't felt the brush
of seraphim wings
(though my beloved
did caress my cheek
yesterday);

no hot coals
have purged my soul
(yet, there are
those kisses my children
give me);

and it is easier
to pull in my fears,
clean them up
and store them away
for tomorrow
then to let them down
into the deep waters
of discipleship
and servanthood.

you can't be calling me . . .
can you?

(c) Thom M. Shuman

what to do, what to do?

we don't know
what to do with you,
Jesus!

home from college
on spring break,
you stand up in church
and read the scriptures
with such wonder and awe,
all we can do is nudge one another:
'I had him in kindergarten,
he was always ahead of everyone else!'
'he was always helping the younger kids
when he was in youth group."

We can hardly wait to hear
your sermon . . . until
you start talking about
how we are
to welcome the immigrants,
to open the jail doors,
to give more to those
who will only squander it.
Then we whisper (in a stage voice):
'whose bright idea was it
to ask him to preach?'
'somebody out to throw him out
on his keester!'

and so,
we close our hearts to you,
and let you slip through
our souls,
as you go to fulfill
God's hopes for us,
wishing we would follow you
on that winding road
of grace.

(c) 2007 Thom M. Shuman

Which three?

"...Now faith, hope and live abide, these three..."

doubt moves in
and props its feet
at the hearth of my soul,
warming them
on the coals of my unbelief;
while faith
rents space
for a few days
in the summers of my life.

despair is the frayed,
soft corduroy jacket
that fits comfortably
on my shoulders
while hope
is a hair shirt
i resist wearing.

impatience is the face
i put on
each morning
in order to greet the world,
while love
is that mask
i wear occasionally,
removing it
when i look in the mirror,
not recognizing myself.

which three will abide in me, O God?

which three?

Amen.

(c) Thom M. Shuman

words

i can go through
a couple of hankies
at a movie
or while reading
certain books

but

i cannot remember
when i last
(if ever)
wept
after hearing your words,
God of every language.

am i indifferent
bored
too stressed
exhausted . . .

is my heart hardened,
my soul shriveled;
do my ears recoil
as words such as yours?

perhaps
is should weep
because
i don't . . .

May the words of your mouth
shatter the complacency
of my heart,
my Strength,
my Joy,
my Redeemer.
Amen.

(c) 2007 Thom M. Shuman

for my sake

why do i have trouble
telling others about you,
Steadfast Heart?

others call me names,
but you whisper
softly
into my heart
'You are My Delight,"
cradling me in the palm
of your hand
like a precious gift.

running on empty,
the arctic chill of loneliness
cracking my heart,
my soul parched by despair,
you touch my lips
with living water,
resting me in the oasis
of your grace.

you give me gifts
until my life brims over,
and then challenge me:
'now, pour yourself out
for my children.'

for my sake
(and for the sake of others)
i will not keep quiet
but shout to the world:
'you won't believe
what God
is doing . . .!'

(c) 2007 Thom M. Shuman

now what

now what will you do
with those gifts?

now what will you do
with that love
God has given to you -
to share with those
you don't like?

now what will you do
with that hope
God put under the tree -
can you pass it on
to a despairing neighbor?

now what will you do
with that joy
you didn't expect -
hoard it all for yourself
or hand it to a grieving widow?

now what will you
do with that grace
God stuck in your stocking -
leave it there
or find the stranger who needs it?

now what will you do
with all that forgiveness
God has given to you
in the Babe -
throw it out
with the wrapping paper
or offer it to the one
who has hurt you so much?

now
that Christmas is over,
what will you do?

(c) 2006 Thom M. Shuman

Micah 5:2

Micah 5:2a

did you worry
you should have
sent another prophet;
or did you want to
send your Best
for the least?

did you wonder
if you had chosen
the wrong route
to our souls,
or were you so determined
to find the lost
that you took that first step
anyway?

did you have any doubts
about the family,
the location, the timing,
you had chosen -
or was the first thing
on your mind
that sign to the last
of the world?

did it cross your mind
to place the Gift
under the tree
of the powerful and wealthy,
the wise and successful;
or did you just know
the little
would open it carefully
and cradle it in their hearts?

(c) 2006 Thom M. Shuman

if you came
with a fistful of anger,
who could endure?

but you come
with open hands,
eager to grasp our own
in love.

if you came
with the fire of judgment,
who could endure?

but you come
with the light of grace
to show us the way.

if you came
hardened against our sin,
who could endure?

but you come
holding us in your heart,
so we might have life,

if you came
bearing bad news,
we might be able to handle it . . .

but can we endure
the gift
of good news?

even so,come,
Lord Jesus,
come.

(c) Thom M. Shuman

but you came

if you came in the spring,
we could expect newness,
bright flowers
to soften your path,
the songs of birds
to herald your coming:

but you came
in winter's despair,
the chill of complacency
settled upon us.

if you came in the summer,
we could expect you
to be bronzed,
blonde,
stepping from the sea:

but you came
in a stable
a wrinkled baby
with animals for midwives,
and angels your playmates.

help us to set down
our parcels of expectations
to reach down and scoop
you up in our arms,

your laughing breath
giving us life.

Amen.

(c) Thom M. Shuman

truth?

what is truth?

kings are old,
or dead:
dust collecting on
history's bookshelf;

so,
why would we need
kings
(or 'constitutional monarchs')
in this day of ipods/mp3s,
lightning fast email,
instant connect with anyone,
anywhere,
anytime
in the world?

what is truth?

truth is a commodity
traded to the highest bidder;
truth is a documentary
based on a novel;
truth is what comes out
of the end of a gun;

what is truth?

Truth is who you are,
Jesus
(who would be enthroned
in my heart, if I only would
let you),
as we discover
chasing to catch up with you:
and Truth is what you do,
on the cross,
dying for Pilate,
for Israel,
for feckless disciples,
for me.

(c) 2006 Thom M. Shuman

You love us beyond imagination
and forgive us beyond our wildest hopes;
you withhold nothing from us,
but grace us with everything we need.
You guide us when we stumble off
the paths which lead to right living,
you pull us to our feet
when we trip over our sins.
You feed us from the bounty of your joy,
and keep us close to your heart
when we are fearful of the future.
Words of thanksgiving can never express
all which you have done for us,
God of goodness and mercy,
and so, we lift our praise to you
in joy and hope.

thanks

Let us give thanks to the Lord,
telling of God's wonders.

We will tell our families of what God has done;
we will share the stories of grace and hope.

Let us give thanks to the Lord,
singing songs of joy to God.

We will tell our neighbors of how God has touched us,
we will share stories of renewal and healing.

Let us give thanks to the Lord,
praising the One to whom we belong.

We will tell others of God's presence in our lives;
we will share the goodnesss which has been given to us.

(c) 2006 Thom M. Shuman

no easy thanks

it will be easy
to be filled with gratitude
for friends and family
as we gather together:
so make us mindful
of the lonely,
the friendless,
the forgotten.

it will be easy
to lift a prayer of thanks
as i carve the turkey
this week:
so give me the words
to speak out
for the mother in Darfur
cradling her hungry child
in her arms.

it will be easy
to be filled with hope
as we take a long walk
after such a big meal,
and enjoy the freedom to do so:
so help us to remember
those held captive
by violence and war,
by addiction and pain,
by brokenness and despair.

it would be easy
to simply give thanks:
so intensify my compassion,
broaden my concern,
enlarge my heart
with your grace.

(c) 2006 Thom M. Shuman

risky business

You ask me to take a risk,
O God,
but i am not that sort:
i've always played it safe,
and sensible.

it it is cold and wet outside,
i make sure i bundle up;
after all,
i can't risk missing work
because of a cold, can i?

when i pull into traffic,
or cross the street on foot,
i hesitate just a moment,
look both ways first,
(so i won't risk getting hurt).

when i work in the yard,
or risk playing with the tools
in my garage,
i handle them very carefully:
they might bite!

and when it comes to my money,
i am very frugal
and practical
(i think!)
so my future is not at risk.

now,
You ask me to take a risk,
O God,
to consider letting go,
to ponder giving more,
to think about stepping
forth into your risk future:
in faith.


(c) 2006 Thom M. Shuman

Post-election

The TV ads are history:
now
let us see one another
as sisters and brothers;

the vitriolic words have faded:
now
let us speak
of community,
of integrity,
of shared commitment;

the fists that were shaken
at opponents are unclenched:
now
let them reach out
to lift up the fallen,
to open a book for a child,
to serve a meal to the hungry,
to offer a job to the one
standing by the side
of society.

Election Day is over,
Healing God,
now
let us live together,
laugh together,
envision together,
serve together.
Amen.

(c) 2006 Thom M. Shuman

sitting duck

i would wear
steel-toed boots
to nudge my friends
out of the way,
or high-heeled boots
so i am not dirtied
by the muck of the world,
but you rub
my Achilles' heel raw
with the pebble of
servanthood;

i would take
self-defense courses
to protect myself
from all the blows
the world throws at me,
but you pull off
my gloves
and show me
the wide open stance
of grace;

i would build a fence
of cynicism and doubt
around my soul
so no one can sneak past
with their pain and need,
but you hold out
your heart to me,
naked and bleeding
from its brokenness.

Jesus, Son of David,
have pity on me:
so when I want to be
safe and secure,
i can become a sitting duck
for your vulnerability.

(c) 2006 Thom M. Shuman

where you sit

we leave our box seats
at the symphony or ball park,
and pray you won't catch our eye
as we pass you
sitting with the homeless;

we wait for a few minutes
at the doctor's office
to get a $10 shot
so we won't catch the flu,
while half a world away
you sit for a week
hoping medicine
which will cost you a year's wages
finds its way to your village;

we sit in our home theaters,
watching the latest "reality"
on our plasma screems,
while you sit in the darkness,
rocking your child asleep,
as she cries from the ache
of an empty stomach.

Lord Jesus:
when
(like James and John)
we want to be at your side
in glory:

remind us where you sit.

Amen.

(c) 2006 Thom M. Shuman

Mirror, mirror, on the wall

this morning,
in the mirror,
i saw the person
i want to be:
dauntless, doubtless,
capable, caring;

at lunch,
when i peeked,
i saw a stranger
who resists
every invitation
to illimitable life;

tonight,
i glanced
out of the corner of my eye
i saw him!
searching,
stuttering,
suffering

Job.

Grace me, O God,
so
(if i dare look
tomorrowP
i will see
only you . . .

whose i am.

Amen.

(c) 2003 Thom M. Shuman

Finding

you can be found:

in the rich, deep aom
of our apathy,
where you plant
the seeds of justice;

behind the barbed words
of our angry retorts,
as you whisper
of our oneness;

in the list
of our exhausting schedules,
when you pencil in
oases for our weariness;

through the tangled briars
of our deep-rooted hates and fears,
as you clear a path
for your healing peace.

and so

in the cracking of our hearts,
and the brokenness of the Bread,
we will find you;

when we empty the Cup,
refill it with our gifts,
and offer it to a little child,
we will find you;

as we move the chairs around
to make room for everyone
at your Table:

we will find you.

(c) 2006 Thom M. Shuman

This will never work!

conventional wisdom tells us
we should always
stand our ground
until the other person gives in;
God's wisdom from on high
recommends a willingness to yield
so that the other might be served.

the consensus
among TV's talking heads
is that strength
is the only choice to make
in confronting the world;
God's strange insight
is that weakness
is the way to welcome others.

popular belief holds
that we should sit
in our easy chairs,
cynically commenting on
the rottenness of everyone around us;
God's radical response
beckons us to stand
by living waters,
offering everyone a drink.

the prevailing sentiment is simple:
if you want to win the race,
use any means possible
to come in first;
God's unorthodox belief
calls us to come in last,
carrying all who have fallen
across the finish line with us.

sounds awfully child-like to me.

(c) 2006 Thom M. Shuman

we were pretty sure
we knew you
until you asked us who you were . . .

we thought we had you
all figured out
until you started mentioning
those things none of us
want to think about . . .

we thought we knew
where you were going
until you crossed
to the wrong side of the street . . .

we thought we knew everything.

give us wisdom
so we might find
the willngness
to follow you;

give us wisdom
so we might cradle
your uncomfortable words
in our hearts;

give us wisdom
so we might know you
and in knowing,
tell others of your glory.

give us wisdom . . .

Wisdom's Brother.

(c) 2006 Thom M. Shuman

Ephphatha

if we turn up our radios
or CD players loud enough,
O God,
we are able to deafen the cries
of the needy and oppressed:

be opened, ears!

if we switch channels quickly,
O God,
we do not have to see those disturbing images
of the children in the barrios of Brazil
or the families in Darfur:

be opened, eyes!

if we are persistent enough in our Pharisaism,
and diligent enough with our docrtrines,
O God,
we can keep 'them' from coming to the Table,
keeping it all (even the crumbs) for ourselves:

be opened, arms!

if we are cool towards the passions
of pesky outsiders,
if we are indifferent to the injustices
of our world,
O God,
we can remain apathetic
in the face of grace being poured out
for our parched spirits:

be opened, hearts!

(c) 2006 Thom M. Shuman

you would . . .

if we would be your people,
Blessed God,
we must look in the windows of the world:
to see as you see,
to love as you love,
to act as you act.

through us,
you would
stand by the poor,
rescuing them
at the beginning of their distress,
not when they are
at the end of their hope.

through us,
you would
side with the oppressed,
and challenge us
to release them
from their tyranny and torture.

through us,
you would
speak for the voiceless,
and call the powerful
to meek and lowly lives.

through us,
you would . . .

Beloved Holy One:
help us to be doers,
not just hearers
of your heart.

(c) 2006 Thom M. Shuman

The Answer

No!
I cannot follow you
right now:
your words are too hard,
your road is too long,
your life is too demanding,
your death is too frightening.

Maybe . . .
i could follow you:
in a few days
when the weekend comes
(but those are 'days off,' you understand);

in a few months
after school has begun
and the Thanksgiving crowed is gone
(but then come the hectic days of Christmas
and all that means - surely you understand);

in a few years
after i've done what i want,
after the kids are gone,
after the work is done
(i'm sure you understand).

YES!
i will follow you:
trusting my heart,
trusting your words,
trusting you, Lord.

which answer
will i give today,
my God?

(c) Thom M. Shuman

Thank You!

gratitude:
the first drops of rain
on a tin roof
breaking a six-month drought;

gratitude:
the mustardy kiss
of a child
at a summer picnic;

gratitude:
a cool breeze
dancing down
an August street;

gratitude:
the smile on a teacher's face
when her student masters
the intricacies of simple words;

gratitude:
the fading photographs
of a loved one
no longer here;

for every grace,
even those we cannot see;
for every moment,
especially those we do not notice;
for everything,
including those we cannot endure,

we offer to you,
Companion on the Way:

gratitude.

(c) 2006 Thom M. Shuman

Body

an individual by birth,
a loner by nature,
i find myself
joined at the Hope
with others
not always of my choosing

nor i of theirs . . .

called by Another,
my humility-resistant pride,
my gentle vindictiveness,
my weak patience
threaten this life-shattering unity.

while i do not have
the body i may want,
i am graced
with the Body
i need,
and which,
by God's sense of humor,
needs me.

(c) 2003 Thom M. Shuman

Prayer

some day,
i would like to learn
how to pray:

oh,
i can hammer words together
to make a nice box
for you to fill
with what i am sure i need:
but i falter
when i try to climb out
of that hole of hopelessness
i find myself in;

i can bring you
my scrapbook filled
with all the stories
of the brokeness of the world:
but the pages
of my dreams, my fears,
my fickle faith
are out in the trashcan;

i can race to you
to tattle on
all my friends and neighbors
so you will know where all the mud-stains
on their lives come from:
but in my haste
to get to you first,
i stumble over
the shadowed secrets
in my soul.

some day,
i would like to learn how to pray,
Listening God.

(c) 2006 Thom M. Shuman

Servant

whatever title, privilege,
or prestige others may give me,
i am your servant, Holy One.

when i look at another,
may i do so with the eyes
of compassion and generosity,
not those of desire
and deception;

when i speak to another,
may i do so with a voice
of wisdom and trust,
not manipulation
and arrogance;

when i am given a chance
to serve my sisters and brothers,
may i do so with open heart
and outstretched hope,
not grudgingly
or worrying about my loss;

when you seek
to dwell
in my heart,
may i empty myself
of all my silly
arrogance,
so i can be filled.

i am your servant, Holy One.

(c) 2006 Thom M. Shuman

House Building

me -
a dwelling place for God?

my roof
leaks
with wayward
and wanton thoughts . . .

my windows
look out on a world
lusting for more
and caring for less;
if any dare peek in,
they will see the same hungers . . .

my furnace
is filled
with the ashes
of dusty dreams
and hapless hopes . . .

my foundation
cracks
under the weight of loneliness,
ravaged
by the storms of sadness.

i would build you
a house,
my God;

rebuild me
instead.

Amen.

(c) 2006 Thom M. Shuman

i would prefer
to be left
leaning against the wall,
shuffling my two left feet,
watching the world
twirl by;
but you take me by the hand
to teach me
the dance steps
of grace;

when i walk near
the piano,
it shudders,
hoping
i will not sit down;
but you take my fingers
and place them on the keys,
whispering,
"play, play with joy, play!"

even with
the biggest bucket,
i can't carry a tune;
but you push me
out onto the stage,
introducing me as
the new soloist
in the Good News Choir.

i will celebrate your joy,
sing your hope,
play your love,
leaping and whirling
in your grace
forever!

(c) 2006 Thom M. Shuman

Dust Shaker

unmoved
by the cries
of the poor,
shake the dust
out of our ears
so we can listen;

uncompassionate
to the brokenness
of our own kin,
shake the dust
off our hearts
so we can give them away;

callous
towards those
different from us,
shake the dust
from our souls
so we can embrace them;

amassed
by years of hoarding,
shake the dust
off our nest eggs
of blessings,
so we may offer grace
to the hopeless.

shake the dust
off our unbelief,
Son of Mary,
so the gospel
might be lived
in us.

(c) 2006 Thom M. Shuman

Whispers

it was only
whispers
at first,
people averting their eyes,
gossip trickling out
the sides of their mouths
about her 'problem';
then came the years
filled with
laughter, ridicule, rebuke.

telling stories to his friends,
trading jokes with lawyers,
asking riddles of preachers:
she heard the
whisper
of his robe's hem
as it brushed
the streets of the kingdom.

if i could only touch it, she
whispered

and did.

in the silence,
no one heard the
whispers
of grace
flowing through her soul,
making her whole.

in the silence,
Jesus tenderly lifted her
to her feet;
'you are well,
daughter of faith,
go in peace'
was the benediction
he
whispered.

(c) 2006 Thom M. Shuman

it is evening . . .

calm us, Lord!

it is evening . . .
another day
of work, of play, of retirement;
home to 'escape'
in front of the TV,
but the same weary news
threatens to swamp us:

calm us, Lord,
keep hope near
and despair afar.

it is evening . . .
and sitting on the front porch
is our old friend terror,
waiting to tell us
bedtime stories of war,
of nuclear weapons being built,
of pension plans plundered:

calm us, Lord,
keep trust near
and nightmares afar.

it is evening . . .
and the storms of life
rattle the windows
of our souls
and thunder
through our hearts:

calm us, Lord,
keep faith near
and fear afar.

calm us, Lord!

(c) 2006 Thom M. Shuman

Seeds

it's the
word of confidence
to a 9-year-old
which one day leads to
the winning goal
in a World Cup match;

it's the
extra practice sessions
after school,
going over word after word,
which bolsters
a young girl
at the Spelling Bee Nationals;

it's the gentle touch
of a mother
in the terror of
a midnight thunderstorm
which leads a child
into nursing;

in a world
which idolizes
sucess, greatness,
biggie-sized achievements,
remind us
of those mustard seeds
planted deep within us
by so many over the years,
which help to shape us
into the people
you mean us to be,
Tender God.

(c) 2006 Thom M. Shuman

Come, Holy Spirit

come, Holy Spirit:

doubled-over,
drenched in the
sweat
of discipleship,
you sneak up
to tickle me
with
cooling laughter;

dragged through
life
by yet
another day,
you fling open
boredom's windows
and push me
into God's energizing
arms;

cautiously
threading my way
through the darkness
of my soul,
you blow away
the shadows
so i can see
the path to the kingdom.

come, Holy Spirit:
this day,
and every day
which lies ahead.

(c) 2006 Thom M. Shuman

Remembering

We remember, Grieving God,
those, in so many places,
in so many times,
who have died in war;
and we pray
we might honor them
by becoming your children,
makers of peace to our broken world.

We remember, Mothering God,
children who have grown up
around us in our schools,
in our neighborhoods, in our churches,
and who have now gone to war;
and we pray for children
throughout the world
who are the orphans
of violence and death.

We remember, God of Truth,
the wars which rage within us,
the aggression we feel towards others,
our unwillingness to forgive,
our desire to foster divisions and discord,
our discomfort in being called
to love our enemies;
and even as we despair,
we pray for new hope,
as we struggle to see you in our world,
we pray for discerning hearts,
as we confront ancient fears,
we pray for new love,
and for your old, old peace
to be born in us anew.

As we remember,
we pray, Healing God.

Amen.

(c) 2005 Thom M. Shuman

Old Songs

we love the old songs:

we hum to ourselves
about the old, old story
and feel like we are slipping on
a frayed, comfortable shirt
which will keep us warm;

we sing in the shower
of all those places
where the saints have trod,
and wonder what ever
happened to them;

the fears of aging
jerk us awake
in the middle of the night
and into the silence
of our souls
we whisper
'Jesus loves me, this i know,
for the Bible tells me so . . .'

we love the old songs so much
we might miss the new ones:

the sunrise announcing
a new beginning each day;

the laughter of children,
louder than despair's dirge;

the softness
of a parent's love
which smooths our rough edges;

teach us new songs,
Joyous Heart,
teach us new songs.

(c) 2006 Thom M. Shuman

there was a time
when i knew
without a doubt
that you were
a white-haired old gent
holding a ruler,
ready to smack my hands
whenever i was bad;

there were years
when i longed for you
to come storming down
to shake up society
and make it more like heaven:
where everyone is loved,
no one is shoved aside,
little children are as valued
as the wisest and richest,
where we go swimming
in that cascading river
called Justice;

now?

i see you for who
you have always been:
Wisdom warning me
to look both ways
as i cross sin's streets;
Compassion whose lap
always has room for me;
Love
who always accepts me;
Grace
who walks beside me
every day.

abide in me,
Mothering God,
abide in me.

(c) 2006 Thom M. Shuman

sinking in a sea
of stress and success,
you buoy me
with your living waters
until i am at peace;

running down
endless corridors
to never ending meetings,
you detour me
to the pathways
leading to your joy;

stumbling through
the thorn bushes
of a culture which seeks
to tear my soul to shreds,
you prepare a picnic
in the garden of grace;

famished and malnurtured
from wandering
the shadows on sin and death,
you fill me
with sweet tasting hope;

fleeing
from the very life
i convince myself
i am seeking,
you slow me down
so goodness and mercy
can catch up with me

and push me
into your heart.

(c) 2006 Thom M. Shuman

Show and Tell

if we showed you
our hands,
would you find them nicked
from building a house
for the homeless;
or a callous on our thumb
from using the TV remote
too much?

if we showed you
our feet,
would you find them toughened
by walking the corridors
of a hospice
with the terminally ill;
or wrinkled
by too many hours
in the hot tub?

if we showed you
our hearts,
would you find them broken
over the struggles of
the lost, the little, the last, the least;
or would they be clogged
with the plaque
of our consumerized lives?

if we truly want to be
your witnesses,
God of the empty grave,
would you show us
how?

(c) 2006 Thom M. Shuman

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
long faces;
chuckles which wipe
frowns off our brows;
great guffaws
which shatter
frozen hearts;

fill us,
Breath of sidesplitting shrieks,
so we can celebrate
the last laugh
on death.

(c) 2006 Thom M. Shuman

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 grouch old geezer,
God of creation.

so, breathe on us . . .

fill our souls with:
laughter which chases
away long faces;
chuckles which wipe
frowns off our brows;
great guffaws
which shatter
frozen hearts;

fill us,
Breath of sidesplitting shrieks,
so we can celebrate
the last laugh
on death.

(c) 2006 Thom M. Shuman

very early
in the mourning,
the disciples huddled
in fear's shadowed corners,
while Pilate
and the religious leaders
drank weak chardonnay
and dropped stale canapes
into the potted plants
at the symphony;

very early
on the first day
of the week,
the women
wandered through
mourning's mist,
their broken hearts
carried gently
in their hands;

very early
in the morning
on the first day
of the week,
leaving death
sitting empty-handed
in the tomb,
Jesus strode into the kingdom,
a bouquet of balloons
filled with grace
in his arms.

(c) 2006 Thom M. Shuman

Will I . . . ?

will i lay my cloak
before you,
when they arrest you
on olive mountain,
or pull it tighter
around me
fading into the ranks
of the deserters;

will i shout:
'Blessed is the one who comes
in the name of the Lord!'
when they parade you
before the authorities,
or will i tell any one -
and every one -
around me
that i never met you
in my life;

will i lay my palm branches
at your feet,
as they march you
to Calvary,
or use them
to put more stripes
on your bloody back;

will i run behind you
when they carry you
to the tomb,
or turn away
as the ashes
of my hopes
are rubbed
into my shattered heart?

(c) 2006 Thom M. Shuman

Persistent, aren't you?

how many times
did you have
to sit on your hands,
to keep from reaching out
and fixing all
that we had broken;

how often
did you have
to bite your tongue
to keep from telling us
what to do
when we didn't have a clue;

how do you manage
to keep your lips
pressed tightly together
so you don't laugh out loud
at all our foolishness;

how often
did you want
to send your Child
to us
until you could wait
no longer
to save us?

for your patience,
and your persistence,
we give you thanks,
Enduring God.

Amen.

(c) 2006 Thom M. Shuman

what if . . .

what if
the Ten Words of Sinai
granted us true freedom
to live with each other
as well as the Law-Giver . . .

what if
it were better
to wear the jester's hat
on a 98-pound weakling's body,
than to be the wisest, the strongest,
the biggest kid on the block . . .

what if
God's house became
a sanctuary for silence;
a cathedral of compassion;
a paradise filled with prayer;
instead of just another
corporate entity . . .

Law-Giver;
Grace-Bearer;
Fool-Maker:

what if . . .

(c) 2003 Thom M. Shuman

is my cross
only a part
of the pocket change
i scoop off my dresser,
rushing to work
in the morning?

is my cross
just another piece of jewelry
like the diamond
in an athlete's ear,
or the necklace
Madonna drapes around her neck?

or is my cross:

my aging parents,
whose confusion
shatters my soul;

is it the truth
about my physical condition
which no pill or treatment
will ever change;

is it the
humpty-dumpty mess
in which my children find themselves,
and all of Mom's love
and all of Dad's resources
cannot put back together this time?

Cross Bearer:
i would prefer easier ones,
so help me to bear the cross
you offer to me.

(c) 2006 Thom M. Shuman

there's that anger
which seems so silly -
afterwards:
yelling at the person
ahead of me in traffic;
wanting to throw my computer
out the window;
turning my back on my spouse
in the middle of an argument.

there's that anger
which seems so satisfying,
so self-righteous:
i recycle faithfully,
while my neighbors don't;
i walk as much as possible,
while my best friend buys a new SUV;
knowing i did the job the 'right way'
while my colleagues all cut corners.

but then,
there's that anger
which doesn't seem to touch me:
the plight of the homeless
i see every day on the way to work;
the encouragement
to not rock the boat
by pointing out that most of us
have more clothes, more shoes, more food
that we will ever need
while others have hardly any of anything.

so, like Jesus,
fill me with that anger
that is just, and holy, and you -
so i can let go of the anger
that is silly, profane, and only about me.

(c) 2006 Thom M. Shuman

Make Me Passionate

i sit on the edge
of my seat,
eager to listen
to the commentator
describe the latest
event in the Olympics:
make me as passionate
for your Word,
O God.

i will want
to rush out
and sign up for lessons
on how to ski,
snowboard, ice skate
all because
of what i see on TV:
make me as passionate
to drop everything
and help those in need
that i see every day,
O God.

i will be eager
to spend every spare moment
in front of my HDTV,
not wanting to miss
a single event
from Torino:
make me as passionate
about spending time
with you,
O God.
(c) 2006 Thom M. Shuman

it wears on us,
Creator of the ends of the earth,
it wears on us.

another day
of opening the paper,
another young girl
raising a child
before she has outgrown
playing with dolls;

another trip to the mall,
and seeing them (again),
that knot of pre-adult boys
all looking the same:
pant waists down around their knees,
necks choking with bling,
hats turned every which way
but proper;

it wears on us.

yet
the ones we are
too weary to handle,
you gather up
and hold on your lap;

the kids who fatigue us,
you lift up
and place on your shoulders
as you dance through
the streets of the kingdom.

(c) 2006 Thom M. Shuman

a computer,
a daily planner,
homework assignments,
the commute back and forth:
we have no problem
setting these aside
in order to follow you,
Pilgrim Jesus.

but picking up
your grace,
and generously offering
it to those
who are so stingy towards us;

taking up
your mercy,
and forgiving
everyone who has hurt us;

stooping down
to lift up those
we've nudged aside
in our eagerness
to be first in line?

we're trying to catch up
to you,
but our prejudices,
our fears, our arrogance,
our doubts
hold us back.

wait for us, please!
so we can follow
you
to life.

(c) 2006 Thom M. Shuman

for Rosa:
whose feet hurt so bad
and whose spirit wept so hard
that she had to sit down:

energizing a people
to get up and march.

for Martin:
who must have been tempted
to stay behind the pulpit;
to give his words
only to a few;
to keep his dreams a secret;
but chose instead
to be God's instrument:

and called a nation
to confession and repentance.

for all the unnamed
who were willing to say,
'no more';
who wanted a better life
for their children;
who hoped their country
could really be a place
where all are equal:

and who are held forever
in your heart.

for all these men,
for all these women,
for all these children,
for all these saints,
for all these sinners,
for all who dared to believe
that promises should be kept
and not broken:

we give you thanks,
God of each and every one of us:
for each and every one of them,
we give you thanks.
Amen.

(c) 2006 Thom M. Shuman

Hide and Seek

okay,
tell you what,
we'll go and hide
while you count to
1,000,000,000,000:

that will give us time
to gather up our thoughts
and store them away
in the basement;

we'll be able
to dig a really deep hole
where we can throw all our words
and cover them up;

we can grab the broom
and sweep all our sins
off the sidewalk,
so you won't slip on them
when you come looking for us.

no fair,
Worker of wonders!
you just stand there
and call out,
"ally, ally, all in free!"
and wait for us
to run home.

(c) 2006 Thom M. Shuman

Lord:
smooth my hard ridges,
so i might be
more gentle;

curb my wandering ways,
so I might walk
the streets
of your kingdom;

touch my frantic pace,
so i can slow down enough
to see the children at play;

calm my harsh words,
so i can speak
peace
where there is none.

continue to make me
in your image,
Lord, so i might
be your child.
Amen.

(c) 2006 Thom M. Shuman

i used to love
to stand in the rain:
my head tilted back,
my mouth wide open,
smiling in delight
as your tears
filled my mouth
and flooded my soul.

but now:
i'm too old,
too busy,
too important;
it's too cold,
i have an important
call to make;
the water might
ruin my shirt,
the mud might
stain my shoes.

please keep waiting
for me,
Cloud Shaper,
to become a child again,
so we can play
in the rain once more:
laughing and splashing
in the pure delight
which is You.
Amen.

(c) 2006 Thom M. Shuman

if i have hurt
another:
make me the bandage
for their healing;

if i have gossiped
about my friend:
let me tell her
the truth about my words;

if i have ignored
your children:
choose me
to welcome them
in your name;

if I have cursed
a stranger:
make me a blessing
to him;

if i have broken
every promise
i ever made:
use me
to fulfill yours,

Harbor of my heart.
Amen.

(c) 2006 Thom M. Shuman

Baptism of the Lord (January 8, 2006)

i long . . .

i long
to dance
in the Spirit
just like a child
in the rain
on a summer's day;

i long
to slurp up
the living waters
the way my dog
empties his bowl
after a long walk;

i long
to stand
waist deep
in the baptismal bowl
and feel
your tears of grace
wash over me;

i long
to hear
you call me
'Beloved'
and know,
without any doubt,
that is my name.

i long . . .

(c) 2006 Thom M. Shuman

no answers today,
just a lot of questions,
Holy One.

what does one say
to the miners' families
whose joy
has turned to ashes?

what response
for the young person
who fears that her cancer
has returned?

what words
can comfort the widow
of the soldier
killed in Iraq?

I (we) have
more than enough questions;
I (we) trust
you have more than enough
answers.

Amen.

(c) 2005 Thom M. Shuman

Christmas Day

i was frantic!

i climbed into the attic,
rummaging through
all the empty boxes
saved for next Christmas;

i waded through all the
shredded wrapping paper
in the garbage:

i was frantic -
i couldn't find you anywhere!

but there you are:

out riding sleds
or new bikes
with the younger ones;

letting teenagers
beat you
at video games;

doing the dishes
with Uncle Jim;

reading a story
to Gran
as she dozes off;

and laughing
at my foolishness,
because you came searching
for me so long ago
and have never lost me!
Amen.

(c) 2005 Thom M. Shuman

O come,
Wonderful Counselor:
to listen to my loneliness,
to comfort my grief,
to cradle my brokenness,
to touch me
and make me whole.

O come . . .

O come,
Prince of Peace:
to reconcile
the warring sides
of my self,
that I might
be made complete
in the divine image
once and for all.

O come . . .

(c) 2005 Thom M. Shuman

O come,
Spring of Hope:
to melt the bitterness
of our frozen hearts,
so we may flow
in ceaseless service
to a world in pain.

O come . . .

(c) 2005 Thom M. Shuman

O come,
Host of the world:
to welcome us at your feast,
to pull out the seat of honor
for the least among us,
to feed us
until we burst
with joy.

O come . . .

(c) 2005 Thom M. Shuman

i don't have time:

bone-weary
from errands,
i don't have time to listen:

to my children singing in the tub,
to my spouse quietly fixing dinner,
to that angel whispering for attention;

exhausted from
my latest expedition
to the mall,
i don't have time to wait:

to find hope sitting in my mailbox,
to see you walking with me in the snow,
for you to fill my emptiness;

spending the whole weekend
getting the house decorated,
i don't have time

to greet my neighbor with a smile not a mumble,
to scrape the ice off my heart,
to be rocked gently in the cradle of your love.

but
hear i am, Lord,
hoping you have time
for me . . .

(c) 2005 Thom M. Shuman

O come,
Grain of Gentleness:
to feed us,
so we might
laugh in delight
as we gorge ourselves
on your joy.

O come . . .

(c) 2005 Thom M. Shuman

O come,
Vessel of Grace:
to fill our hollow souls
with your giving spirit,
so we might offer ourselves
in service, and in hope,
to everyone we meet.

O come . . .

(c) 2005 Thom M. Shuman

O come,
Bright Morning Star:
to light our way
through the shadows
of our fears,
and lead us
to the stable
where Grace gently sleeps
in peace.

O come . . .

(c) 2005 Thom M. Shuman

O come,
Water Walker:
to splash through
the puddles of our sin,
to dry us off
with your tears,
and enfold us
in the warmth
of your grace.

O come . . .

(c) 2005 Thom M. Shuman

O come,
Key of Hope:
unlock our shuttered hearts,
that the doors to our soul
may be flung open wide
to welcome you
with joy and laughter.

O come . . .

(c) 2005 Thom M. Shuman

O come,
Dancer of the Universe:
to gather us up
in your arms
and to twirl us
around and around
in your joy.

O come . . .

(c) 2005 Thom M. Shuman

O come,
Sentinel of the stars:
keep us safe from our fears,
that we may set them
to the side of the path,
as we journey to Bethlehem
and to your heart.

O come . . .

Amen.

O come,
Winter Wind:
to cool
our fevered focus
on ourselves,
that we might bring
the warmth of your love
to those for whom winter
is every season of their lives.

O come . . .

Amen.

(c) 2005 Thom M. Shuman

O come,
Snowfall of serenity:
to calm our harried lives,
that we might hear
your angels
whispering to us,
as the Spirit
drifts gently
through the air.

O come.

Amen.

(c) 2005 Thom M. Shuman

O come,
Mist upon the lake:
move over us
and cover us
with your peace,
that we might
walk gently
through this day.

O come.

Amen.

(c) 2005 Thom M. Shuman

It's Not Rocket Science

it's not rocket science,
is it, Lord?

making others feel welcome,
i mean.

if they show up
(like John)
barefoot,
we can just slip off our shoes
and get more comfortable;

if they come
(like John)
speaking in a way
we don't understand,
all we have to do is listen;

if they invite us
(like John)
to try a different way
of doing things,
we can jump into the water
and see what it's like.

it's not rocket science,
is it, Lord?

after all,
you welcome us
to your heart
just as we are.

(c) 2005 Thom M. Shuman

so come . . .

when no one
seems to pay attention,
we hesitantly reach out
and tug at your sleeve,
pleading,
"please, listen."

so, come . . .

you are willing
to stand on the street corner,
dressed in dirt and rags,
holding a sign
that reads:
"will work
for those
who wait."

so, come . . .

ignoring our imperfections,
overlooking our hardened hearts,
you keep reworking us
on your wheel of grace,
smiling to yourself
as we gradually take on
the divine shape.

so come, Lord Jesus,
come . . .
(c) 2005 Thom M. Shuman

when you sit
with the homeless
at the local shelter,
you are enthroned in glory,
surrounded by the angels
we have forgotten;

when you pass
the bread
at the downtown soup kitchen,
you bless it
with your grace,
that your neighbor
might be filled with hope;

when you take off
your winter coat
and drape it around
a shivering child,
she is warmed
by your heart
aflame with compassion;

we wonder why we cannot find you,
when we search for you
among the powerful and wealthy,
while all along you have been with
the citizens of your Kingdom:
the hungry, the naked, the sick,
the imprisoned, the lost, the lonely.

help us to meet you there,
Lord Jesus,
help us to meet you there.
Amen.

(c) 2005 Thom M. Shuman

ACTS Prayer

i am not sure
what adoration sounds like,
unless it is the geese singing
on a crisp fall morning
as they glide over my head;

i feel absolutely
no need to confess -
until i see
the disappointment
on my child's face
because i thought
another meeting
was more important
than her concert;

thanksgiving
is not only the grace
a child offers at a meal,
it is the relief
in the voice of his grandfather
sharing the results
of his recent medical tests;

i find it difficult to beg,
but when i see people
digging out
from the rubble of an earthquake,
or struggle to feed abandoned kids,
i find myself on my knees
in supplication for them.

O Lord, hear my prayers.
Amen.

(c) 2005 Thom M. Shuman

overwhelmed:

by floods, earthquakes, tornadoes;
by cancer, autism, depression;
by poverty, homelessness, hunger.

how can we deal with all the needs?

how can we touch all the pain?

how do we embrace the suffering
which surrounds us?

when we gather up the left-overs
of the feast you give us each day,
we have more than enough
for compassion for all.

help us to open our eyes,
and our hands,
Feeding Lord.
Amen.

(c) 2005 Thom M. Shuman

crumbs . . .

that's what we think
you have given us,
O God,
when we look around
and see all that someone else has
and we don't.

but our covetousness crumbles
when we think of the broken bread
that has made us whole,
when we drink from the cup of hope
which is never empty,
when we stand at the foot of the cross,
which has emptied us of our sin.

so richly blessed . . .

why then are we only willing
to offer crumbs
to those who come to us
searching for you?

Amen.

(c) 2005 Thom M. Shuman

i need to pray:

my heart is filled with bitterness
that rises up in my throat
threatening to choke me;

my soul overflows
with words that are best spoken
in darkened rooms;

my arms grow weary
from the weight
of my life, my stress, my fears;

the pain and struggles
of my family and friends
slip through my fingers
because my hands are so full.

you have promised
to transfigure my bitterness
into the oil of gladness;

you have leaned your head down
to listen to me;

you have invited me
to hand you my burdens;

and perhaps
you want me
to be the hands of healing
you will use.

i need to pray,
Lord,
i need to pray.

(c) 2005 Thom M. Shuman

when i am adrift,
when i feel battered
by people i trust,
when i wonder if
i can even
get out of bed in the morning,

you come to me:

are you a ghost;
a nightmare;
a left-over
of the pizza
i ate last night?

or are you the One
i can cling to
when i am sinking
under the weight
of my stress;

are you the One
who holds my hand
when i am afraid
to step out in faith;

are you the One
who sits by my bed
in the dark hours,
whispering
that all is well,
there is nothing to fear,
there is no need to doubt.

save me, Lord,
save me!

for i cannot . . .
Amen.

(c) 2005 Thom M. Shuman
based on Matthew 14:22-36

in silence,
i wait;

in hope,
i listen;

in joy,
i receive;

at peace,
i rest.

Blessed be,
blessed be.
Amen.

(c) 2005 Thom M. Shuman

Bless the Lord

in the leaves
that have turned
brilliant yellows and reds,
and which giggle
as we rake them into piles:
we see God's enduring love;

in the children
roaming from house to house,
their joy and excitement
shining through their
Halloween masks:
we see God's enduring love;

in the daughter
sitting by the bed
of her failing mother,
in the father
tenderly tucking
his children into bed:
we see God's enduring love;

in the parents who work
two and three jobs
to feed and clothe their children,
in the teacher
who stays late
to tutor a struggler:
we see God's enduring love.

Bless the Lord, O my soul,
for all the signs
of God's love:
which endures forever and ever.

Amen.

(c) 2005 Thom M. Shuman

For All the Saints

For Columba, Phoebe, Hild, Cuthbert,
Ninian, Brigid and all the faithful
who kept the Light of Christ alive
in the darkest of moments;

For Thomas Merton, Dorothy Day,
Brother Roger, Mother Theresa, and
all those who remind us that our
calling is still to that sainthood
which serves, which prays, which
listens, which gives;

For Teddy, for Joel, for Justin,
for Artiffany: for all those
differently-gifted saints
through whom God has blessed us
with laughter, with joy, with grace,
with a glimpse of the kingdom;

For the Millers, Fred White, Billy
Wireman, Eleanor Pugh, Wellford Hobbie,
John Trottie, Betty Achetemeier,and all
the other mentors of my life;

For all those who this day choose
to entertain angels rather than
be entertained by our culture;

For all those who today will let go
of their wants in order to serve the
needs of another;

For all those who tonight will sit
by the bed of the dying, rather than
resting in their own sleep;

For all those who tomorrow will try
to be faithful, again, in following
Jesus:

For all the saints,
we give you thanks,
Precious God,
we give you thanks.

Amen.

(c) 2005 Thom M. Shuman

if we practiced
what we preach,
O God:

our pockets
would be empty,
and the poor
would be Citizens of the Year;

our waistlines
would be thinner,
and the hungry
would not have to stand
in soup lines;

our closets
would be empty
and the homeless
would be warm
this winter;

our pride
would be thrown out
with the rest of our garbage,
so we could shoulder
the burdens of the broken.

give us more time to practice,
Gentle Teacher,

not so we could
become perfect,

but that our deeds
would become
permanent.

Amen.

(c) 2005 Thom M. Shuman

how do
i love you
when my mind
is so easily distracted
by the yelling on television,
the anger on the roadways,
the dullness in my life?

how can
i love you
when my heart
is so broken by
the hatred among believers,
the bitterness of friends,
the forgiveness which eludes me?

how should
i love you
when my soul
thirsts for a companion,
hungers for empathy,
longs for a respite from its weariness?

maybe,
just maybe,
if i stop hanging on
to all my questions,
let go of all my answers,
and be caught by your grace,
i will be able to love
you
with all that i am,
all that i have,
all that i hope to ever be.

Amen.

(c) 2005 Thom M. Shuman
(based on Matthew 22:34-46)

it's always the same,
the old shell game:

here's the stack
i give to the tax man;

here's the pile
for Master Card;

here's the check
i will pay to the energy folks;

and here's what's left
for me.

it's always the same,
the old shell game:

no matter how
i move them around,
switching them back and forth
as quickly as i can,
the stacks, the piles,
the checks
remain the same.

i honestly want
to give you what is yours,
Generous God,
but can I -

when it's only
a game to em
and not
a way of life?

Amen.

(c) 2005 Thom M. Shuman

when people come into
the hospital room,
their eyes roam
from window to TV to door,
sliding over me in the bed;

but not you . . .

you plop yourself in the chair,
take your knitting out of the bag,
look me in the eyes and ask,
"so, how is it going?"

i run into casual friends
at the mall
and immediately i can see
the gears engage,
the forehead wrinkle,
the tongue stammer,
'hi, uh, uh,
(what's her name? c'mon -
it's right on the tip of my brain)
how are you doing?
wow, look at the time!
gotta run...talk to you later.'

but not you . . .

i hear your excited shout
as you run to catch me,
'hey, Beloved!
gosh, you look great!!!
got time for a cup of coffee?
i would love to catch up
on what's been happening with you.'

my dad comes to my recitals:
but he's always looking at his watch,
jiggling his knee,
ducking out into the hallway
to take a cell call;

but not you . . .

you come up and say hello
to my teacher,
you pay rapt attention to my friends,
and when i go to the piano,
you lean forward in your seat,
hold your breath,
and you listen as if there
was no one else in the world.

you really, really want to be here -
with me!

Amazing!
Alleluia!

Amen.

(c) 2005 Thom M. Shuman

when we fund clinics
for street people,
and shelters
for battered women;

when we give up
that 'thing' we want so badly,
so others get the basics
they need;

when we speak out
for the voiceless,
and lift up
the fallen:

we have heard your call,
Broken God:
to give justice
to the weak
and to rescue the needy.
Amen.

(c) 2005 Thom M. Shuman

my spine is slowly bent
and my shoulders ache
from carrying the burden
of my life;

my hands are clenched tight
as i struggle
to lift the box
filled with all my pain,
my doubts, my worries, my fears;

then,
you whisper in my ear
the words i never expected:
'here, let me carry your life
in my hands,
and as for that box,
why not just set it down
and leave it behind.

'you will have no need
for those things
where i am taking you.'

Thank you,
my Strength,
my Burden-Carrier,
my God.

Amen.

(c) 2005 Thom M. Shuman

why are we bold enough
to hand gospel tracts
to people . . .

but not to heal them
of their sickness?

why are we willing
to raise money
for a family who
has lost a loved one . . .

but not to raise
that persone from the grave?

why are we eager
to cast out the people
we disagree with . . .

but unable to do anything
about the demons
we carry around with us?

is it because
we carry so much dust
in our souls
we cannot make room
for your miracles
to work through us?

(based on Matthew 10:5-15)

(c) 2005 Yhom M. Shuman

you teach me
to love my enemies as dearly as friends;
to not strike back at those who hurt me;
to serve others before i look after myself:
but i forget . . .

you give me
grace beyond measure;
hope which conquers despair;
peace that mends the frayed cuffs of my soul:
but i misplace them in this mess
i call my life . . .

you tell me
i am your Beloved;
you have tattooed my picture
in the palm of your hand;
you will never forsake me;
but i can't hear you over my grumbling . . .

you show me
your innocence in a baby;
your gentleness in a mother;
your wisdom in a grandfather:
but too often,
i turn a blind eye . . .

still,
i will rejoice:
for you continue
to teach,
to give,
to tell,
to show . . .
Amen.

(c) 2005 Thom M. Shuman

i will remember . . .

when the thunder
of criticism and nit-picking
rattles the windows of my heart:
i will remember
how much you love me
and accept me without reservation;

when i am soul-weary
and cannot close my eyes in rest,
i will remember
how your arms of comfort
are always around me,
rocking me to sleep;

when i am forgotten
by my friends,
and ridiculed
by those who know nothing
of who i am,
i will remember
that you have chosen
to dwell in the deepest
recesses on my spirit,
and promised never, ever
to forsake me.

i will remember,
Gracious God,
i will remember!

Amen.

(c) 2005 Thom M. Shuman

be with me
in a special way today,
Gracious God.

I am traveling through
the wilds of the world,
and it may prove too tempting
to grumble about what
I have left behind,
rather than opening
my eyes
(and my soul)
to the wonders
you have waiting for me
just over the next hill.
Amen.

(c) 2005 Thom M. Shuman

in a world of 'power lunches',
you pull out a chair
at your table,
for the prostitute
who is by herself;

in a culture of restaurants
that are the places to be 'seen',
you show us the empty stool
at the lunch counter
where the blue collar workers gather;

in a society that values
networking and connections,
you go looking for those
who have been discarded
by the rest of us.

When we are tempted sit
with the powerful,
the wealthy,
the influential:
remind us,
Inclusive God,
who you hang out with.
Amen.

(c) 2005 Thom M. Shuman

when we eat less
that others may have more;

when we pick up a hammer
to provide a home
for a single mother;

when we respect the homeless
as much as we do our homes:

we do not forget the lives
of the poor,
even as you do not forget,
Christ of unending Compassion.
Amen.

(c) 2005 Thom M. Shuman

if i spend too much time
worrying about
what i don't have,
i might get distracted
and trip over the blessings
you have given me:

the sun dancing
on the lawn,
as it peeked
through the leaves
this morning;

the excited chatter of kids
walking to school;

the privilege
of praying for my family and friends,
as i walked the dog.

Like the psalmist,
there is nothing on earth
that I want
more than you,
O God,

for you have given me
everything I need.
Amen.

(c) 2005 Thom M. Shuman

maybe we ought to form
a tenants' rights organization,
Owner of the Vineyard;

after all,
we seem to be doing
a pretty good job
with what you have given us;

so,
what do we need
with those servants
you keep sending us:
Mother Theresa,
Brother Roger of Taize,
Martin Luther King, Jr.,
and all the others
who don't seem to have a clue
as to how to run
a vineyard?

if you aren't careful,
we might discover that
humility is preferred
over power;

service is more seductive
than success;

wisdom is to be more treasured
than wealth.

and then what will happen
to what you have created?

(c) 2005 Thom M. Shuman

leaves slowly twirling
down to the lawn;

a cat silently stalking
a dust bunny
under the bed;

a dog
sitting on the grass
gazing hopefully
up into the tree,
just knowing,
(knowing!)
that the squirrel will fall out;

kids doing their best
to make a mess of the kitchen
as they fix breakfast;

parents groaning
as they reach
for their robes,
their glasses,
their energy;

saturday morning
in your kingdom,
Chuckling God,
saturday morning
in your kingdom.

Thank you!

Amen.

(c) 2005 Thom M. Shuman