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