shrive

today,
may we flip
  the (wealthy), ringing
their bells to
awaken (us)
to care for those
who fast every day
   out of need,
   not choice.
 
© 2018 Thom M. Shuman

shoes

let us leave
those scuffed,
   comfortable loafers
   called the past
in our closet, to
put on the new, tight,
blister-causing ones
crafted from the future,
to follow you.
 
© 2018 Thom M. Shuman

transfiguration

let us see you
in the face of
a child
   illumined by
   hope as she
moves into her first
home built from
material destined
for a cathedral, but
   appropriated by
   an itinerant carpenter.
 
© 2018 Thom M. Shuman

slippery slope

we peel off

      our prejudices

   and toss them

   down, hoping others

      will slip and fall;

wadding up foolish

      fears, we

   throw them

   at refugees, hoping

to intimidate them.

 

Lord, have mercy.

 

© 2018 Thom M. Shuman

just wait

when
   veterans no longer
   sleep in cardboard tents
        and eat MREs
      out of bins;
when
   we have found jobs
   for those who’ve returned
      and cared for them
         body
         soul
         mind,
then
we’ll have a
parade.
 
© 2018 Thom M. Shuman

am i?

Lord, have mercy:

i am cold

   and turn up
   the heat;
i am hungry
   and raid
   the fridge;
i am thirsty
   and twist open
   a bottle;
i am privileged
   and never
   notice.
 
© 2018 Thom M. Shuman

Spirit

like a kitten,
      the Spirit gently
      kneads our souls
   awake;
like a dog,
      the Spirit pulls
      the covers off
   until we crawl out
   from under layers
   of warm apathy;
like a child,
      the Spirit pesters
      us to turn off
      our devices, to
   go play outside
   with creation.
 
© 2018 Thom M. Shuman    

priorities

may i not
spend so much
time in silence,
   that i do not
   cry out for
         justice;
nor so many
hours in prayer
   i cannot offer
   a few moments
to a lonely
neighbor.
 
© 2018 Thom M. Shuman

IPA

we try to turn
you into our echoalexa,
   to answer our every ?,
   to fulfill our every wish,
   to be at our beck and call,
but you persist
   in opening our ears to the lonely,
   in calling us to serve the needy,
   in turning off our devices
      so we can play with little kids.
 
© 2018 Thom M. Shuman

the long game

Some see you as
Utterly determined to
Punish us for all
Eternity without any
Remorse on your part
But you choose to be
Overwhelmingly engaged
With
Looking for us and
Loving us
Intensely beyond
Infinity
 
© 2018 Thom M. Shuman

hold the elevator, please!

having pressed the button
for the penthouse, we groan
when you step
into the elevator, arms
   laden with bags
   with grace, hope, peace
   falling out willy-nilly, as
you brush your hand
over all the buttons
so we must stop at every floor
picking up fidgety kids,
   refugees,
   addicts,
   wobbly-kneed elders,
      and strangers
on our way
to the kingdom.

© 2018 Thom M. Shuman

manager

some imagine you
a micro-manager, bolting
  up in bed, tinkering
      with weather,
      noticing a rock out of place,
   jotting down our mistakes,
but you are
   the parent
who takes the
training wheels off
      our lives,
pointing out the
best path to ride,
reminding, “don’t
forget to wear
your helmet.”

© 2018 Thom M. Shuman

 

bum notes

we strike the
wrong key on
      grace,
pluck joy at
   a bad time,
use a drumstick
instead of a brush
      on peace, yet
you take all
our bum notes
   and add them
   to the melody line
of this jazz
we call life.

© 2018 Thom M. Shuman