saturday prayer

in this sound bite world,

give us the gift of silence,

that we may hear hearts

(especially yours);

in this spin-doctor time,
heal us with truth and hope,

that we might seek justice

(especially yours).

© 2018 Thom M. Shuman

whine-os

we inherit grace and hope

from you, but pawn them

as quickly as we can

to buy another bottle of whine.

© 2018 Thom M. Shuman

oldie but . . .

while we joke that

60 is the new 40,

help us to remember

that many see 55

as the new 65, and

show workers the door.

© 2018 Thom M. Shuman

umble

when i mumble about

the rumble in the night sky

that woke me from a warm sleep,

remind me of those whose lives

grumble because of hunger

and homelessness.

© 2018 Thom M. Shuman

slowing down

may that creak in my knee

not mean a door shutting,

but a window opening

to let me see the people

i never noticed before

as i went rushing by.

© 2018 Thom M. Shuman

fears

for all the children

fearful of being homeless,

Lord, hear our prayers.

© 2018 Thom M. Shuman

where r u?

as your followers

walk down the red carpet

in their Armani suits and Dior gowns,

jostling for the best pose, we

hope for a glimpse of you, but

you are in the alley behind the hall,

with the dishwashers and servers

handing out meals to the homeless

© 2018 Thom M. Shuman

ageless

is aging

how far i can walk,

or how wide i can care;

whether my hands tremble

or reach out in welcome;

what i did for 40 years,

or what i will do today for others;

whether i am bent over by pain

or leaning down to bandage a child’s knee?

© 2018 Thom M. Shuman

shibboleth

in times such as these,

may grace, hope, civility

be our shibboleths

© 2018 Thom M. Shuman

buzz

help us, God, to buzz

more fantastically over

compassion than cruel remarks,

older folks than newer rides,

feeding families than our cravings.

© 2018 Thom M. Shuman

false assumption

special, we assume others

need our lavishness, and so ignore

the grace offered by the charmless,

the healing given by the broken,

the welcome embrace by the vulnerable.

© 2018 Thom M. Shuman

daily almanac

when we print the birthdays

of teenagers who mentor little kids,

single parents who work three jobs,

and folks who spend retirement volunteering,

instead of actors, athletes, and singers,

THAT will be a day to celebrate!

© 2018 Thom M. Shuman

gifted

we could reach out for grace,

but grudges are easier to hold;

we could offer hope to another,

but ridicule costs us so little;

Lord, in your mercy . . .

© 2018 Thom M. Shuman

what say you?

asked the question, we

can parrot what the preacher said,

or quote theologians,

but you simply want to discover

what’s deep in our hearts.

© 2018 Thom M. Shuman

let those with ears . . .

when we listen, Lord,

may we not only hear words,

but the deep silence;

not just the cracking voices,

but the slowly breaking hearts.

© 2018 Thom M. Shuman

in the storm

you’re the dispatcher

working another double,

the back-aching nurse,

the crew loading up the boat

for more storm surge rescue trips;

that’s where you are

(in case anyone wonders)

© 2018 Thom M. Shuman

empty

it’s Thursday, and we seem

to have run out of words, prayers,

thoughts (and maybe hope);

so, surround us with that peace

which does not mean apathy,

with that silence which fills

hearts running on empty with grace.

© 2018 Thom M. Shuman

headache

your mind knotted

from the tangled arguments

of the we’re-always-rights

and the dogma gymnasts,

do you ever sit at the kitchen table,

the Word rubbing your temples

while Spirit offers you two aspirins,

wondering if the kids will ever learn

to play nice?

© 2018 Thom M. Shuman

bling

each morning, we take

our grudges out of the drawer,

polishing them ‘til

they gleam like gold, and hanging

them around our necks like bling.

© 2018 Thom M. Shuman

beanstalks

you hand us the seeds

of peace, justice, hope, and grace,

but too many times

we trade them for the magic

beans of fear, hate, and anger.

© 2018 Thom M. Shuman

reminder

all those knuckleheads,

all the slingers of bitter words,

far too many angry folk –

remind me, O Lord, that i

don’t have to let them control my emotions

or even respond in kind.

© 2018 Thom M. Shuman

trying

we try, Lord, we try

to treat others as we would like to be,

to love our enemies,

to welcome each person we meet –

but if you sent different folk,

it would be a whole lot easier.

© 2018 Thom M. Shuman

family

willingly, i would

link arms with everyone who

is so much like me,

but you would yoke me with folks

who get under my thin skin.

© 2018 Thom M. Shuman

eden

without creation,

we would have no place to step

or rest in silence;

never finding your garden

as we stumble through chaos.

© 2018 Thom M. Shuman

mean streets

asked to go along

with Meanspirited’s gang,

give us the courage

to go down a different

path, the holy road of grace.

© 2018 Thom M. Shuman

  

leaning

when we think faith is

standing on the promises,

you are hoping we

will stop sitting on our hands

and use them to serve others.

© 2018 Thom M. Shuman

  

yew grace

taking the tiny

seed of grace, we plant it, so

as it slowly grows,

we can bonsai it to fit our

lives, but you water it

until it turns into a sheltering yew.

© 2018 Thom M. Shuman

resume

don’t ask

how many jobs i’ve had,

   but the number of times

   i’ve forgiven;

don’t ask

about my degrees,

   but where i learned

   about hope;

don’t ask for

my phone numbers,

   but who i would call

   when everyone else hangs up;

don’t ask

who my parents were,

   but how many kids

   i have mentored.

© 2018 Thom M. Shuman

help? no thanks

truth be told, wealth is

the only quicksand we want to

be trapped in with

no hope for rescue.

© 2018 Thom M. Shuman