April 21st

 "The people all answered as one: 'Everything that the LORD has spoken we will do.'" Exodus 19:8

yes, friends,
we do an admirable job
of doing ‘everything,’
don’t we—
except
for those bits about
loving our enemies
and not seeking revenge;
or the prophetic hopes
we might be the justice
pouring through communities
like rampaging rivers;
as well as those 'blessed are'
little phrases that Jesus
tossed about so freely.
we shouldn’t pretend
that Jesus had absolutely
nothing to say about finances.
And no matter how hard the
Influencers try to convince us,
we still have obligations to
welcome the outsiders,
keep a light burning for prodigals,
as well as learning from
those we look down
our noses at.

© © 2026 Thom M. Shuman

Venmo: @Thom-Shuman

April 20th

“We have escaped like a bird
   from the snare of the fowler;
the snare is broken
   and we have escaped.” Psalm 124:7

they would place us
in cages with locks,
where we can only flap
our wings, the bars made
out of the fears confining them,
but you come along
and pick the lock
gently reaching in to
cradle us in your hands
as you whisper love
as you breathe peace
as you stroke us with fingers
made soft from the balm of hope
and then
you toss us up
in the air, so
we can spread our wings
and fly in the freedom
of resurrection grace.

© Thom M. Shuman

Venmo: @Thom-Shuman

April 19th

“Beloved, I am writing you no new commandment, but an old commandment that you have had from the beginning; the old commandment is the word that you have heard.” 1st John 2:7

it does not matter who—
composer or novelist,
song writer, poet, teenager,
artists of every media,
every person, every generation
believes they are the first
to have ever experienced . . .
love
but in truth
it is simply
that dust from which
we were created—
the same dust found
in the stars
in our pets
in the air we breathe
yet because we dismiss dust
as inconvenience in life,
no wonder we are so surprised
when we realize how much
we need love to be fully
human.

© 2026 Thom M. Shuman

Venmo: @Thom-Shuman

April 18th

“He called the place Massah and Meribah, because the Israelites quarreled and tested the LORD, saying, "Is the LORD among us or not?" Exodus 17:7

it’s the oldest story
in the Old Book—
we are just never happy,
whatever God does.
given a beautiful garden,
we make creation all about us.
let loose from Pharoah’s cell,
we grumble about our new digs.
offered food without having
to produce or purchase it,
we complain about the use-by date.
having emptied our water bottles,
we moan that God doesn’t care a whit.
and, as usual, we expect someone else
to take our complaints to God.
maybe
if we kept our mouths closed,
but our eyes and ears wide open,
we might finally realize
that we are the only ones
who are turning this relationship
into a test.

© 2026 Thom M. Shuman

Venmo: @Thom-Shuman

April 17th

“Do not fear what they fear, and do not be intimidated,” 1st Peter 3:14b

the knuckleheads are
at again, keeping
quite busy these days—
strutting around in their self
importance to convince us
we need more walls,
doors that slam shut
via remote gizmos,
a new picture book with
memes which would make
their moms cringe in horror.
so let us simply keep
sharing your
grace
hope
justice
love
compassion
welcome,
making a covenant
with you and others
to keep ignoring
the Department of Silly Fears
(which is what they fear most).

© 2026 Thom M. Shuman

Venmo: @Thom-Shuman

April 16th

“I do not call you servants any longer, because the servant does not know what the master is doing; but I have called you friends, because I have made known to you everything that I have heard from my Father.” John 15:15

we haven’t earned our way
to the table by being good employees,
we have a seat because
you pulled up chairs
in the dust of our days.
while we scroll past cruelty
looking for memes which seduce,
while we believe mercy
should be rationed carefully,
while we do not see your stories
in the faces we rush past,
you call us friends—
leaning close to share God’s secrets
that love washes feet,
compassion sticks around,
that grace throws away the rules.
to be your friends now
is to forget what separates,
to be a listening heart
in the noise of the world,
to carry each other as if
we were carrying you.
may we learn friendship
as you model it for us—
unconditional,
risk-taking,
a threat to a time which
would turn us all into enemies.

© 2026 Thom M. Shuman

Venmo: @Thom-Shuman

April 15th

“The LORD is a stronghold for the oppressed,
     a stronghold in times of trouble.” Psalm 9:9

cracks in hope’s resolve,
children playing in rubble,
folks teetering at exhaustion’s abyss,
so many bruised places, people,
and the Holy One wonders if
we might offer
not walled off fortresses
but unlocked doorways,
where the forgotten are welcomed
with no questions, no ID required.
where three in the morning
trembles are not cured
but held softly in compassion.
for it is that listening ear
which does not rush off,
another chair pulled to the table,
a name recalled after the world
has wiped it from its database—
those small, simple graces
God offers, so we may become
the refuge another needs,
and as we do, we may discover
that we are not the builders
of God’s havens of hope
but simply those who
hold open the doors.

© 2026 Thom M. Shuman

Venmo: @Thom-Shuman

April 14th

“Now that you have purified your souls by your obedience to the truth so that you have genuine mutual love, love one another deeply from the heart.” 1 Peter 1:22

whether we use the
metric or imperial system
we need to realize that
this sort of love is not measured
in inches or centimeters
in ounces or litres.
our hearts are to pour
out love which washes away
the callous words of others,
love which becomes a deep well
where those in broken relationships
may drink deeply of healing,
love which becomes
a river overflowing its banks
to carry away hate and cruelty,
a crystal sea where
foolish actions can be tossed
and swept away
into forgetfulness.
a love so deep
we cannot measure it
no matter how much
we think we should
in order to love properly.

© 2026 Thom M. Shuman

Venmo: @Thom-Shuman

April 13th

“We have escaped like a bird
   from the snare of the fowler;
the snare is broken
   and we have escaped.” Psalm 124:7

they would place us
in cages with locks,
where we can only flap
our wings, the bars made
out of the fears confining them,
but you come along
and pick the lock
gently reaching in to
cradle us in your hands
as you whisper love
as you breathe peace
as you stroke us with fingers
made soft from the balm of hope
and then
you toss us up
in the air, so
we can spread our wings
and fly in the freedom
of resurrection grace.

© 2026 Thom M. Shuman

Venmo: @Thom-Shuman

April 12th

“But Thomas (who was called the Twin), one of the twelve, was not with them when Jesus came. So the other disciples told him, “We have seen the Lord.” But he said to them, “Unless I see the mark of the nails in his hands, and put my finger in the mark of the nails and my hand in his side, I will not believe.” John 20:24-25

despite all the shares
of the selfie of Mary
and the gardener,
despite the AI generated
meme of what that locked
room must have looked like,
despite the temptation to join
in the doomscrolling about
what really happened
in the tomb during the night,
Thomas simply wanted
the sort of tangible, touchable,
relatable proof that Jesus
was really Jesus.
because if he came back
with no wrinkles, no wounds,
no weariness on his face, but
with perfect hair, skin, teeth—
well, he obviously wasn’t the one
who had told Thomas about
the way, the truth, the life
and then lived it out completely.

© Thom M. Shuman

Venmo: @Thom-Shuman

April 11th

“The LORD went in front of them in a pillar of cloud by day, to lead them along the way, and in a pillar of fire by night, to give them light, so that they might travel by day and by night.” Exodus 13:21

through
the older couple
picking up trash
on their morning walk,
the coach
who sits the stars
so the scrubs can shine,
the custodian
who does the laundry
of the homeless kids
in the school,
you walk with us
each day;

in the mother
gently holding the hand
of her youngest
recovering from surgery,
in the grandparent
jotting down his memories
in his spidery hand,
in the youth group
delivering sandwiches
and blankets to storm
survivors in a shelter,
you light the way
through the nights.

© Thom M. Shuman

Venmo: @Thom-Shuman

April 10th

“’Where, O death, is your victory? Where, O death, is your sting?’" 1 Corinthians 15:55

before
taking your child
by the hand so
you could skip together
into Eden’s new garden,
you turned to that
basilisk curled up
and keeping
is eye on you, and
taking it by
the scruff of the neck,
you drained its venom,
yanked its fangs and
tossed it back into the corner,
where it rests to this day,
toothless
useless
impotent.

© 2026 Thom M. Shuman

Venmo: @Thom-Shuman

April 9th

“When they saw him, they worshiped him, but some doubted . . . ‘And remember, I am with you always, to the end of the age.’” Mathhew 28:17, 20b

funny?
ironic?
what?
we easily pick and choose
what we agree with—
you castigate the powerful
or call to account the wealthy
and we cheer you on,
but loving our enemies,
that’s where we part ways.
we can scruple with the best,
look at our feet and scuff
the dirt while avoiding your eyes,
find fence-sitting a spiritual gift—
but you,
never waver about us.
and even when we would
drop you in a New York minute,
you stick with us until
the bitter end
and beyond.
funny?
ironic?
what?

© 2026 Thom M. Shuman

Venmo: @Thom-Shuman

April 8th

“After the sabbath, as the first day of the week was dawning, Mary Magdalene and the other Mary went to see the tomb.” Matthew 28:1

on the first day
of the week,
those who weren’t
gobsmacked into silence
scratched their heads and
looked to google for an answer.
on the second day
of the week,
the entrepreneurs tried
to buy the property for
future development.
on the third day
of the week,
the theologians and
biblical scholars were
developing webinars.
on the fourth day
of the week
the women were
once more being ignored
by everyone not a woman,
while you were gobsmacked,
scratching your head
wondering what else
you had to do for us
to believe in grace.

© 2026 Thom M. Shuman

Venmo: @Thom-Shuman

April 7th

“A mixed crowd also went up with them, and livestock in great numbers, both flocks and herds.” Exodus 12:38

if we look for the definition
of grace in your dictionary, God,
maybe we would find
this picture instead—
a motley crew of folks,
some with no pedigrees,
others with no heirloom histories,
just wanderers woven by hope
into that community called chosen.
you didn’t stop them at freedom’s border
to check their lineage or
whether their documents showed
them coming from the right group—
you simply whispered, ‘come.’
and the no-names, the forgotten,
the hesitant with feet
worn by other journeys and
all longing to learn new songs,
as different from one another
as folks can be, but each daring
to journey into a promise
none of them could make
come true on their own.

© 2026 Thom M. Shuman

Venmo: @Thom-Shuman

April 6th

“So they went out and fled from the tomb, for terror and amazement had seized them; and they said nothing to anyone, for they were afraid.” Mark 16:8

if we could
we would push you back
into the tomb, repoint the stone
and seal it back into place.
but since
you have already proven
that will not work,
we’ll just put you into
that box marked ‘Easter’
along with the plastic eggs,
cute stuffed bunnies, and
some leftover chocolate
(if the pastor didn’t eat it all)
and store you in the back
of the closet, making a note
on our virtual calendar
to let you out next year,
if you promise to stop
scaring us with this nonsense
that death does not have
the final word.

© 2026 Thom M. Shuman

Venmo: @Thom-Shuman

Easter Sunday

“They said to her, “Woman, why are you weeping?” She said to them, “They have taken away my Lord, and I do not know where they have laid him.” John 20:13

we have taken you away
and made you the keynote speaker
for those who believe power
and wealth are the pillars
of your teachings, as well as
those who advocate for the needy
while buying another house
and increasing their portfolio.
we have taken you away
and hired you to be the
advocate for unjust wars
and the press secretary for
those who talk justice but
whose words turn to dust
when it is time to work
we have taken you away
as far as we can from
your simple gospel of love,
grace, justice, hope, and inclusion,
making it so complicated that
even experts cannot agree—
and all the while,
you are planting gardens
to feed the hungry,
calling the forgotten by name,
teaching children those games
where the only rule is everyone
gets to play on the same team,
and hoping we will eventually
notice where you are.

© 2026 Thom M. Shuman

Venmo: @Thom-Shuman

Dreich Saturday

“I have passed out of mind like one who is dead;
   I have become like a broken vessel.” Psalm 31:12

silence
is the only language needed
on this day which sits like a bird
on the fence between heartbreak
and hallelujah.
grief settles into our bones
like a friend moving in for a stay.
there are no stories to tell
no miracles to share on social media,
just the thick, silent, absence
which sucks at our souls like quicksand.
the promises seem to have slipped
through our fingers, like lyrics
to favorite songs we can’t recall.
hope has gone underground, perhaps
behind the stone, where we cannot see.
and yet, like the earth where
even now, unseen life is stirring,
may the silence be but a pause
and not an ending,
a waiting, but never forgetting,
because even in the stillness
God has not stopped working.

© 2026 Thom M. Shuman

Venmo: @Thom-Shuman

Grim Friday

“But this I call to mind,
   and therefore I have hope:” Lamentations 3:21

we stand, not at the foot,
but as far away as we can
trusting your fading sight
cannot see us,
and yet you forgive us.
as the soldiers mock
the religious types cackle
and thunder rolls in the distance
and lightning provides the
only proper lighting,
we keep our mouths shut,
and yet you forgive us.
as you slowly lower your head
and are swaddled
in the chill arms of death,
may we hear the hope
you whisper in that moment:

“The steadfast love of the Lord never ceases,
is mercies never come to an end;” Lamentations 3:22

(c) 2026 Thom M. Shuman

Venmo: @Thom-Shuman

Holy Thursday

"Jesus answered, ‘You do not know now what I am doing, but later you will understand.’” John 13:7

we’ve been to a lot
of funerals, but we still
don’t know much about death
but we do know a bit about
trying to be faithful in a time
when faithlessness is applauded.
even though we sing and trust
in that promise of Easter,
we still can’t explain resurrection,
but we do know a bit about
trusting God with our lives
even as we enter that dreaded
valley of shadows.
even with the hints and hopes,
if truth be told, we are not sure
where following Jesus will end
but this night reminds us
we are not left alone
on this pilgrimage, even
when it looks like we are.

© 2026 Thom M. Shuman

Venmo: @Thom-Shuman

Holy Wednesday

"Jesus said to him, 'Do quickly what you are going to do.'” John 13:27b

the days, months, years,
even generations it takes
to get that immovable object
called injustice to budge just a bit.
the process we can create
so that by the time a task force
appointed and charged to improve
school systems releases a rough draft,
the kids have already graduated.
gee, it’s funny how time slips away
when we are asked to care
for others, for creation, for the forgotten
but
turning our backs on you
saying we don’t know you
claiming we have no idea
who you are or what you’re doing?
that only takes a moment
any moment
every moment.

© 2026 Thom M. Shuman

Venmo: @Thom-Shuman

Holy Tuesday

“And he said to me, “You are my servant,
     Israel, in whom I will be glorified.” Isaiah 49:3

it’s not in the hallways
where power prowls with arrogance,
but in those lives tossed aside
like stones unfit for building.
it is not in the words of those
who just cannot stop telling lies,
but in the cracked voices
singing about justice.
it’s not when the bright lights
of the media shine
but in those alleyways
where hope flickers.
it is not in the exclusive club
for the privileged,
but in the shelters where stories
are folded like frayed blankets.
it is not in the five star restaurants
with a waiting list of months,
but in those palsied hands
still sharing day-old bread.
as we continue to drag our feet
and stay as far back as we can
on this road to the cross,
remind us that, if we want
to see your glory around us,
we will find it in the least among us
as we kneel before them
to learn your way.

© 2026 Thom M. Shuman

Venmo: @Thom-Shuman

Holy Monday

“But Judas Iscariot, one of his disciples (the one who was about to betray him), said, ‘Why was this perfume not sold for three hundred denarii and the money given to the poor?’ John 12:4-5

the palms are in the bins
out by the curb, with the rest
of the trash from the weekend.
the cleaners are doing
great business making sure
all the coats and cloaks
are cleaned and pressed.
the donkey is back where
it started, tethered to another
in a series of dreary days.
the hosanna crowd has wandered
back to school, to work,
to idle hands for the Evil One
to fill with nails.
and us?
we’re back arguing about
the church budget, asking
(once again) why
you always waste grace,
mercy, justice, and hope
on all the wrong people.

© 2026 Thom M. Shuman

Venmo: @Thom-Shuman

Palm Sunday

“The disciples went and did as Jesus had directed them; they brought the donkey and the colt, and put their cloaks on them, and he sat on them.” Matthew 21:6-7

most folks just walked by
for i am nothing to look at—
just a small, covered with dust
critter tethered to another morning.
yet, weathered hands untied me
whispering that i was needed
as if i might bolt in fear
and then,
a lightness sat upon me, as if
sorrow had been on a crash diet.
there was a quiet knowing between us,
just a gentle touch with his heels,
and we went down that road i knew well,
my hooves tapping out truth,
cloaks falling like questions
which had been asked about others
glory was shouted to the sky,
but in the stillness he exuded,
in the quivering in his breath,
i realized i was just
one servant carrying another,
whose silence would one day
speak louder than all
the praises offered today.

© 2026 Thom M. Shuman

Venmo: @Thom-Shuman

Sixth Saturday in Lent

Then Jesus said to him, "What do you want me to do for you?" The blind man said to him, "My teacher, let me see again." Jesus said to him, "Go; your faith has made you well." Immediately he regained his sight and followed him on the way.” Mark 10:51-52

if only it was a matter
of clearing our vision,
of removing those cataracts
of snark, cruelty, and anger
which keep us from seeing
clearly how we walk
in the opposite direction from you.
but it is grace—
that simple, totally out
of left field gift.
it is kindness—
those simple acts which
cost us nothing except
some of our time.
it is mercy—
which so many share
with us without any fanfare
but we want a gold statue
simply for thinking about it.
these are the things (and,
in truth, so many more)
which we need to have
restored in our souls,
so we might get back
on the way you offer.

© 2026 Thom M. Shuman

Venmo: @Thom-Shuman

Sixth Friday in Lent

"They were on the road, going up to Jerusalem, and Jesus was walking ahead of them;" Mark 10:32a

like a dog who is eager
to pull the walker down the street,
and then darts off in a different
direction because of a squirrel,
like that grandchild who,
with 4 books to be read
and requesting 3 drinks,
can turn the bedtime routine
into a classic case of delay,
like that committee which
in its third iteration with
the same members and
familiar agenda to develop
an action plan which will
simply be stuck in a drawer,
we can come up with all
kinds of reasons to keep
tugging at the hem of your robe,
trying to keep you from meeting
whatever it is you see waiting
further down the road.

(c) 2026 Thom M. Shuman

Venmo: @Thom-Shuman

Sixth Thursday in Lent

““Since, then, we have such a hope, we act with great boldness,” 2 Corinthians 3:12

it doesn’t come like the sun
springing up in the east,
no mistaking it for what it is
hope comes like a candle—
trembling hands trying
to shelter it from fear’s winds
we walk through ash-filled days:
all we have been
all we have lost
all no one wants to hear about
so from deep within us,
you whisper, ‘be bold’
not with shouts
nor dead certainty,
not unafraid
but willing to risk—
to be open to tomorrow
to shine light in every
corner of shadowed valleys
for hope is not what we hold,
but it is who holds us
as we dare to step
into grace we do not see
yet
so that with faith as thin
as a thread about to snap
and hearts about to shatter
we will live as if
resurrection
is just around the corner
waiting to surprise us.

© 2026 Thom M. Shuman

Venmo: @Thom-Shuman

Sixth Wednesday in Lent

“You yourselves are our letter, written on our hearts, to be known and read by all; and you show that you are a letter of Christ, prepared by us, written not with ink but with the Spirit of the living God, not on tablets of stone but on tablets of human hearts." 2 Corinthians 3:2-3

five weeks later,
those ashes which brought us
face to face with our mortality
have been forgotten,
left behind with the dust
in the worship space,
brushed off our foreheads
to drift in the wind as we
left that sacred moment.
but you were busy,
coming behind us with
a soft broom and dustpan,
gathering up those tiny bits
of grace which no longer
mean anything to us, and
sitting at your desk and
mixing them with your tears,
you write grace, hope, peace,
justice, welcome, joy, and life
on our souls and hearts, so
we might become your
love letters to those who
look in their mailbox every day
only to find it empty.

© 2026 Thom M. Shuman

Venmo: @Thom-Shuman

Fifth Tuesday in Lent

“I sought the LORD, and he answered me,

   and delivered me from all my fears.
Look to him, and be radiant;
   so your faces shall never be ashamed.
This poor soul cried, and was heard by the LORD,
   and was saved from every trouble." Psalm 34:4-6

i walked the streets
trying to find someone
who knew what i was
going through these days
but figured the homeless
veteran sitting in the doorway
would not have any wisdom.
i wandered through the day
the shadow of my worries
trailing behind me, as i longed
to find that joy i dropped
somewhere earlier, but never
noticed the golden retriever
with the goofy smile trembling
to be my faithful friend.
i sat at the bus stop
muttering disjointed words
and snippets of song which
echoed my soul’s pain,
and the little lady next
to me smiled, and whispered,
‘it will be okay, hon’ and held
my hand all the way until
i reached my corner, three
stops past where she
usually got off

© Thom M. Shuman

Venmo: @Thom-Shuman

Fifth Monday in Lent

“Now go, and I will be with your mouth and teach you what you are to speak." But he said, "O my Lord, please send someone else." Exodus 4:12-13

you whisper,
don’t worry, I’m a pretty
good ventriloquist—
i know all the words you need.
but we have opened that
Old Book too often to know
what happens to folks who
agree to let you be their mouth.
as soon as you promise words,
we just grab hold of silence
because it seems a lot safer
than nodding our head in assent.
after all, there are a lot of folks
who are far more daring,
whose native tongue is courage,
whose voice doesn’t crack
like a teenage calling for a date.
but
you just keep at it,
lingering, nudging, not
willing to withdraw, but simply
waiting within our fears
as if our persistent reluctance
might just be the place
which will give birth
to your voice.

© 2026 Thom M. Shuman

Venmo: @Thom-Shuman

Fifth Sunday in Lent

“Now go, and I will be with your mouth and teach you what you are to speak." Exodus 4:12

if you wanted eloquence or
those polished influencers,
surely you wouldn’t turn to us?
yet, in these days when leaders
seem to think truth is an obscenity
and nations are under fear’s rabble,
when sirens sing compline at night
and breaking news offers names
the world would rather ignore—
you are foolish enough
to lean close to those who have trouble
getting words from mind to mouth,
to those kneeling to trace doubt in dust.
and all you have to offer
is not memorized speeches,
or well-rehearsed sound bites,
but that word which stutters
as it dares proclaim grace
in the corridors of power.
so, even if we are not ready
especially if we are not ready,
let us dare to open our mouths
so that the Holy One can speak
through our ragged breath,
for the breaking of this
already wounded world.

© 2026 Thom M. Shuman

Venmo: @Thom-Shuman

Fifth Saturday in Lent

“When the LORD saw that he had turned aside to see, God called to him out of the bush, ‘Moses, Moses!’ And he said, ‘Here I am.’" Exodus 3:4

in the waiting room
where parents hold hands
a bush flickers in the corner.
in hallways of schools where
question smolder just under
the ashes of apathy,
a bush blazes in a locker.
in those streets where justice
crackles with hope
while we do our best
to simply bypass those places,
bushes by the side of the road
are ready to ignite—
for there in all the ordinary
moments and places and people,
God waits,
not in wildfires of destruction
but in the embers which
refuse to die out.
and through the pings
on our computers and the
vibrations on our phones,
we are called to turn aside
slipping our feet out of
our apathy as well as fear.
not because the ground has changed
but because we dare to.
and barefoot on holy ground,
we just might hear our names
whispered
just as they always have been
until we are finally ready to answer.

© 2026 Thom M. Shuman

Venmo: @Thom-Shuman

Fifth Friday in Lent

 "Now you are the body of Christ and individually members of it.” 1 Corinthians 12:27

thankfully
you don’t sculpt marble saints
which collect dust on shelves,
but you craft bruised bread,
to be passed from shaky hands
to those who hunger for hope.
we are gathered,
not just in stained glass light
but scattered—
to midnight bus stops
and early morning surgeries,
in long lines to board planes
and kitchens in war-torn areas
where grief helps set the tables.
we are the body—
risking to listen longer than is easy
forgiving more deeply than deserved,
standing where love might cost everything,
and where grace is a rumor.
we are the hands willing to touch
the wounds others won’t
we are the feet walking
with the forgotten
down lonely streets,
we are the arms welcoming
every unseen stranger,
we are the hearts which wait
in fear’s shadows with little kids,
we are the minds which think
of others before ourselves.
God knows we are not perfect
but stitches together our
fragile, unfinished lives,
so we can become grace
for a world which has no idea
it might bring the healing it needs.

© 2026 Thom M. Shuman

Venmo: @Thom-Shuman



.

Fifth Thursday in Lent

“Now a new king arose over Egypt, who did not know Joseph.” Exodus 1:8

new leaders rise—
but they deny empathy.
over the prayers of acolytes
in the glow of TV lights,
they are deaf to songs of human need,
they refuse to see the quiet courage
lived out by ordinary neighbors or
by children fleeing climate change
and countries filled with hate.
it is all numbers to them, not names,
algorithms, not breaking hearts
tracking behavior, but ignoring breath.
borders are tightened
schedules restricted
fists clenched
as if strength meant control
and power leads to obedience.
they ignore the One
who lifts the forgotten,
who whispers freedom into
the ears of the outsiders,
who causes hope to shower
the justice-thirsty streets of cities.
and still—
in the midst of data breaches,
climate warnings,
the cries of the vulnerable
redemption blossoms in
in the cracks of ignorance
today
now
here
because God remembers
God breathes grace.

© 2026 Thom M. Shuman

Venmo: @Thom-Shuman

Fifth Wednesday in Lent

“For you are not a God who delights in wickedness;
     evil will not sojourn with you.” Psalm 5:4

it’s not the skeleton
in the closet that excites you,
nor my twisted choices
which delight you, O God,
but honesty which is pulled
from me by those lingering ashes
and illumined by grace’s dawn.
in this season of stumbling through
a desert closer than comfort,
you lean towards hearts
which seek to remove all
those layers of pretending.
so sift me, ever so gently,
through my hunger to do right,
through prayers filled with
impatient sighs and prattling words,
so that no excuse remains hidden
nor any illusion stay in the shadows.
for you do not want wickedness
to be a companion of yours,
nor would you want us
to choose it as our guide.
so like an artist whose palette is mercy,
craft me as your child with
a truer longing for hope,
a soul quiet in the midst of noise,
and a heart which opens
to your holiness like morning air
after a toss and turn night.

© 2026 Thom M. Shuman

Venmo: @Thom-Shuman

Fourth Tuesday in Lent

“But if we judged ourselves, we would not be judged.” 1 Corinthians 11:31

before we hold out
our hands for the bread,
perhaps we should pause
and notice the cracks in our lives—
those small resentments we gather
like loose change in our pockets,
those words we tossed away
like footprints on another’s soul.
in Lent, God holds a mirror before us—
not so we feel ashamed,
but as an invitation to
set aside those stones we carry
for just the right moment, the right person,
to toss old grudges into the bin,
to dance in mercy’s rain showers.
if we dared to judge ourselves
with the honesty of ashes
in the dawn of hope,
we could come to that meal,
not perfect by any means
but open to that grace
which is breaking the bread
for all.

© 2026 Thom M. Shuman

Venmo: @Thom-Shuman

Fourth Monday in Lent

He took him aside in private, away from the crowd, and put his fingers into his ears, and he spat and touched his tongue. Then looking up to heaven, he sighed and said to him, "Ephphatha," that is, "Be opened." And immediately his ears were opened, his tongue was released, and he spoke plainly. Mark 7:33-35

how easily we stuff
our ears with the cotton
candy of easy platitudes
so we do not have
to hear the cries of
suffering in our world.
when the voices of the
forgotten and vulnerable
become too loud,
we simply let apathy’s wax
build up to protect ourselves
from such annoyances so
we can continue our journey
blithely unaware
until you come along, yanking
us away from our privilege,
opening our ears with
that Sistine-like touch
from a life-giving finger,
so we might hear the beat
of your broken heart.

© 2026 Thom M. Shuman

Venmo: @Thom-Shuman

Fourth Sunday in Lent

“For in hope we were saved. Now hope that is seen is not hope. For who hopes for what is seen? But if we hope for what we do not see, we wait for it with patience.” Romans 8:24-25

we won’t find hope in those
boasting, loud, narcissistic voices,
but in the whisper of the nurse
in the ear of a patient in the middle of the night
in those quiet pauses as a parent
prays for children heading off to school
in the deep breath we take
as tomorrow waits just over the horizon.
if we could hold hope, well then
it would just become a possession,
an heirloom to store in a box.
so let us look for hope in that
solitary candle in a window placed
as a silent plea for peace,
in the kindness of the neighbor
who helps pick up the branches
after a windstorm stalked the street,
in that tenacious resistance to never
stop loving a world which insists
on hurting others time and again.
we may not be able to see, yet,
what we hope for, but
in the silence
in the waiting
in the patience
hope is breathing
hope is birthing
hope is saving

© 2026 Thom M. Shuman

Venmo:@Thom-Shuman

Fourth Saturday in Lent

“O send out your light and your truth;
     let them lead me;
let them bring me to your holy hill
     and to your dwelling.” Psalm 43:3

oh, how i remember
those days, jumping up
and running out the house,
the screen door banging
behind me, as i joined
other kids, ready to get
in as much fun as we could.
oh, how i remember learning,
sometimes from the foolishness
i told myself was okay, as well as
those falsehoods slipping so easily
out of my mouth, putting
more gray in my Mom’s hair.
oh, how i remember begging
the sun to stay out just
a little longer so i could finish
just one more chapter before
having to slip into the house,

gently closing the screen door.
and now, in the winter of my life,
i feel those childhood playmates,
light and truth,
sticking close by me as i approach
the screen door at the back
of your house, where you wait
to welcome me home.

© 2026 Thom M. Shuman

Venmo:@Thom-Shuman

Fourth Friday in Lent

“Then Joseph brought in his father Jacob, and presented him before Pharaoh, and Jacob blessed Pharaoh.” Genesis 47:7

there, before the seat of power,
the old man stands, not with
armies at his back
or sacks of bribes,
but a face weathered by the desert
the dust of the journey
drifting off his sandals.
the powerful always have
places to sleep, their admirers
never hunger nor thirst,
but it is this border-crosser
who lifts arthritic hands to bless,
speaking grace over the one
who spends every night secure.
which should cause us to wonder:
when the exhausted family
crosses into a new land of hope,
when those who carry nothing
in their pockets but dreams,
when the forgotten stand just
at the edge of our privilege—
what blessings might be
whispered in their hoarse voices,
in the weary hands they offer,
in the grace which they never abandon?

© 2026 Thom M. Shuman

Venmo:@Thom-Shuman

Fourth Thursday in Lent

“And he said to them, "How many loaves have you? Go and see." When they had found out, they said, "Five, and two fish." Mark 6:38

so tight-fisted
we will drive to five
different stores in order
to use that $1 off coupon,
stopping along the to refill our car
because the tank is almost empty.
so miserly
we will pull out our devices
so we can calculate
the exact gratuity our server
should get for caring for us
for over an hour (and not
one penny more than
is flashing on our screen).
watching us, you shake
your head, asking,
‘how many is too many,
how much is too much,
how empty do you think
your privilege leaves you
before you notice how scarce
the lives are around you?’

© 2026 Thom M. Shuman

Venmo:@Thom-Shuman

Fourth Wednesday in Lent

“For I know my transgressions,
   and my sin is ever before me.” Psalm 51:3

the time may change, but
my life doesn’t, really—
i try to brush away truth
but it sticks to me like those
ashes of a few weeks ago.
i would like them to trail
behind me, these faults of mine,
but too often, i walk in their shadow
as if they were at the front
of the parade leading me
through this wilderness of Lent.
but you do not go in
your house and shut the door.
like a master gardener, you
kneel in the soil of my regret,
reaching out to touch where
that dust still marks my brow,
whispering,
‘grace can take root anywhere.’
and what was once the sign
of my all too human nature,
becomes the ground where
forgiveness takes root, even
if i fail to notice.

© 2026 Thom M. Shuman

Venmo:@Thom-Shuman

Third Tuesday in Lent

“Is not this the carpenter, the son of Mary . . . Mark 6:3a

we could use a good
fix-it person these days—
someone who can come
and rewire our bodies so
we have more energy
to keep walking for justice,
someone with the skills
to reglaze the windows
of our souls with grace
so we can more clearly see
the forgotten of our world,
someone who can mend
the cracks in our hearts
so they can keep beating
out a rhythm of peace for
a world which seems bent
on destroying itself.

we could use a good
fix-it person these days.

© 2026 Thom M. Shuman

Venmo:@Thom-Shuman

Third Monday in Lent

“Your hands have made and
     fashioned me;
give me understanding that
     I may learn your commandments.” Psalm 119:73

you formed my hands
with a palm to caress
the faces of my loved one
and fingers to trace under words,
not to clench in rage.
you shaped my feet
so i might be able to accompany
those wearied by life
and jump rope with kids,
not to walk past the forgotten.
you crafted my eyes
so i might see the beauty
in a painting by a master
as well as in the chalk
drawings on sidewalks,
not go admire myself
in every mirror i meet.
you transplanted your heart
into me so that i might
love those the world
teaches me to despise,
not idolize the wicked.

© 2026 Thom M. Shuman

Venmo:@Thom-Shuman

Third Sunday in Lent

”There is therefore now no condemnation for those who are in Christ Jesus.” Romans 8:1

we could come up
with quite a list of folks
we think should be
standing before the court,
as we place a black cloth
on our heads, ready to pronounce
the harshest sentence we could—
while you offer to serve
as their defense counsel,
at no cost.
we find it so easy to offer
critique after critique on
how one lives, speaks,
dresses, worships, works,
and so much more, while
you would focus on their gifts
rather than on their tweaks.
we automatically head to
the time out chair in the corner,
ready to stay there until
we think you are appeased,
and all you want is for us
to climb up in your lap
for a snuggle and a story.

© 2026 Thom M. Shuman

Venmo:@Thom-Shuman

Third Saturday in Lent

“Then Jesus asked him, ‘What is your name?’ He replied, ‘My name is Legion; for we are many.’" Mark 5:9

today,
the answer would rise
from the depths of despair,
the graves of the grieving,
the empty hallways of life.
the ones fractured by cruel faith,
the forgotten spread across
a thousand gaunt faces,
children’s cries that rise from rubble,
voices longing for attention and
only encountering silence,
which carries the faint whisper,
”I am Legion,”
not just one but so many
not just one name but all
which are carried on the dust
from storms in the soul.
it is the nameless
and the vulnerable
poster children of a world
so broken but so afraid of healing
and it is us, lost in crowds,
struggling to be heard in noise,
doubting if we will ever
be made whole again.
but Jesus never flinches
but continues to call us
by name, no, not Legion,
but Beloved.

© 2026 Thom M. Shuman

Venmo:@Thom-Shuman

Third Friday in Lent

“Now the famine was severe in the land.” Genesis 43:1

it is not just an old story
pulled from a dusty book,
it is about our days as well.
in the stale air of our moments,
silos of compassion stand half-empty.
buckets clang against the dry bottom
of the wells of patience.
even justice is parceled out—
a cup for those who agree with us,
a bucket for those who idolize us,
a drib, a drab for those who do not.
peace sleeps in shadowed doorways
after knocking on fears who have set alarms.
hope is at the back of the line,
joining the weary who wonder
if anyone remembers that there
is enough mercy for all.
yet, like wheat sheltering under dust,
the promise of God quietly stirs—
if we begin to turn toward others again,
if we carry share from just
a small bag of compassion,
our famines will not have
the final word in our times.
grace is waiting to produce
a bumper crop for the world.

© 2026 Thom M. Shuman

Venmo:@Thom-Shuman

Third Thursday in Lent

“’All things are lawful for me,’ but not all things are beneficial. ‘All things are lawful for me, but I will not be dominated by anything.” 1 Corinthians 6:12

‘i won’t go to jail’
we tell ourselves believing
freedom is license to do
whatever we want,
but you turn from that
lonely desert road of Lent,
asking are we serious.
yes, we can choose the
snark, anger, memes,
those tiny idolatries that
soon become a pantheon
of gods that demand my all.
but they are not food
nor are they mercy,
or even tiny seeds of hope
in this season we call
less is more, our freedoms
are sifted through your fingers
like sand, until all that is left
is what nourishes our parched souls.
so may we not be captive
to all which does not love us,
or kneel to all who would not
bless us if we paid them.
show us the true liberty
found in laying things down,
until we hunger and thirst
only for you.

(c) 2026 Thom M. Shuman

Venmo: @Thom-Shuman

Second Wednesday in Lent

“I believe that I shall see the goodness of the LORD
   in the land of the living.” Psalm 27:13

too often
we are fixated on
(no, addicted to)
the chaos around us.
we close our eyes
to the suffering of others
afraid it might be a
vision of our future.
we push close
to the mirror, crowding out
the vulnerable.
so
open our eyes to goodness—
not just occasional acts
in the land of the privileged
who live as we cannot imagine,
but being intentional about justice
for the mentally ill filed away
in group homes, far from view,
for our aging populations forgotten
in those warehouses called nursing homes.
persistent in pursuing peace
for the children whose playgrounds
are filled with rubble and whose toys
are bits and pieces of shattered dreams
and whose parents are being buried
simply because they worked
in buildings the powerful deemed
to be threats to someone or something.

(c) 2026 Thom M. Shuman

Venmo: @Thom-Shuman

Second Tuesday in Lent

“And looking at those who sat around him, he said, ‘Here are my mother and my brothers! Whoever does the will of God is my brother and sister and mother.’” Mark 3:34-35

they are all around us—
the kids with dust in their hair,
families holding grief in their hands,
the lonely growing lonelier.
and in the middle of this circle
of the overlooked and despised,
Jesus wants us to notice—
not the shaking fists of power
or the most strident voices,
but those who always seem to have
more than enough for others.
in moments when fear draws borders
and profit rains fire from the sky,
Jesus puts another leaf in the table—
pushing it beyond checkpoints
and past those lines drawn in the sand
by all who see only enemies.
‘whoever does the will of God’—
that will which offers mercy
to a child sitting atop rubble,
that will which offers justice
to workers who have no voice,
that will which draws the stranger
into an embrace as if a prodigal.
communities aren’t birthed in
this widening gyre of the world,
families aren’t just bonded by blood,
but nurtured in fields of compassion,
watered by the tears of the forgotten,
harvested by kind acts of grace.
so let us draw close enough
to hear the other breathe,
take the time to learn the names
of everyone we are told to fear,
as we discover in the widening
circle of grace, we belong to one another.

© 2026 Thom M. Shuman

Venmo:@Thom-Shuman

Second Monday in Lent

“Let the arrogant be put to shame,
   because they have subverted me with guile;
   as for me, I will meditate on your precepts.” Psalm 119:78

in the bruised dawns,
as sirens moan fear
and the ground reels
from every pain imaginable,
we bring you, Tender God,
those names we dare not speak
especially those we do not know.
may the weapons of the proud
rust from the tears of parents,
may the lies crafted by the cruel
from the truth the world knows
not become seductive whispers.
may we—
the weary and the wary,
the hopeless and the hurting
lean into your whispers of grace,
cradling your words like seeds,
waiting for the courage to plant them
so they might bring a harvest of hope.
as we mark our lives
with the ashes of headlines,
may we keep walking
your path of patience,
becoming small lights of love
no shadows can swallow,
remembering that even now,
especially now,
your peace grows quietly
in all hearts which refuse
to hate.

© 2026 Thom M. Shuman

Venmo:@Thom-Shuman

Second Sunday in Lent

“Why are you cast down, O my soul,
     and why are you disquieted within me?
Hope in God; for I shall again praise him,
     my help and my God.” Psalm 43:5

as we wake to numbing news
with images of rubble and death,
and worries of more destruction . . .
Holy Lamb of God,
take away our lust for war.
when we drive down streets
we usually avoid, where houses
are dilapidated, the residents
seem despondent, the folks
on the corner wave signs . . .
Holy Lamb of God,
take away the injustice
forced on other people.
while we shake our heads
at the cruelty which comes
off the tongue so easily
for those in power, as
our stomachs churn when
we hear the demeaning way
the privileged speak
of the forgotten . . .
Holy Lamb of God,
take away the hate of others.
and when we look into
the mirror of our souls . . .
Holy Lamb of God,
when we expect you
to do all the heavy lifting--
have mercy on us.

© 2026 Thom M. Shuman

Venmo:@Thom-Shuman

Second Saturday in Lent

“You hate those who pay regard to worthless idols,
     but I trust in the LORD.” Psalm 31:6

i could gather up
all those trumped up
promises and re-sell them
online, knowing the fortune
i would make.
i could keep reading
the latest books or
attend the newest seminar
or follow the influencer
everyone else does, convinced
my church will triple in numbers.
i could market bumper
stickers from all those
platitudes preachers let fall
on peoples’ ears each week.
or
i could simply keep trudging
that long obedience
in the same direction
even if everyone else
thinks i am the only fool
to give it a try.

© 2026 Thom M. Shuman

Venmo:@Thom-Shuman

Second Friday in Lent

“Seek the LORD and his strength;
     seek his presence continually.” Psalm 105:4

it’s a mystery, God.
we can be drawn into
an online argument about
something we know little about
started by someone we don’t know,
but we’re going to jump in
feet first, all in—
but take the time for a breath,
to listen carefully to another,
practice that more needed now
than ever before peacemaking?
it’s a mystery, God.
even though
you’ve warned us time and again,
we keep turning down
Grudge Alley, hoping the bullies
will jump out and pummel us,
so we have an excuse to keep returning—
but stand there trying
to understand Jesus’ words,
though failing to realize that
forgiveness is not a math equation?
it’s a mystery, Lord,
how, where, why to seek you
but you have given us the clues
of grace, love, peace, justice
and so much more to solve it.

© 2026 Thom M. Shuman

Venmo:@Thom-Shuman

Second Thursday in Lent

“Do not cast me off, do not forsake me,
     O God of my salvation!” Psalm 27:9c

when our cruelty bruises your mornings,
when creation sighs under our abuse,
when fear turns neighbors into strangers,
do not toss us aside,
God, whom we weary.
when we become more skilled
at building detention centers
faster than warming shelters,
as we so casually mistake
noise for today’s truth,
don’t give up on us—
but keep walking beside
the weary in hospital corridors,
listening to mothers in shelters,
sitting Shiva for dreams of justice
which die at the hands of indifference.
teach us to listen once again
not just with our ears, but hearts—
for the cry of the forgotten,
the persistence of peacemakers,
the songs of hope you plant
deep in the souls of little children.
as even our wilderness seems
to have become more barren,
gather us up—
our ashes as well as our anger,
our faults as well as our faith,
to show us the way into
the bright light of your love.

(c) 2026 Thom M. Shuman

Venmo:@Thom-Shuman

Second Wednesday in Lent

“A leper came to him begging him, and kneeling he said to him, "If you choose, you can make me clean." Mark 1:40

it is a hope as old as dirt—
‘if you choose, you can make me clean.’
so, what will it be—
that careful distance allowing us
that safe place from the
those folks who make us uncomfortable
or a risky touch bringing healing
to a person standing in the dust
of brokenness?
will we keep silence which gives
injustice just the breath it needs
or dare we step bravely into
the challenges of our days?
should we keep those habits
who do nothing more than
numb us into insensitivity
or we kneel down, listen closely,
offering mercy to the forgotten?
as we walk the edges of ordinary days,
our hands cupping fear,
cramming worries into our pockets,
may we realize that love
can still reach out in these
confusing, terrifying, overwhelming
moments and perhaps
our small choice will become
that simple holy touch
that changes everything.

© 2026 Thom M. Shuman

Venmo:@Thom-Shuman

First Tuesday in Lent

“Where is the one who is wise? Where is the scribe? Where is the debater of this age? Has not God made foolish the wisdom of the world?” 1 Corinthians 1:20

when ash is drifting down on us,
and the bitter wind carries away
all our well-memorized answers,
do we need the smartest person
in the room,
or the one whose pain
is etched on their face?
when our hearts have crumpled,
every argument tossed aside,
with only a deep ache remaining,
do we need a summa cum laude
or the person who has had
a hope transplant done by the Spirit?
when we are made speechless
as we stand at the edge of the Skull,
truth splintering into pick-up sticks,
do we need a by-God spellbinder
or a little child with simple words?
like bread torn apart by unseen hands,
like light pouring into those
cracks we never notice,
gather up our knowing, God,
and unmake it by your grace—
peeling away that brilliance
blinding us to justice,
unraveling those Gordian knots
made of anger and arrogance,
turning our self-righteous piety
into fools gold with no value—
so that in our Lenten wilderness,
we might realize you are not
as dumb as we think you are.

© 2026 Thom M. Shuman

Venmo:@Thom-Shuman

First Monday in Lent

“The LORD will keep
     your going out and your coming in
     from this time on and for evermore.” Psalm 121:8

whether on the open road
or negotiating a narrow path,
you trace our footsteps,
Compassionate God,
from sunrise to sunset,
cradling our comings and goings
in hands covered in dust and dawn.
we can’t help but wander
chasing after noise, jogging with fear,
hoping to find illusions of power,
while you watch from the edges of life,
that quiet observer when we forget
how you hold us in your arms.
sometimes our doubts are like
pebbles in our shoes as we walk
through this Lenten wilderness,
yet you stay by our side, slowly,
faithfully, as if each step was a prayer
when we dare to leave the familiar
you are waiting in what scares us.
and when we limp back home,
you are sitting by the window with a lamp
to keep us honest when we go out,
have mercy on us when we come in,
guard all those small journeys—
turning toward forgiveness,
walking away from cruelty,
taking the long journey to grace.
from the very first breath you gifted us
to the final one we will give back to you,
be that gentle rhythm under our feet,
that home we never leave.

© 2026 Thom M. Shuman

Venmo:@Thom-Shuman

First Sunday in Lent

“Happy are those whose strength is in you,
   in whose heart are the highways to Zion.” Psalm 84:5

society rushes by,
distractions bring paths to a standstill,
whispers of hope are drowned
by the noise of every moment,
so blessed are the weary feet
of pilgrims walking through Lent.
for in the companionship of others
we find strength for this journey,
hope echoes in our hearts
with every step we take.
for we are not just marching
to an empty tomb in a garden,
but through that slow realization
of the presence of God’s grace
in every pothole of our lives.
we might miss the quiet joys
of this silent season of wandering
as we focus on frenzied posts,
but in the simple act of pausing
in the spiritual discipline of discovering
the gifts in the unnoticed corners,
but if we walk with faithful caution
in the light of the promise
that in our mortality, even
as we trail Jesus down those
dusty roads leading to death—
we are blessed.
for this is not a sprint to win
some sort of medal,
but that slow, tender pilgrimage
to the heart of God.

(c) 2026 Thom M. Shuman

Venmo:@Thom-Shuman

First Saturday in Lent

“I can do all things through him who strengthens me.” Philippians 4:13

soul-weary,
hearts battered by news,
shoes covered with debris of cruelty,
hope so thin we have trouble breathing—
no wonder we whisper,
we are not enough
and we are not . . . by ourselves.
but then, slipping into our fatigue
like light through the closed
slats of window shutters,
comes a quiet resolve—
not loud, nor boastful,
just persistent as grace.
it is Jesus
that troublemaker telling stories
of people standing together,
that friend who does not leave us
crumpled in the rubble of doubts—
but never stops nudging us
to keep crafting justice, just
one small act of fairness at a time
to always choose compassion
no matter how attractive snark becomes,
to wrap others in the bands of grace,
just as we are swaddled in it,
to dare never give up hope
because
resurrection
is planted in the garden of weakness.
perhaps we are not enough
as the cosmic powers tell us—
but we are not alone
and companion by companion,
pilgrim by pilgrim
witness by witness,
we become that doorway
through which the strength
of love steps into the world.

© 2026 Thom M. Shuman

Venmo:@Thom-Shuman

First Friday in Lent

“Rejoice in the Lord always; again I will say, Rejoice.” Philippians 4:4

in moments when we tremble
with worry and our nights hum
with the uncertainty of tomorrow—
we rejoice in that quiet courage
you plant deep in ordinary hearts
when we walk down crumbling sidewalks
to sit beside the forgotten
in the shadows of dimming justice—
we rejoice for that grace-shaped song
you teach to weary lungs, reminding us
that hope still has a heartbeat.
when the influencers walk red carpets
woven from bitcoins and idolatry,
when the wealthy want bigger developments
and an end to discussion of affordable housing—
we rejoice that you do not step away
but choose them impenetrable days
to be where love is made incarnate
once again.
where brokenness is mended
by the gentle touch of a stranger,
where sorrow is given respite
through the laughter of children,
in that promise you made
from the beginning that we
will always be held in your heart,
we rejoice that you are as close
to us as the breath we take,
that we are becoming evidence
that your Beloved Community
is still unfolding in our midst—
and our rejoicing
becomes our resistance.

© 2026 Thom M. Shuman

Venmo: @Thom-Shuman

First Thursday in Lent

Though the fig tree does not blossom,
and no fruit is on the vines;
though the produce of the olive fails
and the fields yield no food;
though the flock is cut off from the fold
and there is no herd in the stalls,
yet I will rejoice in the LORD;
I will exult in the God of my salvation. Habakkuk 3:17-18

though hope withers in our streets
and the leaves of grace
curl in on themselves,
though our mornings are numbed
with wars, and storms, and children
struggling to cross hunger’s border—
still, you are here
Planter of quiet seeds.
when our pensions fall like temperatures,
when despair stitches our nights,
when grief refuses to take the hint
and get up and leave from our rooms,
and justice is rationed like famine’s bread—
still, we turn to you,
leaning like sunflowers to light.
for you do not walk away
from drought-scarred fields
nor hold your words as
you walk in the dust of dreams
you are the faint heartbeat
which stirs the ashes of life,
that whisper with a stronger life
than angry shouts.
so, until life returns,
we will sing with hoarse voices,
we will dance on uneven ground,
we will dig furrows in fields of fear
planting small seeds of mercy,
Joy which is present even
when the world says you have left,
remembering that you
are that harvest we are always
waiting for.

(c) 2026 Thom M. Shuman

Venmo: @Thom-Shuman

Ash Wednesday

it is as if it is too shy
to want more attention—
smaller than you thought,
a smudge someone might mistake
as dirt from working in the garden,
or a playful mark from a child.
as you go through the day,
you might forget it is there
until you see someone’s eyes
turn soft as they notice,
the fast-food clerk pauses,
compassion touches you in
the simple silence of a stranger.
you see, ash remembers what
we think we can dismiss—
that in our ending is our beginning,
that even all the good we tried
to do will dissolve into dust.
ash also remembers the fire
of love, burning bright enough
so this trace can help us
to remember.as those ancient
words confront us once again:
we will return.
it is not a threat, but the promise
that nothing given in love
ever goes to waste
this day is not about shame,
but honesty marking our souls,
standing still just long enough
to admit that while fragile
we are beloved above all else.
it will disappear,
a quick mix of soap and water,
a soft cloth, and . . .
but the softer soul,
the silent heart
that whisper of love
reminds us of how dust
is always cradled
in the hands of grace.

© 2026 Thom M. Shuman

Venmo: @Thom-Shuman

February 17th

“Yet whatever gains I had, these I have come to regard as loss because of Christ. More than that, I regard everything as loss because of the surpassing value of knowing Christ Jesus my Lord. For his sake I have suffered the loss of all things, and I regard them as rubbish, in order that I may gain Christ.” Philippians 3:7-8

they are like heirlooms
i collected over the years—
achievements and honors,
titles before and letters after my name,
the applause from others (but
hoping for a standing ovation).
they were my portfolio
my security blanket
they gave me my credibility.
then
you picked up my ledger
where I had recorded each one,
tearing each page out and
putting them into the shredder.
for you measure me
by the simple standard of mercy
your calculator is based more
on grace than any so-called gains.
so—
put the trophies into recycling,
erase the old names like chalk,
for in losing,
i find your heart much closer,
in letting go,
i hold what i will never lose.
everything we call treasure
is valueless compared to you,
as i discover the joy
of losing all i once held dear
as cradle me in your love.

© 2026 Thom M. Shuman

Venmo: @Thom-Shuman

February 16th

“God has taken his place in the divine council;
     in the midst of the gods he holds judgment:
‘How long will you judge unjustly
     and show partiality to the wicked?’” Psalm 82:1-2

they long to be our idols,
those tiny gods who want
to capitalize their names—
the hot breath of angry mouths
would seek to move over
the living waters of hope
until they become boiling springs
of bitterness,
the false messiah calls
the uber rich and those
who gorge on power and
want another helping to follow
down the roads where potholes
never appear and trash is always
picked up before it hits the curb,
the dragon sheds its scales
of lies and boasts, in hopes
they will cover the dust from which
life focused on empathy and
seeking justice for others was shaped.
and we look around wondering
where we might find
an emergency room
for our souls.

© 2026 Thom M. Shuman

Venmo: @Thom-Shuman

Transfiguration

“Then he said to them all, ‘If any want to become my followers, let them deny themselves and take up their cross daily and follow me.’” Luke 9:23

unfortunately (for us),
it is not on that comfortable
shine-Jesus-shine mountaintop,
where we are challenged
to live out that faith which costs
us more than we think we have—
but in the valleys where grief runs
not burbling streams of joy,
in the hospital rooms where
we bathe the faces of loved ones,
in the streets where the forgotten
live in the shadows of loneliness.
unfortunately (for us),
it is not the chocolate, fast-food,
lack of exercise, or other such
trivial excesses we are asked to deny,
but our privilege which masks
complete indifference to injustice,
our self-righteousness which
covers-up our hoarding of grace,
our refusal to see God in the face
of those we look at through fear—
those are the crosses we are offered.
fortunately, for us, Jesus shows us
how it is done, if we dare but
follow.

© 2026 Thom M. Shuman

Venmo: @Thom-Shuman

February 14th

“Now when Jacob saw Rachel, the daughter of his mother's brother Laban, and the sheep of his mother's brother Laban, Jacob went up and rolled the stone from the well's mouth, and watered the flock of his mother's brother Laban.” Genesis 29:1-10

somewhere, a little child
longs for someone to roll
away the stone of past due
envelopes on dusty tables
so joy might run free.
somewhere,
an immigrant needs the stone
shadows of fear and angry words
to be pushed aside so justice
can glimpse their face and welcome them.
somewhere, a weary widow
leans against the stone carved
from the hollowness of not needed clothes,
wondering if anyone will sculpt it
into hope which will call their name.
and so, God of where grace meets
the parched throats of pilgrims,
send us as stone removers—
compassion strengthening our backs,
grace callousing our hands—
until every well is opened
and every thirsty soul drinks
from the well spring of your love.

© 2026 Thom M. Shuman

Venmo: @Thom-Shuman

February 13th

“Then Jacob woke from his sleep and said, "Surely the LORD is in this place — and I did not know it!" Genesis 28:16

from the slipping out of bed,
grabbing the coffee,
checking notifications,
stepping into the day of sirens,
lights flashing their commands,
emails demanding answers,
we whisper, ‘just another day
in just another place.’
but grace waits
in that doorway we rush past,
in the immigrant we dismiss,
in the silence we try to put at ease.
and
in the slow moving lane going home,
on sidewalks covered with ice
or beaches too hot to walk on,
in cities overwhelmed by fear’s grief
and in those houses where ache
quietly closes the drapes—
we find the Holy right beside us.
for like great-great-great grandpa Jacob,
we blink rapidly at the light
hidden in plain people
in even plainer places—
in her breath, his heartbeat,
the world’s brokenness—
and we whisper in shock,
‘wow! God is here,’
and we never notice as we
sleepwalk through life.

© 2026 Thom M. Shuman

Venmo: @Thom-Shuman

February 12th

“Rejoice in hope, be patient in suffering, persevere in prayer.” Romans 12:12

scrolling through years of war,
wildfire, sirens down midnight streets,
and the empty chair grief pulls up
at far too many tables, joy
has lost its childlike innocence.
and yet—
it dares to look for the dawn,
not that the world is growing
kind, but because God always is.
anxiety hums like power lines
beneath our souls, and patience
walks barefoot on the shards
of shattered prayers, yet we
will continue to root ourselves
in the slow language of trust,
learning the grammar of waiting
which heaven whispers hope.
we will keep struggling to be
faithful in prayers, showing up,
hands wrapped around warm mugs,
cheeks carved with tears,
entrusting our brittle alleluias
into the callused hands of Jesus.
for hope is not a hashtag
but the heartbeat of
quiet resistance, allowing
our hearts to sync with God’s.

© 2026 Thom M. Shuman

Venmo: @Thom-Shuman

February 11th

“Do not be conformed to this world, but be transformed by the renewing of your minds, so that you may discern what is the will of God — what is good and acceptable and perfect.” Romans 12:2

ah, dear friends,
let us not fill our hearts
with trending fears,
with that outrage crafted
so it fits our thumbs.
our lives, these God-lives,
are not to be measured
in likes or shares or emojis.
those filters offered to us:
smoothing the edges of injustice,
seeing cruel rhetoric as the
natural heirs to Shakespeare,
Neruda or Angelou,
the lies seducing us that
we are what we display—
only drag us deeper into
that pit of unknowingness.
so, let us step out of doom scrolling,
let God rewrite those codes
of rivalry and covetousness,
as God reboots our souls
with tender compassion.
may we shut down all those
glowing screens and sit
in the still silence of that
Light which shows us the way
to that life where we do not
become more inhuman,
but are renewed by grace.

© 2026 Thom M. Shuman

Venmo: @Thom-Shuman

February 10th

“When they kept on questioning him, he straightened up and said to them, "Let anyone among you who is without sin be the first to throw a stone at her." And once again he bent down and wrote on the ground.” John 8:7-8

they draw in closer, ready
to cast their verdict with
those stones harder than
their hearts clutched tight
in their hands—
but you stand there,
not to argue the case
nor to defend her, but simply
offering that challenge that
none of us want to take on,
and suddenly, the hand-sized rocks
become Sisyphean boulders we keep
trying to push to the top of Mount Judgment.
and as the silent wind
carries away all the accusations,
you remain kneeling on the ground,
shaping new life for her,
and all who release
their grip on self-righteousness,
from the dust of grace
which is always ready
to rewrite our stories.

© 2026 Thom M. Shuman

Venmo: @Thom-Shuman

February 9th

“How long will you judge unjustly
   and show partiality to the wicked?” Psalm 82:2

gripping the gavel with white knuckles,
you lean forward from the bench
to ask us the question we hope
you will never ask—
‘how long?’
how long will we dress power
in fancy suits and black robes
and claim it is justice, while
the forgotten hear the sound
of the doors clanging shut behind them,
while truth is removed from
the courtrooms by masked agents?
how long will we keep tilting the scales
until the weight is sufficient for our needs
simply because evil flatters us
with names a lover would use?
how long, God asks,
not with thundering judgement
but in that heartbroken voice
of parents who see their kids
choosing shadows over
the unrewarding work of being light
how long—
before judgment remembers mercy
and the arrogant learn to kneel?

© 2026 Thom M. Shuman

Venmo: @Thom-Shuman

February 8th

““You are the salt of the earth; . . . You are the light of the world,” Matthew 5:13-14

listen, it is not a bumper sticker—
salt doesn’t shout in our ear,
it simply sticks around,
protecting what is precious from going bad
when we sweat fear through the day
and when truth is left out
on the kitchen counter.
salt has that quiet faithfulness
like folks gathering to bear witness
in places of worship and in streets,
like those hearts which refuse
to lose the tang of gritty grace.
listen, it’s not a slogan—
light refuses to debate the shadows,
it simply walks as far into it as needed;
a candle in a cellar as the missiles
land all over their neighborhood;
a porch light turned on
for the wayward to find home.
listen, they are not meant
to be commercials for sporting events—
Jesus didn’t say, ‘try to be’
he challenged us, “you are!”
already glowing like hope
in the shadows of despair,
already to be poured out
into the lives of God’s precious ones
so season today with grace
turn on a lamp for the weary.
the world is exhausted
the shadows seem to expand
and God has trusted us
to never let the light go out,
God has poured the cost of justice
into us so it might not decay.

© 2026 Thom M. Shuman

Venmo: @Thom-Shuman

February 7th

“O God, you are my God, I seek you,
   my soul thirsts for you;
my flesh faints for you,
   as in a dry and weary land where there is no water.” Psalm 63:1

like a dog
with a tail wagging
fast enough to light a house,
waiting for a snowball
to be tossed, convinced
that this time it will not
explode into nothingness
when it is caught in its mouth.
like a cat who slowly
stalks the string being trailed
behind it’s servants back
as they play the game
they have done so many times.
like a kid
with money clutched
in its hands, shimmering
as the line moves
as a snail’s pace to the cashier,
so she can pay for the final book
in the series she has been reading
for years, and can’t wait
to see how the loose ends are tied,
that is how much
you long for us, dear God,
to want to find you.

© 2026 Thom M. Shuman

Venmo: @Thom-Shuman

February 6th

“I have not hidden your saving help within my heart,
   I have spoken of your faithfulness and your salvation;
I have not concealed your steadfast love and your faithfulness
   from the great congregation.” Psalm 40:10


in a time when people
keeps saying we should close
our hearts to empathy just like
we close borders, may i
keep opening mine wider and wider
so your grace can embrace
the vulnerable around us.
in a world where many wonder
how many family, friends, neighbors
might turn their backs if they dare
to speak out for justice, may
i have the courage to never stop
reminding folks of your partiality
towards those who are forgotten.
in a place where folks distort
your words, even claiming Jesus
didn’t really mean most of what
he said and did and lived,
may i keep trying to follow him,
even if others think i am just
another reed bending
in the wind.

© 2026 Thom M. Shuman

Venmo: @Thom-Shuman

February 5th

“Therefore, since we are surrounded by so great a cloud of witnesses, let us also lay aside every weight and the sin that clings so closely, and let us run with perseverance the race that is set before us,” Hebrews 12:1

grandparents praying through the night,
friends who refused to step aside,
young people who left school
to ride buses to sign up voters,
saints who would burst out laughing
if anyone called them that—
they ran their race in kitchens
as well as in courtrooms,
while crossing bridges knowing
what awaited them on the other side,
who saw that justice which endures
while so many others were blind.
weary folks in scrubs,
kids in school uniforms,
check out folks in grocery stores,
bus driver watching kids get home,
all who put on their weary shoes
so they can keep running
when faith feels so thin,
who give up pride to forgive,
whose trembling hands cup fragile love,
whose whistles are held tight
in their hands, ready to be used.
they all lean toward us,
surrounding us with courage
and whispering hope—
‘toss aside those heavy fears,
keep going, don’t stop,
you are never alone.’

© 2026 Thom M. Shuman

Venmo: @Thom-Shuman

February 4th

“Come, bless the LORD, all you servants of the LORD,
     who stand by night in the house of the LORD!” Psalm 134:1

tonight, we find them,
blessing the Lord—
not in cathedrals nor halls of power,
but where late-night nurses rinse
their hands under dim lights,
where families count the slow
breaths in hospice beds,
where immigrants sleep
with one eye open for cruelty
trying to creep in during the night,
and the other gazing at hope
sitting in the corner, watching
over them when they can’t sleep.
bless the Lord, servants of night hours—
standing guard over the vulnerable,
holding the line when fear
links arms to approach them,
singing songs of hope when faith
grows as thin as the sun in winter.
for God, who never sleeps,
especially as the world exhales
and shadows stretch toward us,
listens closely as our quiet devotion
grows like nightlight in the hallway,
and turns to the darkness and
simply says,
you do not get the last word.

© 2026 Thom M. Shuman

Venmo: @Thom-Shuman

February 3rd

"By faith Isaac blessed Jacob and Esau in regard to their future.” Hebrews 11:20

it is so hard to see tomorrow,
much less that dim future,
when our streets are iced over
in so many different ways,
when our times are marked
by rivalry and regret, like siblings
that jostle for blessings and inheritances,
when nothing seems to be as sure
as the fact that uncertain days
fill every date on our calendar.
yet our ancestors in this mystery
called faith, left us with some hints—
dare to hold our hands open not clenched tight,
trust that God keeps bending us toward justice,
believe that mercy is never far from us.
so, when we fear that tomorrow will be so heavy,
we might drop it and shatter our fragile world,
may we, by faith,
offer blessings and not curses,
speak life rather than fear,
plant seeds we may never sit under,
choose love over cynicism,
trust that God weaves hope
into the messes of our lives,
and leave the future up to God,
knowing it is not ours to control.
may we be blessings of hope,
grace, love, peace, justice,
inclusion, and wonder,
by faith.

© 2026 Thom M. Shuman

Venmo: @Thom-Shuman

February 2nd

“Now faith is the assurance of things hoped for, the conviction of things not seen.” Hebrews 11:1

Faith
has nothing to do with
answers clutched in our hands,
it is that gentle weight of hope
cupped in our palms.
it is there, just at the edge
of the future, with nothing
but a promise and believing
that is more than enough
to keep our knees from knocking.
it is learning to feel
the invisible breath of God
in all our ordinary moments—
cleaning bathrooms and
making grocery lists,
in knocked-to-our-knees
grief that keeps showing up,
as well as the joy which
takes our hands and holds tight.
it does not demand proof,
but simply sits with us
waiting
listening,
leaning its whole life
toward those whispers of love
lingering all around us.
Faith is gentle persistence
to live as if the light is real
even as shadows surround us,
trusting that what we hope for
is already wrapping its arms
around us.

© 2026 Thom M. Shuman

Venmo: @Thom-Shuman

February 1st

“Abraham answered, "Let me take it upon myself to speak to the Lord, I who am but dust and ashes.” Genesis 18:27

ankle deep in the dust
of Abraham’s words, the ash
of that audacious hope in our throats,
we dare to speak our shattered hearts.
yes, we are insignificant, as others remind us,
but grace is burning at the edges,
justice is bent like a bruised reed,
mercy is shouted down by violence,
cruelty keeps jotting down names,
and fear creeps into our souls
like winter’s chill into arthritic bones.
yet, we dare not keep silent,
not so much out of dogmatism
but because silence is simply giving up.
so in those faint echoes of that ancient voice
may we have the humility to know who we are,
the courage to confront who we refuse to be,
and the persistent hope to ask
who we might yet become.
if only a remnant dares to speak,
if only a fragment of the faithful
can begin to make a difference,
then start with us.
our lives becoming questions
to challenge the powerful,
answers which will not turn to futility,
songs which keep walking
the streets of mercy,
and prayers taking one shaky step
at a time, but never backwards.

© 2026 Thom M. Shuman

Venmo: @Thom-Shuman

January 31st

 “But he said to them, "It is I; do not be afraid." John 6:20

they live in fear:
that person standing
in the road, not to annoy us,
but because the spot where
they stand to catch a bus
is covered with ice.
they live in fear:
the folks who walk
in the street, not because
they have had a few drinks,
but the plows clearing the roads
so we privileged can travel
in warmth and safety covered
up the sidewalks they need
in order to get to their jobs,
their homes, their lives safely.
they live in fear:
the folks who stand on corners
in sub-zero temps hoping someone
might slip them the cash
they need to get a warm room
for the night.
they live in fear:
because rarely do they see
Jesus coming toward them
saying there’s nothing to fear,

because we are too busy

to notice them.

© 2026 Thom M. Shuman

Venmo : @Thom-Shuman

January 30th

“My soul also is struck with terror,
     while you, O LORD — how long?” Psalm 6:3

how long indeed!
before those nightmares
which accompany our days
slip back under the covers
of our beds where they belong?
how long indeed!
before fear takes off its masks,
packs up its weapons,
loads up its vehicles built
strictly for intimidation, and
returns our streets, our neighborhoods
back into the communities
of kindness and welcome
they once were known for?
how long indeed!
before the chillblained hours of our grief,
where grace is thin as winter daylight,
are thawed by the warm rays
of hope, justice, compassion, and peace?
O Lord,
how long indeed!

© 2026 Thom M. Shuman

Venmo: @Thom-Shuman

January 29th

“’You search the scriptures because you think that in them you have eternal life; and it is they that testify on my behalf. Yet you refuse to come to me to have life.’” John 5:39-40

we trace our fingers
down the verses
as if they were maps
pointing the way to our
preconceived destinations.
we take the words, turning
them over like stones, hoping
to find all our prejudices, our
anger, our fears living underneath.
but the pages rustle softly—
not about life but nudging us
toward it, like sunflowers
turning to that source of light
which stands before us.
oh, we can memorize all
the names of the bodies of water,
yet we miss the water lapping
gently at our toes.
we dip our nets into verses,
trying to pull forth a great haul
of judgement upon others, of
affirmation of our self-righteousness,
but love simply keeps whispering—
not in the margins or in the past tenses,
no, i am breath, i am now, i am
that door you keep reading about
but refuse, out of spite, to open.
and the Old Book
softly closes its pages
so that we might look up
and see life holding open its arms.

© 2026 Thom M. Shuman

Venmo: @Thom-Shuman

January 28th

“but the Lord takes pleasure in those who fear him,
     in those who hope in his steadfast love.” Psalm 147:11

the politicians?
they would take it
in a heartbeat and
offer it to the person
who donated the most money
to their campaign.
the superstars?
they would leave it
on the pitch, covered in
the muck and mire of
just another game.
the religious scammers?
they would add it
to all the rest accumulated
from so many suckers as
they build more and more
campuses generating
more and more adulation.
but you?
you wrap it gently in your love,
tying a ribbon of grace around it
and place hope back into my heart.

© 2026 Thom M. Shuman

Venmo: @Thom-Shuman

January 27th

“When Jesus saw him lying there and knew that he had been there a long time, he said to him, "Do you want to be made well?" John 5:6

it is not just our bodies
etched in the dust of life,
it is our years of waiting as justice
is pressed flat into the ground—
but Jesus doesn’t begin mansplaining,
he doesn’t offer a sermon on suffering,
or even tell us to just try harder.
he looks—
that look which recognizes how long
pain has been rolling our names
around in its mouth and on its tongue.
and he offers a word—
not a paragraph, not a scolding,
but an invitation,
to leave the age-long ache behind,
to return our self-help books,
to set aside our survival gear,
to let go that identity others imposed.
and in hospital rooms and churches,
in shelters and on our devices,
in the streets where cruelty
tries to beat down compassion,
in those lives where hope and fear
compete for breath,
the question lingers in the air.
and we wonder, as we often do,
dare we meet the question honestly
or just stick where life has put us,
while Jesus waits,
not tapping his foot
or glancing at his watch,
but simply looking to see
if we will choose fullness of life
rather than the futility of fear.

© 2026 Thom M. Shuman

Venmo: @Thom-Shuman