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