September 20th

“Be doers of the word, and not merely hearers who deceive themselves.” James 1:22

sorry, folks,
but the world has had
more than enough of our words.
we sing about grace,
while refusing to share it
with any who offend us.
we protest loudly for justice,
but build high walls around
our comfort zones.
sermon after sermon
speaks about compassion
and we drive past the wounded
as we travel home.
we celebrate inclusion with
flags, hymns, prayers, signs
but there is always someone
we won’t let into our circle.
so remember—
grace must serve meals,
mercy must walk our towns,
love must cross boundaries.
otherwise, the gospel becomes
only something we say, while
the broken, the forgotten,
the lonely, the silenced,
wait desperately for someone,
any one (!) to do the Word.

© 2026 Thom M. Shuman

Venmo: @ThomShuman

September 19th

“While Paul was waiting for them in Athens, he was deeply distressed to see that the city was full of idols.” Acts 17:16

so many things around us,
making us afraid to live without them—
boutiques and malls telling us
we need so much more stuff
technology which entices us
with newer, faster devices
politicians who warn us
we have to destroy ‘them’
social media which urges us
to know what everyone is doing
financial folks who warn us
we need more security
influencers who seduce us
with wanting more likes, more followers.
but what if we walked our streets
with Paul’s aching heart and
the compassionate eyes of Jesus—
might we discover, in the midst
of all those well-disguised idols
where the hunger for God
is hiding?

© 2026 Thom M. Shuman

Venmo: @Thom-Shuman

nmo: @ThomShuman

September 16th

“I had heard of you by the hearing of the ear, but now my eye sees you;” Job 42:5

so, so many people talking—
preachers and pundits,
politicians and podcasters,
neighbors and naysayers,
all absolute in knowing what
we need to hear about God.
but those who help us to see
God? almost an endangered species.
for God is seen
with the silent sufferers
not in all the shouting,
with those sharing mercy
not in those demanding judgment,
with those whose compassion
sees everyone as family
not as threats and enemies.
like Job,
we don’t need all the answers
but simply to open our eyes.
so may our prayer each day be,
‘shush the voices of all who are
rock stars at talking about you,
God among us,
and open our eyes so that
now, we finally see you
in all those places,
all those people,
we never noticed before.

(c) 2026 Thom M. Shuman

Venmo: @Thom-Shuman

September 15th

“Gladden the soul of your servant,
   for to you, O Lord, I lift up
   my soul.” Psalm 86:4

you gladden our souls—
with the cold, damp nose
that nuzzles our hand
until we surrender
to paws dancing on the floor,
to a leash stretched taut,
to puffs of breath like clouds
in the early dawn.
with the full moon
tiptoeing through the window
laying a silver path across
the rumpled quilt,
as if heaven forgot
to shut the door.
with that soft weight
of a sleeping child in our arms,
a hand pressed
against our heart,
as we breathe in
the scent of its trust.
gladden us
with such everyday miracles—
a swishing tail,
moonlight blanketing our partner,
the gentle breath of a sleeping child.
unannounced mercies
from your overflowing heart.

© 2026 Thom M. Shuman

Venmo: @ThomShuman

September 14th

“Look on all who are proud, and bring them low; tread down the wicked where they stand.” Job 40:12

we enjoy playing King of the mountain,
piling up our little hills of certainty
so we can look down at all
who are not like us
we make out lists
from headlines and hashtags,
rumors shared until we think
they must be the truth,
and those names we call
other people whenever
we become angry and scared.
from our high ground,
we can point at all of them—
the problems,
the sinners,
the fools,
the faithless.
and God waits beneath the smoke
of those bridges we burned,
hoping we will notice
our dirty hands
and that we no longer
stand on holy ground.
maybe the first step
toward justice is not
trying to climb higher
but coming down—
kneeling in that dust
where mercy always waits
for us to remember
we are only human.

(c( 2026 Thom M. Shuman

Venmo:@ThomShuman

September 13th

“The heavens are telling the glory of God,
   and the firmament proclaims his handiwork.” Psalm 19:1

once, we would lie
on our backs finding
wonderful shapes in the clouds
scudding across the sky—
now we are so glued
to our screens
we never notice the sky.
once,
we would laugh, shout, and
dance in the rain as it
soaked our clothes, us,
and all of our friends—
now, we grumble every time
the weather folks even
warn about the possibility
of showers.
once,
we would try to catch
as many snowflakes as
we could on our tongues
and then make angels
in the snow with each other—
now, we see only
the inconvenience of having
to shovel or fire up snowblowers.
perhaps the reason
we could care less about creation
is we no longer see it
through the eyes of
wonder and joy, wanting it
to last forever.

© 2026 Thom M. Shuman

Venmo: @ThomShuman

 

September 12th

“we have decided unanimously to choose representatives and send them to you, along with our beloved Barnabas and Paul,” Acts 15:25

for every well-known televangelist,
there is that neighbor
who goes around dropping
fresh vegetables on porches
because they grew too many
(intentionally)
for every famous author
who requires fees for
their book signings,
there is the volunteer
sitting in a quiet corner
of the library listening and
encouraging a child to read.
for every influencer who
has a spot on every platform,
there is that fellow using
his no-tech box full of tools
to tighten, fix, and spruce up
mobility devices at senior centers.
for every big name in any field,
there are those no-names
who are remembered because
they never wanted the spotlight,
but only to pass a gift on to
someone else no one knew.

(c) Thom M. Shuman

Venmo: @Thom-Shuman

September 11th

“When Mary came where Jesus was and saw him, she knelt at his feet and said to him, "Lord, if you had been here, my brother would not have died." John 10:32

it is the whisper of that grief
we carry which is too heavy to bear:
“Lord, if you had been here…”
whispered in the smoke and falling ashes,
carved in the bench in a backyard,
wrapped like a tefillin around our hearts
through years of war,
the reading of names
with silence after each,
the lowering of flags,
coffins and urns 

placed in sacred ground,
the lives divided into
before and after forever.
Jesus does not give a reason
or try to defend heaven’s silence
but simply draws near,
and maybe that is how
faith is rekindled—
not with answers, but
simply by the One who
steps into our weeping,
sits with us in hope’s ashes,
and will not leave us there.
one year, twenty-five, a lifetime—
we still remember,
and it may be that
God remembers as well,
not to rip off a scab,
but to keep reminding us
that sorrow does not
have that final word.

© 2026 Thom M. Shuman

Venmo: @ThomShuman

September 10th

“If I have withheld anything that the poor desired, or have caused the eyes of the widow to fail,” Job 31:16

i never realized it
came from old Job:
that apology we hear
all too often in our times—
“if I have yada yada yada”
in which the speaker makes clear
if there was any offense
or hurt, it was due to
the attitude of the injured,
not the speaker.
the hungry aren’t asking
for a banquet, just a
decent meal,
the widow simply wants us
to see the emptiness
of her life,
the forgotten would like us
to realize they have a name
which is not ‘get lost.’
in truth, others don’t want
some sort of
one-size-fits-all apology,
but people who are
as honest as Job in confronting
our failures in treating others
as we demand to be treated.

© 2026 Thom M. Shuman

Venmo: @ThomShuman

September 9th

“The night racks my bones, and the pain that gnaws me takes no rest.” Job 30:17

for some reason,
the platitudes and poems
never mention the sharp
teeth grief comes with—
it finds those tender spots
we thought we had hidden
and nibbles at the little
strength we try to husband.
that cottage industry
never tells one of how
our bones which ache—
from the memory of a kiss,
the fading sound of a laugh,
the feathery touch
of an imagined hand,
the whisper of that name
which makes the hollow space
even emptier,
are placed on the rack
as grief, slowly, gleefully
turns the wheel
we can’t explain it,
make peace with it,
or dress it up in those
comforting words of therapy
but only hope that God
sits with us,
in those restless hours
until, somehow—
morning comes.

(c) 2026 Thom M. Shuman

Venmo:@Thom-Shuman

September 8th

“As with a deadly wound in my body,
    my adversaries taunt me,
while they say to me continually,
    “Where is your God?” Psalm 42:10

like a stone thrown through
that window cracked by grief,
the world hurls the age-old
question to us every day.
and we search our sanctuaries,
we long for answers to show up,
we offer the well-worn platitude
that everything will turn out well.
but maybe
God is in that hand
reaching across the table
to the lonely curmudgeon,
in the stranger who listens
to us in the airplane,
in the children who would
stop believing in Santa Claus
before they give up on kindness,
in the weary single parent
who gets up every morning
and tries again.
e might not always
recognize God among us,
but wherever compassion
interrupts cruelty’s rants,
wherever folks with trembling
knees push back against hate,
wherever love will never
leave anyone behind—
God is already there,
waiting patiently for us.

(c) 2026 Thom M. Shuman

Venmo: @ThomShuman

September 7th

“Again the Jews were divided because of these words.” John 10:19

it still happens.
Jesus speaks—
and folks find themselves
standing on opposite sides
of the same words.
where one hears weakness,
another listens to mercy
where some hear threats,
others hear a warm welcome
where we might hear
the voice of the One
who gathers us like a
shepherd with wandering sheep,
there are those who build fences
to keep the scattered out
we all do it—
clutch his words like
weapons in our hands,
ignoring his longing for us
to lay down those stones
of course,
if we argue so much over
whose side Jesus is on,
we continue to forget
that he has on been on
the side where love
is trying to bridge
every divide.

(c) 2026 Thom M. Shuman

Venmo:@Thom-Shuman

September 6th

“No one after lighting a lamp puts it under the bushel basket, but on the lampstand, and it gives light to all in the house.” Matthew 5:15

may
we be

the spotlight
finding the nervous student
memorizing lines
for her first play—

the flashlight
illuminating the pages
for the refugee
learning the language
of a new country,
a new beginning;

the nightlight
glowing beside
the cancer patient
through the frightening
hours of treatment—

and may we also be
the small candle
left burning
in the window
for someone
who has forgotten
the way home.

may our light
never be
for ourselves alone—
but always
more light
for someone
walking through
the shadows.

(c) 2026 Thom M. Shuman

Venmo:@Thom-Shuman

September 5th

"Oh, that I knew where I might find him, that I might come even to his dwelling!” Job 23:3

we act as if you
play hide and seek,
in corners of places
we never think to look:
sermons
worship spaces,
answers we can hold.
when all the while
you are in the woman
helping to mop up
a flooded basement,
in the hands crafting
a playground where every
child can be welcomed,
in that man who gives up
his treasured cave
so a foster child has
their first room ever,
in that stranger becoming neighbor,
in that neighbor becoming friend,
in every small and stubborn
act of grace,
hope,
justice,
peace.
we keep looking for you
in all the wrong places,
while you wait
for us to simply
notice.

(c) 2026 Thom M. Shuman

Venmo:@Thom-Shuman

September 4th

“For I know that my Redeemer lives, and that at the last he will stand upon the earth; and after my skin has been thus destroyed, then in my flesh I shall see God,” Job 19:25-26

oh, how we hope
you are right, Job.
there are days when
we whisper it to ourselves,
and middle-of-the-nights
when the words catch
in our throats like a stone.
for grief manages to empty
the rooms inside our souls—
the laughter of others
echoing in places they
no longer inhabit.
still—
we hunger for hope,
not because we accept
why they are absent,
not because death finally
manages to make sense,
but because,
hidden away under
all the heartbreak,
the memories threatening
to slip from our minds,
the questions we tire of asking
and the platitudes the world offers,
especially the soul-eating silence—
we hear a faint heartbeat
that death cannot muffle.
and so, God of every broken heart,
meet us,
not after the tears stop,
not when we find the words,
not when the pictures begin to fade,
but here—
in the breaking of all
that we thought would never end,
until, somewhere, sometime,
somehow, we see Life
standing beside us,
making us whole once again.

(c) 2026 Thom M. Shuman

Venmo:@Thom-Shuman

September 3rd

"where then is my hope?
   Who will see my hope?" Job 17:15

it is there, folks.
in the classmates
who sit with the ones
everyone else mocks,
in that silly dog
who thinks every stranger
needs a sloppy kiss,
in the grandfather
explaining to the one
who will inherit his tools
how to best use them,

in every person who plants

seeds of grace, kindness,

justice, and peace in 

that garbage dump called

social media,
in the teacher who refuses
to believe that the new child
in her class deserves
the passed-on label ‘difficult’—
hope is there, folks,
every place
every day
every moment
every chance
every person

(c) 2026 Thom M. Shuman

Venmo:@Thom-Shuman

September 2nd

“my transgression would be sealed up in a bag, and you would cover over my iniquity.” Job 14:17

that person over there
looks like you would need
a bag from a vacuum
for all their foolish mistakes.
and the one next door
probably requires one of those
33-gallon heavy duty trash bags.
while ours, of course, would only
take the smallest zipper bag.
but lest we forget,
God doesn’t seem interested
in hiding our sins
where we can pretend
they never happened.
yet, the good news is that
our grudges, those words
we wish we had never said,
those small betrayals which
seemed to expand overnight
are gathered up, all of it,
all of us, gathered, held,
in God’s hands—
and, somehow,
they are not held
against us
forever.

(c) 2026 Thom M. Shuman

Venmo:@Thom-Shuman

September 1st

“Will you speak falsely for God, and speak deceitfully for him?” Job 13:7

where is the Job
for these times, when we
invoke God as if
hatred were holy,
cruelty were courage
fear was the new faith?
where is the voice
we need to hear
in these days,
as people try to wrap violence
in the garments of grace
and claim that our enemies
are the ones God despises as well?
perhaps faith, the faith we need
takes place when we close our mouths
long enough to let God speak
in the cry of the vulnerable,
the outsider in the community,
the frightened children—
and if we dare to listen,
we might realize that if
our faith needs hatred
to prove we are holy,
it may not be God
we keep defending.

(c) 2026 Thom M. Shuman

Venmo:@Thom-Shuman

August 31st

“I am a laughingstock to my friends; I, who called upon God and he answered me, a just and blameless man, I am a laughingstock.” Job 12:4

ah, Job, you knew
what it was like to speak truth
and hear laughter instead of listening.
we know it as well these days—
empathy being mocked as weakness,
kindness seen as naïve,
when cries for justice are dismissed
even before they are heard.
Still, Job, you remind us
that being ridiculed
does not diminish truth.
so may we not be too eager
to offer the easy laugh,
to make quick judgments,
to dismiss others from
the comfort of our certainty—
but let us listen,
especially to those whose pain
makes us squirm.
for it just might be
that the voice we laugh away
is the one God is using
to snap us out of our
self-perceived blamelessness.

(c) 2026 Thom M. Shuman

Venmo:@Thom-Shuman

August 30th

“You will lie down, and no one will make you afraid; many will entreat your favor.” Job 11:19

told whom to fear,
what to be afraid of,
who is coming after us,
who we must blame,
has become our new currency—
shared from screen to screen,
screed to screed,
street to street.
but if we dare to dig beneath
the bitterness and sound bites,
the outrage and never-ending quarrels,
we might just hear that ancient promise—
‘you will lie down
and no one can make you afraid.’
not because the world has shouted
‘olly, olly, oxen free,’
or that justice no longer matters,
but that we don’t give fear power
over how we choose to live.
this morning, every morning
this day, every day,
this night, every night
ay fear not have the last word,
as we live in courage,
we give away compassion,
we share in the quiet conviction
that we belong to one another—
and that God’s grace
is still wider than our fear.

(c) 2026 Thom M. Shuman

Venmo:@Thom-Shuman