spittin' image (Easter Day)

we would have

no trouble

believing

if

your teachings had

been passed down,

each new generation

copying them down

from the blackboard

into their blue books;

your thoughts had

spawned a philosophy

which took up a

whole department

in the university;

your followers had

organized a political power

which threw the rascals

out of power;

but you . . .?

you turn to face

us,

a dead ringer

for our friend

laid in the grave,

scaring us

half

to life.

© 2010 Thom M. Shuman

tempted

Once he had been chosen, and led by the Spirit, Jesus entered the Wilderness Olympics. Enduring a spartan regimen during his training, he found himself always hungry.

At the opening ceremonies, the organizer, Mr. S. Atan, came up to him and said, 'if you are serious about going for the gold, the sponsors have laid out quite a spread in the athlete's area. You will find all sorts of epicurean delights.' Jesus looked him in the eye and replied, 'that is not what I hunger for.'

As the entrance of the athletes from all the nations began, one of the sponsors, Madame D'Evil, sat down next to Jesus. She leaned over and whispered in his ear, 'the highest honor of the games is to light the cauldron. You can have the privilege tonight, and the envy of all the athletes, if you will but sign this exclusive contract to be my spokesperson worldwide.'  Jesus got up from his seat, and as he passed her, he reminded her, 'have you forgotten Who my soul sponsor is?'

At the top of the mountain, as Jesus was waxing his skis, and visualizing the journey he must take in the coming moments, the head official of the race, Lucifer Abaddon, sidled up next to him. Looking out on the course, he promised Jesus, 'If you go throw yourself down the mountain, if you cut all the corners right, if you become reckless, I am sure that your coaches and trainers will make sure you don't suffer.' Not opening his eyes, Jesus calmly replied, 'don't tempt me to throw you down the mountain.'

Having tried everything they could, Jesus' adversaries left the wilderness, knowing that the Passover Olympics would be held in Jerusalem.

© 2010 Thom M. Shuman

yesterday

yesterday,

i stuffed myself

on pancakes and pleasure,

on chocolate and self-indulgence;

now,

empty me

of all those delicious desires

that make my life (and soul)

so heavy;

yesterday,

i put on that funny face

i call 'me'

and danced through the streets

of temptation and selfishness;

now,

draw me

into those quiet places

where you can reshape me

as your child;

yesterday,

i wore a costume

bejeweled with pride's glitter,

and rainbowed with my silly sins;

now,

clothe me

in prayer

and smudge my face

with your heart's tears;

yesterday,

i chased after the world

into death;

now,

lead me into life

this Lent.

(c) Thom M. Shuman

3 S's of Lent

One of the ways I unwind at the end of the day, is to watch the TV game 'Wheel of Fortune.' It is that show where the contestant tries to figure out the answer to an event, a place, a person, a phrase, by picking letters to fill in the blanks of the answer. If you watch it often enough, you can sometimes get a 'clue' as to what the answer might be depending on the day the game is broadcast, the city in which they are playing, the season of the year, and so on. For instance, when the show was in Boston recently, a lot of the answers had to do with Boston-related places, people, events.

So, if the game was being played today, and the puzzle had to do with an event, and the blanks were _ _ _  _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ and I was a contestant, I would probably choose the letter S to start the round, hoping that the answer is Ash Wednesday.

S is one of the key letters to understanding that puzzle we call Lent.  In the classic sense, it points us to the Self, to that sin, to that habit, to that way of life, to that burden we would like to get rid of during the journey with Jesus to Jerusalem. For most folks, it means some form of self-denial: trying to once again give up smoking, making that pledge to ignore all the chocolate that is conveniently placed at the checkout in the store, spending less time on the computer. For others, it may mean adding something to our daily life: ten minutes set aside for prayer; reading through the gospels each day; picking up a devotional book to read, rather than the latest romance or lurid thriller.

Whether we give up something for Lent, or take on something for the season, it still means making a Sacrifice. Unfortunately, the 'sacrifices' we make for Lent often turn out to be like those resolutions we make each January 1st - long on possibility but all so short on fulfillment.  I can give up chocolate (honest!), but of course, as you know, the Sundays of Lent are considered to be feast days not fast days, and so I can feast on chocolate that day, can't I? And Monday comes around and I am back where I started before Lent.

So, perhaps instead of thinking so much about myself and what I am sacrificing for the good of the cause, I should think more about others, about those who could use more than token gestures, but could use some practical help in their lives; about those who truly hunger, not go without a sugar fix; about those who could use the justice, the peace, the hope of God in their lives. Maybe I need to think less of Self, and more about Service.

It would only take me five minutes a day to write a short note to someone whom I know is hurting, lonely, grieving, afraid, to let them know I am thinking of them, and praying for them. Better yet, it would probably only take that long to make a phone call! It would only take a half-hour out of my day to tutor at a local school, the same amount of time I spend watching the 'wheel.' It would only take about 10 minutes and about $20 to go through the grocery store, fill up a bag with non-perishables and take it to the food pantry. It would only take my willingness, that's all.

S is one of the key letters to understanding this puzzle we call Lent.

This year I hope the answer, for me, is Service.

© 2010 Thom M. Shuman

Jesus calls us . . .

Once when Jesus was in Miami, a friend gave him tickets to the Super Bowl. It wasn't a bad seat, but the crowd was pressing in on him, hoping to hear a prediction about the game. He saw some of his friends he had grown up with, who were players on one of the teams. They invited him down to the sidelines, and sitting on the bench, he began to talk to those around him. As the game began the last 30 seconds, with his friends' team losing by 4 points, he went up to Peter and said, 'Tell the coach to run Zebra Wide 44 Deep Cross." Peter looked at him and said, 'We've run that play a dozen times today, and it never has worked.  But if you say so, I'll tell him."

Peter talked to the coach, was sent in with the play, and just as time ran out, the quarterback hit Peter in the end zone with the game winning touchdown.

As the team swarmed onto the field, and the fans began to celebrate, Peter came up to Jesus, handed him the  game ball, knelt down and said, 'Go away, Lord, for I am only a third string wide receiver!'  For all the coachs, analysts, reporters, and teammates were amazed at the catch Peter made.

Jesus took the ball, flipped it to a little girl standing at the edge of the crowd, and said, 'Don't be scared, Pete. From now on you'll be catching people.'

When they left the locker room, Peter and his teammates left the trophy behind and followed.

(c) 2009 Thom M. Shuman

Try this for 14 days

I would imagine that most of us, if pressed, could say what the first commandment is: to have no other gods before the one God. And though pressed from every side, every day, almost every moment by those little gods who want to control our lives (money, fame, power, desire, you-name-your-own-little-god), we try to listen to, to obey, to serve the one God.

If we have spent any time in church school or in worship, I daresay most of us could even come up with what Jesus refers to as the greatest commandment, that in recognizing God as the one true God, we will love God with all our heart, our soul, our mind, our strength. As an observant Jew, Jesus knew this truth by heart, for the opening words make up the Shema, the great confession of the ancient Hebrews, which is contained in the mezzuzahs at the entry doors of Jews today, which is found in the tefillim worn by observant Jews of our time.

We also know the companion, the commandment which is equal in greatness to the first in Jesus' view, that we are to love our neighbors as we love ourselves. We know the wisdom, we know the truth of the power, the importance, the transformative grace of living out these two 'greatest' commandments, even as we know our inability to honor them, the easy way we put them on that shelf marked 'insignificant,' the graceless ways we treat our neighbors, the harmful attitudes we have towards ourselves.

What about that challenge, that phrase, that charge which is given over and over again to person after person in the Bible, that edict which is one of those scarlet threads which is woven throughout the tapestry of God's story with us?  It is spoken to almost every prophet, it is whispered into the ears of Mary, it is sung by the angels in the night sky.

We get up in the morning, knowing that when we walk into the boss's office that this may be the day we hear that dreaded word of downsizing, and we slip our feet into loafers of fear, ignoring the shoes of peace the Spirit offers to us. We head down the corridor of the hospital towards the room where we will be hooked up, one more time, to those tubes of poison the doctors hope will cure us, wrapped tight in the shawl of fear, forgetting that it is God who has promised to be our shadow through such valleys. We head off to school, clinging tight to the hand of despair, ready to endure the stares, the laughter, the whispers behind the hands from all who know that we got dumped over the weekend, not noticing Jesus tagging along behind us, ready to be our best friend.

The most frequent commandment given in scripture is so simple, so plain: 'do not be afraid.' And it is so hard to practice, so hard to model, so hard to live.

© 2010 Thom M. Shuman

jsut like the poet . . .

It was a gray, wintry day in Boston. Dark clouds scudded across the sky, while shards of ice shaped like tears pummeled the people running down the sidewalks. Men gripped their hats, clasping them tight to their skulls, while the secretaries from the office building across the way, held their coats together, trying to signal for a taxi.

Spenser turned from the scene outside his window as Hawk walked in, carrying a box of fresh crullers.  Setting them on the desk, he took one and, after pouring himself a cup of coffee, sat down on the couch, where Pearl was curled up, chasing squirrels in her sleep.

'You heard?' Spenser asked. Hawk nodded impassively, 'Yeah. Don't suppose the twittering masses got it wrong, do you?'  'I wish,' Spenser replied, taking a bite and brushing crumbs off his shirt, 'but it doesn't look good.' 'You told Susan yet?' Hawk asked, already knowing the answer by the look in Spenser's eyes. 'She took it hard, she always had a soft spot for the guy.'  'He had a way with words, I'll give him that,' said Hawk, running his hand over his cleanly shaved head.

Just then, Quirk came through the door, his footstep heavy, his face gray with fatigue.  'Thought I'd find you both here.' Spenser nodded at the coffee pot, and pushed the box of crullers towards Boston's finest.

'So,' the ex-boxer asked the policeman, 'anything Hawk and I need to look into about this?' 'No,' replied the captain, hanging his cashmere coat carefully on the rack.

'It looks like he died of a heart attack.  He and his wife had breakfast, she went for her walk, came back an hour later and found him slumped at his writing desk.'

'Just like he would have wanted,' murmured Hawk, as Pearl put her head on his lap, looking up at him with mournful eyes.

'Yeah,' said the hardboiled Spenser, as he gazed once more out the window, looking up at the sky, remembering - and hoping it was the rain that was blurring his vision.

(c) 2010 Thom M. Shuman

(Robert B. Parker, prolific author and creator of one of the best duos - Spenser and Hawk - in detective writing since Holmes and Watson died suddenly on January 19, 2010)

coloring books and crayons

We stood in the hallway of the church, me heading to my office to demystify myself, she putting on her coat, getting ready to head out into the bitter day. So, we had one of those hallway conversations folks often have, as their minds are traveling in one direction, hoping this brief stop wouldn't slow either one of us down too much.

I asked how her Christmas had been and she asked about mine. We had gone up to Columbus to see Teddy, to go out for our now Traditional (once is a happenstance, twice becomes a tradition in my denomination) Christmas repast at the Waffle House, indulging in the major food group known as sugar. She had spent the holy day with her cat, but was off to a relative's house in the afternoon where she would be immersed in a pool of 40 some relatives.

We both bemoaned the commercialism, the overindulgence of children and grandchildren who end up with a ton of presents, the toys that get broken so quickly and easily and end up out on the curb the week after the holiday. And we both recalled how, as kids, sometimes the biggest excitement in the neighborhood came when someone had a major appliance delivered to their house, and the empty cardboard box was set out by the curb, and was immediately turned into an airplane, pirate ship, mansion, truck, whatever and wherever our imagination would take us.

That's when she mentioned the fact that when she was growing up, in a family with 12 kids in it, there were no individual gifts presented at Christmas, but there was a group gift for all the kids - a board game, a puzzle, a book, something to be shared by all. And then, with the memory glittering in her eyes, she told me about the Christmas when her six sisters were all adults, and she gave each of them her very own coloring book and box of crayons. A gift that they would never have had as a child, a memory they shared from their childhood, a surprise they never expected now that they were all grown up. "Oh, I wish you could have seen the looks on their faces when they opened those presents," she said.

No need; I saw her face.

(c) 2009 Thom M. Shuman

Christmas Day

Please read Luke 2:6-7

you could have

come

as warrior, ready

to take us on

one at a time

or en masse . . .

you could have

come

a whirlwind

swirling, twirling,

twisting around us,

flinging us up into

the air . . .

you could have

come

with a bag of

chocolates

in one hand

and

a time-out chair

in the other;

you came

a tiny

vulnerable

baby

lungs screaming for

life,

fingers grasping for

something to hold onto,

your whole being

completely depending on

us (!) to

feed you

change you

clothe you

protect you

love you

and we were

gob-smacked.

(c) 2009 Thom M. Shuman

Christmas Eve

Please read Luke 11:5-13

in the rustle of children

shaking presents,

in the hustle of kittens

scrambling up trees,

you stealthily tunnel

your way under the

flooring;

tossing all the traditional

marches in the shredder,

you collaborate

with the choir director,

composing a simple

oratorio for this night,

stressing that 'the tenors

are going to have to

reach that high note'

cup in hand,

you worm your way

through the office party,

touching us on the

shoulder,

subtly cracking the

combinations

of our frozen hearts,

to slip the still warm

loaves inside.

come,

Saboteur of our weary years,

bringing the Gift we need.

(c) 2009 Thom M. Shuman

Fourth Wednesday of Advent

Please read Psalm 139:1-18

not a problem!

i am doing great!

everything is smashing!

life is just one ! after another !

count on it!

yet,

in the night,

when the shadows creak

across the floor

and the ice pelts the windows

like fingernails tap

tap, tapping,

those pesky ?s

reach out from

under the bed

pulling the warm comfort

off of me;

i've pulled myself

up by the flip flops,

i've climbed the highest

obstacles,

i've faced down every

one who got in my way,

i've won the race

fini

end of story

.

but sometimes

life comes to a full

stop,

the glyphs mount up

diacritically

spacing my life out

until there seems

to be no space left

for me to breathe . . .

so come,

Ink Slinger,

your fingers smudged

for all time

as you write our names

in your book.

(c) 2009 Thom M. Shuman

Fourth Tuesday of Advent

Please read John 1:1-14

one

word

to gather up

all our silence,

weaving our hopes, our fears,

our longings, our ponderings

into a carol of wonder;

one

light

to pierce the shadowed

corners

of our lives, revealing

the One who sits quietly

in the rocker,

eager to gather us up

and tell us the end

of the story;

one

grace

to turn us away

from the steamy

ugliness

we glimpse in the

mirror each morning,

so we can see

face-to-face

our twin;

come,

One and Only,

come for us all.

(c) 2009 Thom M. Shuman

Fourth Monday of Advent

Please read John 10:7-16

you come,

removing that rusted

hanging-on-one-hinge

gate

which keeps any one

from stealing our heart,

and replace it with

you,

who opens

our way to God;

you come,

not for a fancy salary,

a gold watch or

a stock-portfolioed pension

but out of love,

your gentle goodness

stretched out on

roughened wood

so we might be

marked

as your beloved;

you come,

not for a precious few

but for all the

impoverished;

not just for those who know better

but for all the

forgotten;

not just for the insiders,

but for all the outcast,

the oppressed,

the searchers;

not just for those who never stray,

but for all who

have taken different

paths.

so come,

Tender Shepherd,

come.

(c) 2009 Thom M. Shuman

Fourth Sunday of Advent

Please read Micah 5:2-5a

you would come,

caulk gun in hand

to mend all the cracks

in our lives;

you would come,

flashlight in hand

to search all the nooks

and crannies

where the marginalized

have been shoved

out of sight,

out of mind;

you would come,

bouquet in hand

to freshen our hopes

with the sweet aroma

of peace;

you would come,

bolt cutters in hand

to snap open

the padlocks we

have secured to

our gated hearts;

you will come,

Babe of Bethlehem,

to take us by the hand

and lead us home?

(c) 2009 Thom M. Shuman

Third Saturday of Advent

Please read Psalm 121

removing our shoes

ready to slip into

our old, scuffed slippers

of comfortable apathy,

may we be consumed

by the white fire of

compassion

which dawned in the

Christmas sky;

slip-sliding down

the stony slopes of

heaped-with-failed-promises

mountains of sin,

may we be caught

by the Word of love,

cradled forever in

the manger of grace;

wandering down the

streets of exiled loneliness,

taunted by those who

laugh as we cling tightly

to the heirloom of trust

handed down to us,

may we be gathered

up in your arms of hope,

carried to worship

the newborn Child.

come,

Keeper of our hearts,

come.

(c) 2009 Thom M. Shuman

Third Friday of Advent

Please read Luke 2:46-55

stuck in the middle

of the paper this morning,

the slicks announce

another black friday sale

(the third this shopping

season, i think, but

who knows),

while the front page tells

of a single father searching

for coats to protect his kids

from poverty's chill;

the tour buses are packed

taking folks from the visitor's

center right up to the very

edge

of that grand canyon

which pushes the have-a-lots

and the have-nots

further and further

from one another;

more children die each day

from starvation

than from any act of

terrorism,

but we continue to gorge

ourselves at fear's table,

piling more and more

security on our plates;

so come,

Mary's Son,

come

using your mother's song

to transform our lives,

as surely as it did yours.

(c) 2009 Thom M. Shuman

Third Thursday of Advent

Please read John 15:12-17

each day as

i watch the two little

girls wander down the street,

their heads so close

their hair seems braided together,

their hopes conjoined

as they whisper their deepest

souls to each other,

i long for you

so come

to clean the silliness-stained

glass of my life

til i become utterly

transparent to

you;

come

gathering up the ashes

of my tears

pottering them into

the apple of your

eye;

come

turning me outside-in

inside-out

so you can write

your name

on my heart;

come,

Anam Cara,

come.

(c) 2009 Thom M. Shuman

Third Wednesday of Advent

Please read John 15:9-11

watching Matthew

writing down every word,

you gently whisper

in his ear,

'don't forget i said

there is a sin line between

heaven and hell';

handing around the box

of hanukkah crackers,

you hold one out to Bart,

and fall down laughing at

the look on his face

when it popped into

a shower

of stars;

you spent all morning

in the kitchen measuring, stirring,

baking the cake,

so you could watch

the epiphany of your friends,

as they tore into

their slices, hoping

to find one of the gifts

of frankincense, gold

and myrrh;

gathering the disciples around,

you sat down and said,

'a Pharisee, a scribe, and a

Sadducee walk into

a bar . . .'

come,

Court Jester,

come to take our hands

and make our dance of

joy complete.

(c) 2009 Thom M. Shuman

Third Tuesday of Advent

Please read Psalm 1

as the foam-crested waves

played tag,

running up to my toes

clenched tightly in the sand,

and then dashing back,

i stood mesmerized,

looking around for

someone

to take my hand and

give me courage;

so come.

sitting in the

tub,

my little boat bobbing

on the knee induced waves

i would listen longingly

for footsteps to come

down the hall,

book in hand

to read me a

sherlock story;

so come.

scraped, stacked, soaked

i swish the cloth over,

under, and around each dish,

pan, and utensil,

ducking them under the

rinsing waves before

lining them up in the

drainer in proper order,

wondering if someone

will come, take the towel

off my shoulder, saying,

'let me give you a hand';

so come,

Living Water,

come to be with, in,

around, over, through me,

come.

(c) 2009 Thom M. Shuman

Third Monday of Advent

Please read Luke 22:14-20

come,

Grain of gentleness,

feed us on that simple

loaf made glory by

the yeast of your love,

so we might laugh

in delight

as we gorge ourselves

on your joy;

come,

Grail of grace:

fill our empty souls

with that spirit of

generosity and spontaneity,

so we might pour

ourselves out for those

who sit beside the

dusty wells of hope;

come,

Chief Cook and Bottle Washer:

pushing tables together

so each may have a seat,

bringing out dish after dish

of wondrous delight,

yelling back over your

shoulder,

'better put another fatted calf

on the grill!'

come!

(c) 2009 Thom M. Shuman