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