Occasional, quirky, insightful, challenging observations on scripture, life, and prayer. If you would like to support this writing, please use PayPal link or Venmo @Thom-Shuman
“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.
“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.
“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.
“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.
“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.
“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.
“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.
