First Thursday in Lent

Though the fig tree does not blossom,
and no fruit is on the vines;
though the produce of the olive fails
and the fields yield no food;
though the flock is cut off from the fold
and there is no herd in the stalls,
yet I will rejoice in the LORD;
I will exult in the God of my salvation. Habakkuk 3:17-18

though hope withers in our streets
and the leaves of grace
curl in on themselves,
though our mornings are numbed
with wars, and storms, and children
struggling to cross hunger’s border—
still, you are here
Planter of quiet seeds.
when our pensions fall like temperatures,
when despair stitches our nights,
when grief refuses to take the hint
and get up and leave from our rooms,
and justice is rationed like famine’s bread—
still, we turn to you,
leaning like sunflowers to light.
for you do not walk away
from drought-scarred fields
nor hold your words as
you walk in the dust of dreams
you are the faint heartbeat
which stirs the ashes of life,
that whisper with a stronger life
than angry shouts.
so, until life returns,
we will sing with hoarse voices,
we will dance on uneven ground,
we will dig furrows in fields of fear
planting small seeds of mercy,
Joy which is present even
when the world says you have left,
remembering that you
are that harvest we are always
waiting for.

(c) 2026 Thom M. Shuman

Venmo: @Thom-Shuman

Ash Wednesday

it is as if it is too shy
to want more attention—
smaller than you thought,
a smudge someone might mistake
as dirt from working in the garden,
or a playful mark from a child.
as you go through the day,
you might forget it is there
until you see someone’s eyes
turn soft as they notice,
the fast-food clerk pauses,
compassion touches you in
the simple silence of a stranger.
you see, ash remembers what
we think we can dismiss—
that in our ending is our beginning,
that even all the good we tried
to do will dissolve into dust.
ash also remembers the fire
of love, burning bright enough
so this trace can help us
to remember.as those ancient
words confront us once again:
we will return.
it is not a threat, but the promise
that nothing given in love
ever goes to waste
this day is not about shame,
but honesty marking our souls,
standing still just long enough
to admit that while fragile
we are beloved above all else.
it will disappear,
a quick mix of soap and water,
a soft cloth, and . . .
but the softer soul,
the silent heart
that whisper of love
reminds us of how dust
is always cradled
in the hands of grace.

© 2026 Thom M. Shuman

Venmo: @Thom-Shuman

February 17th

“Yet whatever gains I had, these I have come to regard as loss because of Christ. More than that, I regard everything as loss because of the surpassing value of knowing Christ Jesus my Lord. For his sake I have suffered the loss of all things, and I regard them as rubbish, in order that I may gain Christ.” Philippians 3:7-8

they are like heirlooms
i collected over the years—
achievements and honors,
titles before and letters after my name,
the applause from others (but
hoping for a standing ovation).
they were my portfolio
my security blanket
they gave me my credibility.
then
you picked up my ledger
where I had recorded each one,
tearing each page out and
putting them into the shredder.
for you measure me
by the simple standard of mercy
your calculator is based more
on grace than any so-called gains.
so—
put the trophies into recycling,
erase the old names like chalk,
for in losing,
i find your heart much closer,
in letting go,
i hold what i will never lose.
everything we call treasure
is valueless compared to you,
as i discover the joy
of losing all i once held dear
as cradle me in your love.

© 2026 Thom M. Shuman

Venmo: @Thom-Shuman

February 16th

“God has taken his place in the divine council;
     in the midst of the gods he holds judgment:
‘How long will you judge unjustly
     and show partiality to the wicked?’” Psalm 82:1-2

they long to be our idols,
those tiny gods who want
to capitalize their names—
the hot breath of angry mouths
would seek to move over
the living waters of hope
until they become boiling springs
of bitterness,
the false messiah calls
the uber rich and those
who gorge on power and
want another helping to follow
down the roads where potholes
never appear and trash is always
picked up before it hits the curb,
the dragon sheds its scales
of lies and boasts, in hopes
they will cover the dust from which
life focused on empathy and
seeking justice for others was shaped.
and we look around wondering
where we might find
an emergency room
for our souls.

© 2026 Thom M. Shuman

Venmo: @Thom-Shuman

Transfiguration

“Then he said to them all, ‘If any want to become my followers, let them deny themselves and take up their cross daily and follow me.’” Luke 9:23

unfortunately (for us),
it is not on that comfortable
shine-Jesus-shine mountaintop,
where we are challenged
to live out that faith which costs
us more than we think we have—
but in the valleys where grief runs
not burbling streams of joy,
in the hospital rooms where
we bathe the faces of loved ones,
in the streets where the forgotten
live in the shadows of loneliness.
unfortunately (for us),
it is not the chocolate, fast-food,
lack of exercise, or other such
trivial excesses we are asked to deny,
but our privilege which masks
complete indifference to injustice,
our self-righteousness which
covers-up our hoarding of grace,
our refusal to see God in the face
of those we look at through fear—
those are the crosses we are offered.
fortunately, for us, Jesus shows us
how it is done, if we dare but
follow.

© 2026 Thom M. Shuman

Venmo: @Thom-Shuman

February 14th

“Now when Jacob saw Rachel, the daughter of his mother's brother Laban, and the sheep of his mother's brother Laban, Jacob went up and rolled the stone from the well's mouth, and watered the flock of his mother's brother Laban.” Genesis 29:1-10

somewhere, a little child
longs for someone to roll
away the stone of past due
envelopes on dusty tables
so joy might run free.
somewhere,
an immigrant needs the stone
shadows of fear and angry words
to be pushed aside so justice
can glimpse their face and welcome them.
somewhere, a weary widow
leans against the stone carved
from the hollowness of not needed clothes,
wondering if anyone will sculpt it
into hope which will call their name.
and so, God of where grace meets
the parched throats of pilgrims,
send us as stone removers—
compassion strengthening our backs,
grace callousing our hands—
until every well is opened
and every thirsty soul drinks
from the well spring of your love.

© 2026 Thom M. Shuman

Venmo: @Thom-Shuman

February 13th

“Then Jacob woke from his sleep and said, "Surely the LORD is in this place — and I did not know it!" Genesis 28:16

from the slipping out of bed,
grabbing the coffee,
checking notifications,
stepping into the day of sirens,
lights flashing their commands,
emails demanding answers,
we whisper, ‘just another day
in just another place.’
but grace waits
in that doorway we rush past,
in the immigrant we dismiss,
in the silence we try to put at ease.
and
in the slow moving lane going home,
on sidewalks covered with ice
or beaches too hot to walk on,
in cities overwhelmed by fear’s grief
and in those houses where ache
quietly closes the drapes—
we find the Holy right beside us.
for like great-great-great grandpa Jacob,
we blink rapidly at the light
hidden in plain people
in even plainer places—
in her breath, his heartbeat,
the world’s brokenness—
and we whisper in shock,
‘wow! God is here,’
and we never notice as we
sleepwalk through life.

© 2026 Thom M. Shuman

Venmo: @Thom-Shuman