Fifth Sunday in Lent

“Now go, and I will be with your mouth and teach you what you are to speak." Exodus 4:12

if you wanted eloquence or
those polished influencers,
surely you wouldn’t turn to us?
yet, in these days when leaders
seem to think truth is an obscenity
and nations are under fear’s rabble,
when sirens sing compline at night
and breaking news offers names
the world would rather ignore—
you are foolish enough
to lean close to those who have trouble
getting words from mind to mouth,
to those kneeling to trace doubt in dust.
and all you have to offer
is not memorized speeches,
or well-rehearsed sound bites,
but that word which stutters
as it dares proclaim grace
in the corridors of power.
so, even if we are not ready
especially if we are not ready,
let us dare to open our mouths
so that the Holy One can speak
through our ragged breath,
for the breaking of this
already wounded world.

© 2026 Thom M. Shuman

Venmo: @Thom-Shuman

Fifth Saturday in Lent

“When the LORD saw that he had turned aside to see, God called to him out of the bush, ‘Moses, Moses!’ And he said, ‘Here I am.’" Exodus 3:4

in the waiting room
where parents hold hands
a bush flickers in the corner.
in hallways of schools where
question smolder just under
the ashes of apathy,
a bush blazes in a locker.
in those streets where justice
crackles with hope
while we do our best
to simply bypass those places,
bushes by the side of the road
are ready to ignite—
for there in all the ordinary
moments and places and people,
God waits,
not in wildfires of destruction
but in the embers which
refuse to die out.
and through the pings
on our computers and the
vibrations on our phones,
we are called to turn aside
slipping our feet out of
our apathy as well as fear.
not because the ground has changed
but because we dare to.
and barefoot on holy ground,
we just might hear our names
whispered
just as they always have been
until we are finally ready to answer.

© 2026 Thom M. Shuman

Venmo: @Thom-Shuman

Fifth Friday in Lent

 "Now you are the body of Christ and individually members of it.” 1 Corinthians 12:27

thankfully
you don’t sculpt marble saints
which collect dust on shelves,
but you craft bruised bread,
to be passed from shaky hands
to those who hunger for hope.
we are gathered,
not just in stained glass light
but scattered—
to midnight bus stops
and early morning surgeries,
in long lines to board planes
and kitchens in war-torn areas
where grief helps set the tables.
we are the body—
risking to listen longer than is easy
forgiving more deeply than deserved,
standing where love might cost everything,
and where grace is a rumor.
we are the hands willing to touch
the wounds others won’t
we are the feet walking
with the forgotten
down lonely streets,
we are the arms welcoming
every unseen stranger,
we are the hearts which wait
in fear’s shadows with little kids,
we are the minds which think
of others before ourselves.
God knows we are not perfect
but stitches together our
fragile, unfinished lives,
so we can become grace
for a world which has no idea
it might bring the healing it needs.

© 2026 Thom M. Shuman

Venmo: @Thom-Shuman



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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