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
“Go therefore and make disciples of all nations, baptizing them in the name of the Father and of the Son and of the Holy Spirit ,” Matthew 28:19
today may we realize you are not a puzzle to solve, but that relationship always reaching out to embrace us. you shaped galaxies with a lullaby and still kneel in the muck of our lives, planting hope you walked on dusty roads to death and still sit with us at gravesides, graduations, and diner booths. you moved upon waters breathing life and still dance through locked doors three voices, harmonizing as one, three personas, one grace to hold us. and the mystery we never need to solve— before we ever needed to search for you, you were already swaddling us in love creating us, in love redeeming us, in love breathing through us now and forever.
“Lord, you have been our dwelling place in all generations.” Psalm 90:1
long before wiggly kids sit on floors and ‘holy, holy’ rises to the sky, long before preachers stammer to unravel your tangled Mystery and bystanders listen with glazed ears— you are here. home to stardust and soft breaths abode for all who don’t know we are lost, open door for every moment of grief and joy, you sheltered our ancestors in grace, held our grief through empty nights, listened to every unformed prayer. tonight we rest on those clues which are scattered around us— love which will not step aside when hate strolls into life, love which walks with all who wander grief’s shadows, love which breathes through us to bring justice to the forgotten. and as evening draws near, we come home again— not to roofs or walls or floors, but to you.
"Let them curse, but you will bless." Psalm 109:28a
they store up their grudges to pile them onto my weary soul, but you fill me with grace so it might overflow into the lives who need it. they learn as many new profanities as they can, especially in other languages, but you teach me the language of love, so each may hear it without needing an interpreter. they mock us, seeing others as nothing but trash tossed out of a car, but we are the heirlooms of hope, justice, and welcome you would share with others.
“Where can I go from your spirit? Or where can I flee from your presence? Psalm 139:7
in that dimly lit pub where we hope no one knows our name, you hand us a pint, and wiping down the bar, you stand, in the silence, just in case . . . we sit on the bench in the shadows of the trees at the cemetery, so you pause and lean on the rake, gazing with us at our love’s marker, just in case . . . as we trudge down the side of death’s dusty road, you pull up beside us, open the door, and offer us a ride, just in case . . . whenever, wherever, however we are convinced that we can make it on our own, you show up just in case . . .
“Thorns and snares are in the way of the perverse; the cautious will keep far from them.” Proverbs 22:5
words sharpened by snark, headlines which never end, promises which lose their glitter leaving splinters in our souls, how crowded are the avenues of our lives, O God— these are the thorns we feel in our impatience. and yet, you show us other paths to follow— walking just a bit slower, taking time to listen (deeply), taking on compassion as our guide on this pilgrimage while anger tries to shove us off so keep a watch over us, Gentle God, opening our hearts to kindness, making us wise enough to recognize every pitfall, and gracious enough to pick the paths which lead toward love, justice, hope, peace, you.
“The beginning of strife is like letting out water; so stop before the quarrel breaks out.” Proverbs 17:14
it is just an annoying drip at first, not falling that often or so loud that we can’t sleep— but then the off-the-cuff thought a friend tossed in our direction, that rudeness of a stranger while we were waiting in line (rather patiently, i thought), a cold stare the lover gave when we had hoped for passion and suddenly the drips start falling faster, the noise slowly slides like a trombone into a din, our hearts begin to beat faster, our blood pressure rises, our anger is fueled by hurt and a friendship a community a love is swept away simply because we refused to turn off the drip when it first plopped into our hearts.
“Better is a dinner of vegetables where love is than a fatted ox and hatred with it.” Proverbs 15:17
me? i would rather share a bowl of soup around a scarred kitchen table where stories and laughter are louder than the kettle’s whistle than sit at the head table of a gold-trimmed ballroom where cruelty is sharper than any knife. because love isn’t plated on plenty but in torn bread shared, in the quiet ‘how are you, really?' in the hand resting on the grief of the silent person next to them. which is why Wisdom advises us to find the table where grace still is served, to enjoy that simple meal crafted from need, to gather with those whose kindness outshines their imperfections, and where mercy, inclusion, love is more than enough to make even the smallest portion a banquet for those starving for community.
“The LORD does not let the righteous go hungry, but he thwarts the craving of the wicked.” Proverbs 10:3
in this time of empty shelves and overfull portfolios, of news which feeds on hunger and tables reserved by fear, may it be enough that you move among us like food passed hand to hand. you will not forget all who rise tucking hope into weary souls, who weave together meals and prayers and wrap others with this faith. you know that hunger which lies below physical hunger— for hope, for grace, for someone to notice or listen or just be. as you discomfort all who consume without seeing, gather without sharing, confuse possessions for peace, may we learn your economy of grace— opening our hands to outsiders, trusting that enough is holy, believing that your abundance was never meant only for our tables.
