Sixth Wednesday in Lent

“You yourselves are our letter, written on our hearts, to be known and read by all; and you show that you are a letter of Christ, prepared by us, written not with ink but with the Spirit of the living God, not on tablets of stone but on tablets of human hearts." 2 Corinthians 3:2-3

five weeks later,
those ashes which brought us
face to face with our mortality
have been forgotten,
left behind with the dust
in the worship space,
brushed off our foreheads
to drift in the wind as we
left that sacred moment.
but you were busy,
coming behind us with
a soft broom and dustpan,
gathering up those tiny bits
of grace which no longer
mean anything to us, and
sitting at your desk and
mixing them with your tears,
you write grace, hope, peace,
justice, welcome, joy, and life
on our souls and hearts, so
we might become your
love letters to those who
look in their mailbox every day
only to find it empty.

© 2026 Thom M. Shuman

Venmo: @Thom-Shuman

Fifth Tuesday in Lent

“I sought the LORD, and he answered me,

   and delivered me from all my fears.
Look to him, and be radiant;
   so your faces shall never be ashamed.
This poor soul cried, and was heard by the LORD,
   and was saved from every trouble." Psalm 34:4-6

i walked the streets
trying to find someone
who knew what i was
going through these days
but figured the homeless
veteran sitting in the doorway
would not have any wisdom.
i wandered through the day
the shadow of my worries
trailing behind me, as i longed
to find that joy i dropped
somewhere earlier, but never
noticed the golden retriever
with the goofy smile trembling
to be my faithful friend.
i sat at the bus stop
muttering disjointed words
and snippets of song which
echoed my soul’s pain,
and the little lady next
to me smiled, and whispered,
‘it will be okay, hon’ and held
my hand all the way until
i reached my corner, three
stops past where she
usually got off

© Thom M. Shuman

Venmo: @Thom-Shuman

Fifth Monday in Lent

“Now go, and I will be with your mouth and teach you what you are to speak." But he said, "O my Lord, please send someone else." Exodus 4:12-13

you whisper,
don’t worry, I’m a pretty
good ventriloquist—
i know all the words you need.
but we have opened that
Old Book too often to know
what happens to folks who
agree to let you be their mouth.
as soon as you promise words,
we just grab hold of silence
because it seems a lot safer
than nodding our head in assent.
after all, there are a lot of folks
who are far more daring,
whose native tongue is courage,
whose voice doesn’t crack
like a teenage calling for a date.
but
you just keep at it,
lingering, nudging, not
willing to withdraw, but simply
waiting within our fears
as if our persistent reluctance
might just be the place
which will give birth
to your voice.

© 2026 Thom M. Shuman

Venmo: @Thom-Shuman

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