lament for the Gulf

the silence in the coastal communities

    is almost deafening,

as shrimp boats lie still in

    the harbor waters,

the nets on fishing trawlers wave gently

        in the soft breeze,

    the crews standing on the docks

            staring into the hopeless

                future,

    their livelihoods snatched away

        when Leviathan slipped off

        the hook set for him

            in the deep sea.

the marshlands

    echo with the cries of

        the egret and heron,

        the pelican and seagull,

           who find their sheltered

                home

            a dumping station

                    for human greed;

the turtle with its young

    plods slowly along,

    knowing they cannot outrun

        terror's tide about

        to sweep over them.

your heart is over the waters,

    Tender God,

        broken,

            aching,

                weeping,

                    longing,

        your keening voice

    joining the antiphonal

    soundings of the whales

        from the depths of despair.

(c) 2010  Thom M. Shuman

the kingdom of God is like . . .

A reading from Revelation 23:

Then I saw a new game on a new day, for yesterday's game was over, relegated to the stat books forever.  And I heard a loud voice from the press box announcing, "See, the place of God is among the fans. God will wipe away the tears when the team loses, regrets and recrimination will be no more, all time has ceased in this place, for the past season has passed away. "

The one of the four umpires, who had the bags containing the game balls came and said to me, "Come, I will show you the line-up cards for this game." And he carried me to the dugouts, showing me the holy city the Ballpark, coming down out of heaven from God.

It has the glory of blue skies, with bright sun shining down upon the players and fans, with a radiance like a very rare jewel, an emerald clear as crystal. It has high walls around the outfield, with lower walls where the tribes of the teams sit to watch the game.  The walls are inscribed with the jerseys of former players who have gone through the great ordeal of playoffs, emerging with clean uniforms.

The angel who talked to me had a measuring rod of gold to measure the dimensions of the field: left field is 328', with the power alley stretching 379'; dead center is 404' from home plate, with the right field power alley is 370' and the right field wall is 325'. The ballpark has entrance gates which allow the fans to enter from all directions. Then the angel showed me the sweet nectar of heaven being dispensed from the taps at the concession stands, with manna from heaven (red hots with sauerkraut, pizza, popcorn and cracker jack) available to all the fans.

And the one who was seated behind home plate said, 'See, I am making all games new. Write this, for these words are trustworthy and true. When you strike out swinging, you get another chance in your next at bat; when you are charged with an error, you have an opportunity the next time the ball is hit to you; if you lose every game in every season, I will still be your God and you will be my team."

Then, with a bite of the bratwurst slathered with mustard and topped with kraut and a sip of his cold brew, God settled back in the seat, hollering at the ump, "you call that a strike!?  Are you serious, or just delirious?"

(c) 2010 Thom M. Shuman

spittin' image (Easter Day)

we would have

no trouble

believing

if

your teachings had

been passed down,

each new generation

copying them down

from the blackboard

into their blue books;

your thoughts had

spawned a philosophy

which took up a

whole department

in the university;

your followers had

organized a political power

which threw the rascals

out of power;

but you . . .?

you turn to face

us,

a dead ringer

for our friend

laid in the grave,

scaring us

half

to life.

© 2010 Thom M. Shuman

tempted

Once he had been chosen, and led by the Spirit, Jesus entered the Wilderness Olympics. Enduring a spartan regimen during his training, he found himself always hungry.

At the opening ceremonies, the organizer, Mr. S. Atan, came up to him and said, 'if you are serious about going for the gold, the sponsors have laid out quite a spread in the athlete's area. You will find all sorts of epicurean delights.' Jesus looked him in the eye and replied, 'that is not what I hunger for.'

As the entrance of the athletes from all the nations began, one of the sponsors, Madame D'Evil, sat down next to Jesus. She leaned over and whispered in his ear, 'the highest honor of the games is to light the cauldron. You can have the privilege tonight, and the envy of all the athletes, if you will but sign this exclusive contract to be my spokesperson worldwide.'  Jesus got up from his seat, and as he passed her, he reminded her, 'have you forgotten Who my soul sponsor is?'

At the top of the mountain, as Jesus was waxing his skis, and visualizing the journey he must take in the coming moments, the head official of the race, Lucifer Abaddon, sidled up next to him. Looking out on the course, he promised Jesus, 'If you go throw yourself down the mountain, if you cut all the corners right, if you become reckless, I am sure that your coaches and trainers will make sure you don't suffer.' Not opening his eyes, Jesus calmly replied, 'don't tempt me to throw you down the mountain.'

Having tried everything they could, Jesus' adversaries left the wilderness, knowing that the Passover Olympics would be held in Jerusalem.

© 2010 Thom M. Shuman

yesterday

yesterday,

i stuffed myself

on pancakes and pleasure,

on chocolate and self-indulgence;

now,

empty me

of all those delicious desires

that make my life (and soul)

so heavy;

yesterday,

i put on that funny face

i call 'me'

and danced through the streets

of temptation and selfishness;

now,

draw me

into those quiet places

where you can reshape me

as your child;

yesterday,

i wore a costume

bejeweled with pride's glitter,

and rainbowed with my silly sins;

now,

clothe me

in prayer

and smudge my face

with your heart's tears;

yesterday,

i chased after the world

into death;

now,

lead me into life

this Lent.

(c) Thom M. Shuman

3 S's of Lent

One of the ways I unwind at the end of the day, is to watch the TV game 'Wheel of Fortune.' It is that show where the contestant tries to figure out the answer to an event, a place, a person, a phrase, by picking letters to fill in the blanks of the answer. If you watch it often enough, you can sometimes get a 'clue' as to what the answer might be depending on the day the game is broadcast, the city in which they are playing, the season of the year, and so on. For instance, when the show was in Boston recently, a lot of the answers had to do with Boston-related places, people, events.

So, if the game was being played today, and the puzzle had to do with an event, and the blanks were _ _ _  _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ and I was a contestant, I would probably choose the letter S to start the round, hoping that the answer is Ash Wednesday.

S is one of the key letters to understanding that puzzle we call Lent.  In the classic sense, it points us to the Self, to that sin, to that habit, to that way of life, to that burden we would like to get rid of during the journey with Jesus to Jerusalem. For most folks, it means some form of self-denial: trying to once again give up smoking, making that pledge to ignore all the chocolate that is conveniently placed at the checkout in the store, spending less time on the computer. For others, it may mean adding something to our daily life: ten minutes set aside for prayer; reading through the gospels each day; picking up a devotional book to read, rather than the latest romance or lurid thriller.

Whether we give up something for Lent, or take on something for the season, it still means making a Sacrifice. Unfortunately, the 'sacrifices' we make for Lent often turn out to be like those resolutions we make each January 1st - long on possibility but all so short on fulfillment.  I can give up chocolate (honest!), but of course, as you know, the Sundays of Lent are considered to be feast days not fast days, and so I can feast on chocolate that day, can't I? And Monday comes around and I am back where I started before Lent.

So, perhaps instead of thinking so much about myself and what I am sacrificing for the good of the cause, I should think more about others, about those who could use more than token gestures, but could use some practical help in their lives; about those who truly hunger, not go without a sugar fix; about those who could use the justice, the peace, the hope of God in their lives. Maybe I need to think less of Self, and more about Service.

It would only take me five minutes a day to write a short note to someone whom I know is hurting, lonely, grieving, afraid, to let them know I am thinking of them, and praying for them. Better yet, it would probably only take that long to make a phone call! It would only take a half-hour out of my day to tutor at a local school, the same amount of time I spend watching the 'wheel.' It would only take about 10 minutes and about $20 to go through the grocery store, fill up a bag with non-perishables and take it to the food pantry. It would only take my willingness, that's all.

S is one of the key letters to understanding this puzzle we call Lent.

This year I hope the answer, for me, is Service.

© 2010 Thom M. Shuman

Jesus calls us . . .

Once when Jesus was in Miami, a friend gave him tickets to the Super Bowl. It wasn't a bad seat, but the crowd was pressing in on him, hoping to hear a prediction about the game. He saw some of his friends he had grown up with, who were players on one of the teams. They invited him down to the sidelines, and sitting on the bench, he began to talk to those around him. As the game began the last 30 seconds, with his friends' team losing by 4 points, he went up to Peter and said, 'Tell the coach to run Zebra Wide 44 Deep Cross." Peter looked at him and said, 'We've run that play a dozen times today, and it never has worked.  But if you say so, I'll tell him."

Peter talked to the coach, was sent in with the play, and just as time ran out, the quarterback hit Peter in the end zone with the game winning touchdown.

As the team swarmed onto the field, and the fans began to celebrate, Peter came up to Jesus, handed him the  game ball, knelt down and said, 'Go away, Lord, for I am only a third string wide receiver!'  For all the coachs, analysts, reporters, and teammates were amazed at the catch Peter made.

Jesus took the ball, flipped it to a little girl standing at the edge of the crowd, and said, 'Don't be scared, Pete. From now on you'll be catching people.'

When they left the locker room, Peter and his teammates left the trophy behind and followed.

(c) 2009 Thom M. Shuman

Try this for 14 days

I would imagine that most of us, if pressed, could say what the first commandment is: to have no other gods before the one God. And though pressed from every side, every day, almost every moment by those little gods who want to control our lives (money, fame, power, desire, you-name-your-own-little-god), we try to listen to, to obey, to serve the one God.

If we have spent any time in church school or in worship, I daresay most of us could even come up with what Jesus refers to as the greatest commandment, that in recognizing God as the one true God, we will love God with all our heart, our soul, our mind, our strength. As an observant Jew, Jesus knew this truth by heart, for the opening words make up the Shema, the great confession of the ancient Hebrews, which is contained in the mezzuzahs at the entry doors of Jews today, which is found in the tefillim worn by observant Jews of our time.

We also know the companion, the commandment which is equal in greatness to the first in Jesus' view, that we are to love our neighbors as we love ourselves. We know the wisdom, we know the truth of the power, the importance, the transformative grace of living out these two 'greatest' commandments, even as we know our inability to honor them, the easy way we put them on that shelf marked 'insignificant,' the graceless ways we treat our neighbors, the harmful attitudes we have towards ourselves.

What about that challenge, that phrase, that charge which is given over and over again to person after person in the Bible, that edict which is one of those scarlet threads which is woven throughout the tapestry of God's story with us?  It is spoken to almost every prophet, it is whispered into the ears of Mary, it is sung by the angels in the night sky.

We get up in the morning, knowing that when we walk into the boss's office that this may be the day we hear that dreaded word of downsizing, and we slip our feet into loafers of fear, ignoring the shoes of peace the Spirit offers to us. We head down the corridor of the hospital towards the room where we will be hooked up, one more time, to those tubes of poison the doctors hope will cure us, wrapped tight in the shawl of fear, forgetting that it is God who has promised to be our shadow through such valleys. We head off to school, clinging tight to the hand of despair, ready to endure the stares, the laughter, the whispers behind the hands from all who know that we got dumped over the weekend, not noticing Jesus tagging along behind us, ready to be our best friend.

The most frequent commandment given in scripture is so simple, so plain: 'do not be afraid.' And it is so hard to practice, so hard to model, so hard to live.

© 2010 Thom M. Shuman

jsut like the poet . . .

It was a gray, wintry day in Boston. Dark clouds scudded across the sky, while shards of ice shaped like tears pummeled the people running down the sidewalks. Men gripped their hats, clasping them tight to their skulls, while the secretaries from the office building across the way, held their coats together, trying to signal for a taxi.

Spenser turned from the scene outside his window as Hawk walked in, carrying a box of fresh crullers.  Setting them on the desk, he took one and, after pouring himself a cup of coffee, sat down on the couch, where Pearl was curled up, chasing squirrels in her sleep.

'You heard?' Spenser asked. Hawk nodded impassively, 'Yeah. Don't suppose the twittering masses got it wrong, do you?'  'I wish,' Spenser replied, taking a bite and brushing crumbs off his shirt, 'but it doesn't look good.' 'You told Susan yet?' Hawk asked, already knowing the answer by the look in Spenser's eyes. 'She took it hard, she always had a soft spot for the guy.'  'He had a way with words, I'll give him that,' said Hawk, running his hand over his cleanly shaved head.

Just then, Quirk came through the door, his footstep heavy, his face gray with fatigue.  'Thought I'd find you both here.' Spenser nodded at the coffee pot, and pushed the box of crullers towards Boston's finest.

'So,' the ex-boxer asked the policeman, 'anything Hawk and I need to look into about this?' 'No,' replied the captain, hanging his cashmere coat carefully on the rack.

'It looks like he died of a heart attack.  He and his wife had breakfast, she went for her walk, came back an hour later and found him slumped at his writing desk.'

'Just like he would have wanted,' murmured Hawk, as Pearl put her head on his lap, looking up at him with mournful eyes.

'Yeah,' said the hardboiled Spenser, as he gazed once more out the window, looking up at the sky, remembering - and hoping it was the rain that was blurring his vision.

(c) 2010 Thom M. Shuman

(Robert B. Parker, prolific author and creator of one of the best duos - Spenser and Hawk - in detective writing since Holmes and Watson died suddenly on January 19, 2010)

coloring books and crayons

We stood in the hallway of the church, me heading to my office to demystify myself, she putting on her coat, getting ready to head out into the bitter day. So, we had one of those hallway conversations folks often have, as their minds are traveling in one direction, hoping this brief stop wouldn't slow either one of us down too much.

I asked how her Christmas had been and she asked about mine. We had gone up to Columbus to see Teddy, to go out for our now Traditional (once is a happenstance, twice becomes a tradition in my denomination) Christmas repast at the Waffle House, indulging in the major food group known as sugar. She had spent the holy day with her cat, but was off to a relative's house in the afternoon where she would be immersed in a pool of 40 some relatives.

We both bemoaned the commercialism, the overindulgence of children and grandchildren who end up with a ton of presents, the toys that get broken so quickly and easily and end up out on the curb the week after the holiday. And we both recalled how, as kids, sometimes the biggest excitement in the neighborhood came when someone had a major appliance delivered to their house, and the empty cardboard box was set out by the curb, and was immediately turned into an airplane, pirate ship, mansion, truck, whatever and wherever our imagination would take us.

That's when she mentioned the fact that when she was growing up, in a family with 12 kids in it, there were no individual gifts presented at Christmas, but there was a group gift for all the kids - a board game, a puzzle, a book, something to be shared by all. And then, with the memory glittering in her eyes, she told me about the Christmas when her six sisters were all adults, and she gave each of them her very own coloring book and box of crayons. A gift that they would never have had as a child, a memory they shared from their childhood, a surprise they never expected now that they were all grown up. "Oh, I wish you could have seen the looks on their faces when they opened those presents," she said.

No need; I saw her face.

(c) 2009 Thom M. Shuman

Christmas Day

Please read Luke 2:6-7

you could have

come

as warrior, ready

to take us on

one at a time

or en masse . . .

you could have

come

a whirlwind

swirling, twirling,

twisting around us,

flinging us up into

the air . . .

you could have

come

with a bag of

chocolates

in one hand

and

a time-out chair

in the other;

you came

a tiny

vulnerable

baby

lungs screaming for

life,

fingers grasping for

something to hold onto,

your whole being

completely depending on

us (!) to

feed you

change you

clothe you

protect you

love you

and we were

gob-smacked.

(c) 2009 Thom M. Shuman

Christmas Eve

Please read Luke 11:5-13

in the rustle of children

shaking presents,

in the hustle of kittens

scrambling up trees,

you stealthily tunnel

your way under the

flooring;

tossing all the traditional

marches in the shredder,

you collaborate

with the choir director,

composing a simple

oratorio for this night,

stressing that 'the tenors

are going to have to

reach that high note'

cup in hand,

you worm your way

through the office party,

touching us on the

shoulder,

subtly cracking the

combinations

of our frozen hearts,

to slip the still warm

loaves inside.

come,

Saboteur of our weary years,

bringing the Gift we need.

(c) 2009 Thom M. Shuman

Fourth Wednesday of Advent

Please read Psalm 139:1-18

not a problem!

i am doing great!

everything is smashing!

life is just one ! after another !

count on it!

yet,

in the night,

when the shadows creak

across the floor

and the ice pelts the windows

like fingernails tap

tap, tapping,

those pesky ?s

reach out from

under the bed

pulling the warm comfort

off of me;

i've pulled myself

up by the flip flops,

i've climbed the highest

obstacles,

i've faced down every

one who got in my way,

i've won the race

fini

end of story

.

but sometimes

life comes to a full

stop,

the glyphs mount up

diacritically

spacing my life out

until there seems

to be no space left

for me to breathe . . .

so come,

Ink Slinger,

your fingers smudged

for all time

as you write our names

in your book.

(c) 2009 Thom M. Shuman

Fourth Tuesday of Advent

Please read John 1:1-14

one

word

to gather up

all our silence,

weaving our hopes, our fears,

our longings, our ponderings

into a carol of wonder;

one

light

to pierce the shadowed

corners

of our lives, revealing

the One who sits quietly

in the rocker,

eager to gather us up

and tell us the end

of the story;

one

grace

to turn us away

from the steamy

ugliness

we glimpse in the

mirror each morning,

so we can see

face-to-face

our twin;

come,

One and Only,

come for us all.

(c) 2009 Thom M. Shuman

Fourth Monday of Advent

Please read John 10:7-16

you come,

removing that rusted

hanging-on-one-hinge

gate

which keeps any one

from stealing our heart,

and replace it with

you,

who opens

our way to God;

you come,

not for a fancy salary,

a gold watch or

a stock-portfolioed pension

but out of love,

your gentle goodness

stretched out on

roughened wood

so we might be

marked

as your beloved;

you come,

not for a precious few

but for all the

impoverished;

not just for those who know better

but for all the

forgotten;

not just for the insiders,

but for all the outcast,

the oppressed,

the searchers;

not just for those who never stray,

but for all who

have taken different

paths.

so come,

Tender Shepherd,

come.

(c) 2009 Thom M. Shuman

Fourth Sunday of Advent

Please read Micah 5:2-5a

you would come,

caulk gun in hand

to mend all the cracks

in our lives;

you would come,

flashlight in hand

to search all the nooks

and crannies

where the marginalized

have been shoved

out of sight,

out of mind;

you would come,

bouquet in hand

to freshen our hopes

with the sweet aroma

of peace;

you would come,

bolt cutters in hand

to snap open

the padlocks we

have secured to

our gated hearts;

you will come,

Babe of Bethlehem,

to take us by the hand

and lead us home?

(c) 2009 Thom M. Shuman

Third Saturday of Advent

Please read Psalm 121

removing our shoes

ready to slip into

our old, scuffed slippers

of comfortable apathy,

may we be consumed

by the white fire of

compassion

which dawned in the

Christmas sky;

slip-sliding down

the stony slopes of

heaped-with-failed-promises

mountains of sin,

may we be caught

by the Word of love,

cradled forever in

the manger of grace;

wandering down the

streets of exiled loneliness,

taunted by those who

laugh as we cling tightly

to the heirloom of trust

handed down to us,

may we be gathered

up in your arms of hope,

carried to worship

the newborn Child.

come,

Keeper of our hearts,

come.

(c) 2009 Thom M. Shuman

Third Friday of Advent

Please read Luke 2:46-55

stuck in the middle

of the paper this morning,

the slicks announce

another black friday sale

(the third this shopping

season, i think, but

who knows),

while the front page tells

of a single father searching

for coats to protect his kids

from poverty's chill;

the tour buses are packed

taking folks from the visitor's

center right up to the very

edge

of that grand canyon

which pushes the have-a-lots

and the have-nots

further and further

from one another;

more children die each day

from starvation

than from any act of

terrorism,

but we continue to gorge

ourselves at fear's table,

piling more and more

security on our plates;

so come,

Mary's Son,

come

using your mother's song

to transform our lives,

as surely as it did yours.

(c) 2009 Thom M. Shuman

Third Thursday of Advent

Please read John 15:12-17

each day as

i watch the two little

girls wander down the street,

their heads so close

their hair seems braided together,

their hopes conjoined

as they whisper their deepest

souls to each other,

i long for you

so come

to clean the silliness-stained

glass of my life

til i become utterly

transparent to

you;

come

gathering up the ashes

of my tears

pottering them into

the apple of your

eye;

come

turning me outside-in

inside-out

so you can write

your name

on my heart;

come,

Anam Cara,

come.

(c) 2009 Thom M. Shuman

Third Wednesday of Advent

Please read John 15:9-11

watching Matthew

writing down every word,

you gently whisper

in his ear,

'don't forget i said

there is a sin line between

heaven and hell';

handing around the box

of hanukkah crackers,

you hold one out to Bart,

and fall down laughing at

the look on his face

when it popped into

a shower

of stars;

you spent all morning

in the kitchen measuring, stirring,

baking the cake,

so you could watch

the epiphany of your friends,

as they tore into

their slices, hoping

to find one of the gifts

of frankincense, gold

and myrrh;

gathering the disciples around,

you sat down and said,

'a Pharisee, a scribe, and a

Sadducee walk into

a bar . . .'

come,

Court Jester,

come to take our hands

and make our dance of

joy complete.

(c) 2009 Thom M. Shuman

Third Tuesday of Advent

Please read Psalm 1

as the foam-crested waves

played tag,

running up to my toes

clenched tightly in the sand,

and then dashing back,

i stood mesmerized,

looking around for

someone

to take my hand and

give me courage;

so come.

sitting in the

tub,

my little boat bobbing

on the knee induced waves

i would listen longingly

for footsteps to come

down the hall,

book in hand

to read me a

sherlock story;

so come.

scraped, stacked, soaked

i swish the cloth over,

under, and around each dish,

pan, and utensil,

ducking them under the

rinsing waves before

lining them up in the

drainer in proper order,

wondering if someone

will come, take the towel

off my shoulder, saying,

'let me give you a hand';

so come,

Living Water,

come to be with, in,

around, over, through me,

come.

(c) 2009 Thom M. Shuman

Third Monday of Advent

Please read Luke 22:14-20

come,

Grain of gentleness,

feed us on that simple

loaf made glory by

the yeast of your love,

so we might laugh

in delight

as we gorge ourselves

on your joy;

come,

Grail of grace:

fill our empty souls

with that spirit of

generosity and spontaneity,

so we might pour

ourselves out for those

who sit beside the

dusty wells of hope;

come,

Chief Cook and Bottle Washer:

pushing tables together

so each may have a seat,

bringing out dish after dish

of wondrous delight,

yelling back over your

shoulder,

'better put another fatted calf

on the grill!'

come!

(c) 2009 Thom M. Shuman

Third Sunday of Advent

Please read Isaiah 12:2-6; Zephaniah 3:14-20

yesterday

(and every yesterday it seems)

folks stood patiently in line

numbers clutched in their

prosecutorial hands,

eager to take their turn

making it quite clear

all the mistakes made

(at least to this point in my life),

all those things I forgot

to do (i swear they were on

my list!),

all that accountability that

doesn't seem to add up right;

but on that day

you will walk down the line

high-fiving each person

as you slyly slip their

judgments out of their hands,

crumpling them up

and tossing them behind you.

on this day

we limp through,

our weary, sore soles

seeming to find each

sharp-edged pebble

poured out on the path

in front of us

by the banes of our

lives;

but on that day

you will come,

tearing your baby quilt

into long strips,

dipping them into

the cool waters of

Grace's well,

swaddling our tender

souls.

tomorrow,

we will once again

scan the horizon

waiting to catch

a glimpse of

Catastrophe

as it edges ever closer,

its cataclysmic jaws

opening and closing,

longing to devour our

hope;

but on that day

you will come,

carrying a picnic basket

loaded with bread

and wine,

spreading a blanket

broad enough for all of us,

pulling out your

harmonica

to play us the songs of

eternity.

come,

Dayspring,

] come the day.

(c) 2009 Thom M. Shuman

Second Saturday of Advent

Please read Psalm 80:1-3, 17-19

Come, God-with-us:

who braves our rejection and hurt,

to show your love and acceptance.

Come, God-for-us:

who whispers

in our ears

that we -

each of us -

are your Beloved children.

Come, God-under-us:

who cradles us

in arms that never grow weary;

whose lap has room enough

for all.

Come, God-over-us:

who watches

in the long silence of the night,

that we might rest in your peace.

Come, God-beside-us:

who steadies us

when we falter,

who lifts us up

when we fall.

Come, God-behind-us:

who picks up all the faded dreams

we drop along the way,

weaving them into your hope.

O come, o come,

Shepherd of your people,

and we will rejoice forever!

(c) Thom M. Shuman

Second Friday of Advent

Please read Isaiah 60:1; John 1:9

mountain ranges stretch down

the block:

the once pristine snow,

dazzling

us with its lightness,

now plowed and tossed aside,

litter-topped with the

skim off the street;

the greyness of the skies

leadens our spirits,

as once more we begin

the sisyphean task

of pushing hope up

mount despair, only to

have indifference snatch

it out of our hands,

tossing it back down,

hollering 'fetch.'

dusklings tiptoe through

the neighborhood,

deluminators in hand,

seeking to abscond with

the joy in each carol,

the wonder in each child,

the hope in each heart,

the promise in the Story;

so come,

Rising Dawn,

your lucent love

filling our every moment.

(c) 2009 Thom M. Shuman

Second Thursday of Advent

Please read Genesis 1:1; Revelation 22:13

come:

for

we have scrabbled

all those imaginative words

you spoke at creation -

light, beauty, sky,

grace, water, joy, hope -

jumbling them into a

toxic mess which daily

threatens your dreams;

come:

for

no matter how we try

to juggle the books,

punching in this number

and the next on our high tech

calculators,

trying + and then -

even x a few times,

our lives never seem

to balance out;

from the beginning

to your ending

and beyond,

from a to z

with all the words

in between,

from our first breath

to our last hope,

come,

Alpha and Omega,

come.

(c) 2009 Thom M. Shuman

Second Wednesday of Advent

Please read Hosea 2:14-15

when we would quickly

insert the key in the door,

offering our cheeks

for the briefest of pecks

before uttering a quick goodnight,

you smile and simply

say, "i'll give you a call

tomorrow" -

so come;

when the server stops by

to warm up your coffee

for the seventh time in an

hour and a half, remarking,

'isn't this the fourth or fifth

night they haven't shown up?'

you hand him the bill

with a double-tithed tip,

whispering (as much to yourself)

"that's okay;

i'm good at waiting" -

so come;

when we've packed up all

your blessings, and put them

out on the front porch

with a note that reads

'if you have anything more to say,

do it through the lawyer,'

you send two dozen red roses,

along with a singing telegram:

"I've grown accustomed

to your face" -

so come;

come,

Wooer of our hearts,

with love as soft

as a baby's breath,

come!

(c) 2009 Thom M. Shuman

Second Tuesday of Advent

Please read Isaiah 46:3-4; Hosea 11:1-4, 8

voiceless from constant screaming

for our own way,

bloated after feasting on

our toxic desires,

irritable because of

sleep-disturbed dreams

of more and more:

you would gather us up

like a colicky baby,

gently rocking back and

forth on your feet,

patting us tenderly on the back,

softly rubbing us with grace,

whispering the lullabies

you taught to the angels

so long ago;

so come,

Mother of our hearts,

come.

insistent that you take off

the training wheels (even though

we are scared inside),

knowing more as adolescents

than you could ever hope to learn,

determined to find our own way

even if it takes us from

your side:

you watch from the sidelines,

holding your tongue because

you know we need to learn

how to play life on our own,

you sit in the darkened living room;

staring into the far country

with hopeful eyes, until you

see the headlights turn into the driveway,

and silently tiptoe up to bed;

you answer the phone in the dead of night,

gathering up your keys, your wallet,

your love,

to go down and pay our bail.

so come,

Father of our hopes,

come.

come,

Parent we are convinced we don't need,

with the grace, the peace, the wonder

we cannot live without.

come.

(c) 2009 Thom M. Shuman

Second Monday of Advent

Please read Haggai 2:1-17

come, God-of-our-past:

who has taken the water

pooled in our protective moats

to baptize us with peace;

who has turned the stone

ruins of our feeble fortifications

into bread for our enemies;

come, God-of-our-present:

who would use

the concrete walls we

are putting up between us

and everyone who

prays, looks, thinks, sounds

differently,

to build all of us communities

of compassion and trust;

come, God-of-our-future:

gently easing our foot

off the gas as

we hurtle towards the future,

so we might see

the exit signs

in time to turn off

for the back roads

to the kingdom.

so come,

Desire of the nations,

come

to fill us with the

splendor

of your hope.

(c) 2009 Thom M. Shuman

Second Sunday of Advent

Please read Malachi 3:1-4

was it a

desire

to change my

stumbling ways

that made me mumble

'yes'

all those years ago,

or was it more

dread

of ending up in

that-place-that-must-not-be-named?

was it a

longing

to learn a language

so many others spoke so well

(peace, grace, love flowing so

easily off their lives)

or was it that

left-over taste of soap

in my mouth from

using the wrong words?

all down the ages,

from sinners to sages,

with boys and girls,

in grannies and gramps,

was it fear that led them

to confess you

or true love?

come,

Refiner's Fire,

come

with your cool breath

of hope.

(c) 2009 Thom M. Shuman

First Saturday of Advent

Please read Psalm 2

weary beyond fatigue,

the strictures and

stresses of these days

knot my spirit tighter

and tighter until

i almost snap;

so come,

massage me with

your healing balm of

wonder.

my soul more arid

than death valley,

my heart seeded with

the ashes of desiccated

hope,

my dreams withering under

the onslaught of hype;

so come,

pour your grace all over

me

til i swim in joy.

perfection piles higher and higher,

expecting neatly creased wrapping,

finely curled ribbon (six inches!)

calligraphied notes for each

person on my list;

so come,

bestow on me the carols

of children who

may mess up some of the

words,

but know the meaning deep

in their hearts.

come

Anointed One,

come.

(c) 2009 Thom M. Shuman

First Friday of Advent

Please read Ephesians 2:17-22; 1st Peter 2:4-8

they stand in reverent silence,

clasping their mom's hand

(maybe a thumb in the mouth)

staring wide-eyed

as the massive machines

doze the piles of dirt

this way and that, back and forth;

as the towering crane

gently bends over to grasp

and then lift the steel girders

high into the air where calloused

hands guide them into place,

riveting them to the beamed skeleton;

as the tool-belted and hard-hatted

carpenters, painters, plumbers, electricians

scurry about, sharing their gifts.

while we are standing around

seemingly oblivious to it all,

our hands deep in our pockets

(or our thumbs testing which way

the culture is blowing)

you carefully smooth out

the foundation poured by

those who came before us;

taking a stone from the pile

to make sure it is alive with hope,

your apprentices in hope

mortaring each one to the next

with grace.

so come,

Cornerstone,

come building that kingdom

where strangers become friends,

where immigrants become our family.

(c) 2009 Thom M. Shuman

First Thursday of Advent

Please read 1st Timothy 2:1-7; Hebrews 12-24

when those in high positions

gather, protocol must be observed:

precise measurements are taken

for how far apart each sits from the other;

rulers are used for the exact placement

of pad, pens, water glasses, pitchers;

tables are arranged just right,

so that no one has the upper hand.

so come,

to pull the tablecloths off,

spilling everything all over the place;

to push the tables off to the side,

arranging the chair is a big circle,

so close that we have to rub elbows.

when families gather for holiday meals,

protocol must be observed:

never sit Aunt Sadie near Uncle Joe

(they haven't spoken a civil word

to one another in years);

always interject with a funny story

when politics rears it's ugly head;

make sure that everyone ignores

the grief and pain that Buddy

has placed on the table next

to the cornbread stuffing,

praying silently that no one

will touch it.

so come,

moving the place cards around

til lifelong enemies have to sit

next to one another;

listening to each person's beliefs,

fears, dreams, doubts;

touching every thing we bring

to the table with your compassion,

shaping us into the healing

others need.

come,

Mediator of our lives,

come

to disrupt our protocol.

(c) 2009 Thom M. Shuman

First Wednesday of Advent

Please read Luke 1:68-79

each morning when i

let the dog out, fear

hands me the morning paper,

eager to spend the

rest of the day with me;

several times a week,

i get a fax or voicemail,

reminding me

of the times and locations of

failures anonymous;

wrap it in fancy sounding words -

outsourcing, downsizing,

restructuring, pinkslipping -

rejection is the gift

that seems to keep

on giving;

with such a toxic environment,

is it any wonder i forget

who i started out to be,

who i long to be?

yet

you single me out,

pulling me close

in a great bear hug;

you whisper of your grace

through the mouths

of children singing

so sweet and clear

on the corner;

you swaddle all my gifts

in compassion,

hope's bright ribbon

tightly curled on top:

for

you remembered,

you will remember.

so come,

Benedictus,

come.

(c) 2009 Thom M. Shuman

First Tuesday of Advent

Please read Matthew 9:27-31; 15:21-28

we gaze longingly

over the horizon, hoping

to catch a glimpse of that hero

who (caped, weaponized, square-jawed)

will come to deal with

all our foes, vanquishing

one and all

but

if we would let you

touch our cataracted hearts,

we might just see you

take off royalty's

purple finery

and wrap a towel

around your waist;

turn your WMDs into

those harvesters

reaping food for

all the hungry;

leave your throne

to sit with us,

sharing the bread of grace

with those whose

dreams are strewn

like crumbs across

the floor of their hope.

so come,

Son of David,

come with mercy

for us,

for us,

mercy.

(c) 2009 Thom M. Shuman

First Monday of Advent - C

Please read Psalm 23:3

going to bed each night

to regain strength

for the next day,

a hot shower

in the morning

to sting me awake,

pouring a bowl

of toasted oats (just

like the last 50+ years)

to energize me:

they are all second nature

to me by now.

but

carving out oases of silence

in an ear-shocked day;

letting your Word

edit my story;

searching for hope

amidst all those shelves

stocked with anguish;

all those dispositions

that could fill my emptiness:

keeping me from wandering

down the wrong alleys,

nudging me to follow Jesus

in paving the streets with justice,

joining the kids playing

hide-and-seek in the kingdom?

come,

Habit Shaker,

come and restore my soul.

(c) 2009 Thom M. Shuman

First Sunday of Advent - C

Please read 1st Thessalonians 3:9-13

when our faith

has faded away

until we cannot

find it with a

magnifying glass:

come,

to dot the i

with a great dollop

of grace,

to cross the t

with the broad stroke

of incarnation;

when the gauge

of our love

has dipped below

E

and our meager lives

cannot produce another

drop:

come,

to push us to

the Spirit's station

where we will be filled

to overflowing;

when our friends

have dropped us off

at the 'returns only' counter,

where we reach out

in hope only to find

no one will take our hand:

come,

to surround us with

grumps and grannies,

prophets and punks,

whiners and wise ones,

your family here and now.

come,

o come,

Immanuel!

(c) 2009 Thom M. Shuman

There's 86,400 seconds in a day

It only takes a second.

As you watch the multi-colored leaves drifting down to the ground, and then joining hands to dance across the lawn, you might spend a few moments grumbling about your neighbor's trees dumping in your backyard, or think about your aching back from the raking and hauling them to the curb for pickup.  Or you could simply look to the sky and whisper, 'thank you.'

It only takes a second.

There seems to be a lot of grumbling these days (at least in the region where I live) about the number of stores and businesses which post bi-lingual signs, menus, instructions (some even going multi-lingual) in recognition of the growing Hispanic population in our communities.  I figure I can spend a lot of time getting my shorts in a twist or I can learn to say 'gracias' to the young woman who is of great assistance in the store.

It only takes a second.

When I spent a week in Paris some years ago, I found a marvelous internet cafe located in a department store right around the corner from my hotel.  The first few times I used the service, I would go up to the young man at the counter, pay for my time, and (automatically) say, 'thank you.'  He would nod, take my money, and turn back to his work.  About the third day, I decided to be daring, and as I paid, I simply said, 'merci beaucoup.'  He broke into a big smile, and said 'you are welcome' to me, and we spent a marvelous few minutes, talking about the discomfort we often feel in speaking a different language, and he then asked if, when I came in again, he could practice his English with me.  I told him of course, if he didn't mind my fumbling, kindergarten level French. 

Whether it is danku, mahalo, domo arigato, whatever, it only takes a second to offer thanks.

So, why do we always act as if we don't have the time?

(c) 2009 Thom M. Shuman

A Sighting of Saints

Yesterday afternoon, when we were visiting Teddy in Columbus, he decided he wanted to go to the bookstore at the mall to look for a movie. We said sure, so headed over there. When we got there, we immediately headed for the section of the store where movies and music are located.  There was about 25 or 30 folks of all ages there, so I assumed that the store must be having a great sale!

A few minutes later, the crowd began to clap loudly as a small group of older gentlemen walked in, obviously part of some tour group or another, as they each had a lanyard with identification around their necks. But this was no ordinary tour, rather an extraordinary group of men. These were some of the surviving members of those men we have come to know as the Band of Brothers, Easy Company from the 506th regiment of the Airborne Infantry. We know their story from the book, and the HBO series, but here they were in the flesh and blood.

Some walked in stiffly, their pain evident in their steps; others came with the aid of a cane or a companion.  Some had the stooped shoulders of age, every one of them had that dignity which comes to those who have dealt with life, looking it square in the face, through all the years.

It was a moving experience. Here were these heroes, being recognized, yes by current members of the 101st Airborne who were with them, but also by their peers in the crowd, and the children who could have been their grandchildren or great-grandkids busily taking their pictures.

As they were introduced and began to share some of their stories, it was if we were standing on holy ground.  For here were the men who, as part of that generation we call great, made it possible for me to stand in that store, for us to read whatever books we want, for me to travel freely, for us to have the kind of life we have.  These were the heroes who, knowingly and willingly, served to set us free from the fears and terrors of that evil which wanted to bind all civilization with its chains of prejudice and hatred.

Saints? These men would probably be as embarrassed to be called that, as they seem to be with the title 'hero.'  But surely, they responded to that command Jesus gave to the crowd at Lazarus' tomb when, after calling him from the grave, turned to the community around him and said, 'Unbind him, and set him free.'

(c) 2009 Thom M. Shuman