questions (Malachi 3:1-4; Luke 3:1-6)

what must i do

in order to 

stand:

    brush all the cookie

    crumbs off my lap;

        check my tie,

        knotting it twice;

            lace up my shoes

            so i don't trip 

            and fall flat on

            my foibles?

what will it take

for me to

endure:

    soak my dirty laundry 

    in a vat of Fuller's;

        pick up the litter

        i have strewn all

         along my journey;

            skinny dip down at

            Refiner's Lake?

i give thanks

every time (every time!)

    i remember that

    it is as simple as 

    getting out from 

    under the feet of

        the Messenger

            the Message

                the Way.

(c) 2009 Thom M. Shuman

signs (luke 21:25-36)

i can jerk my head up

fairly quickly

    when the wind shakes the house

        till i about fall out of the bed,

    when the branch taps morse code

        on the window,

    when the floor creaks suddenly

        at 3 in the morning;

but i manage to keep

my eyes cast down at the ground

    for the street person

        shaking in the cold,

    for the child whose fingers 

        reach in hope towards mine,

    for the justice which longs 

        to put me to work;

    

i immediately snap to attention

    when the most powerful in the world

        begin to butt heads,

    when fear stalks across

         the backporch of my mind,

    when premonitions invite me

        to play outside with them;    

but i easily doze off 

in my chair

    as the pinched faces of the jobless

        flash upon the screen,

    as a neighbor wants to unpack

        her bag of woes in my kitchen,

    as the carolers of righteousness

        sing on my front lawn.

the portents, signs, warnings, omens?

    i've got those down to a T(error);

but the inviting gestures of the

    Spirit . . .

(c) 2009  Thom M. Shuman

hannah's canticle (1st Samuel 2:1-10)

if only we would

look past

the politico's rhetoric

flashed across the screen

day after day,

    so we might see

    those families

    for whom poverty

    is an unwelcome guest

        who refuses to move out;

  

if only we would

listen beyond

the pious platitudes

so easily mouthed

day after day,

    and with ears

    finely tuned with compassion,

    listen to the whispered prayers

    of children whose future

        seems so sterile;

if only we would

disassemble the walls

stacked word upon word,

day after day,

by the dissemblers of optimism,

    and peer into

    the faces of our sisters and brothers

    mired in the pit

        of hopelessness.

if only

    we

        would . . .

 . . .  day after day.

(c) 2009  Thom M. Shuman

canticle 127

unless you keep giving us

the kingdom's vocabulary test,

until we know your hopes

backwards and forwards,

we hem-and-haw

on the part of the have-nots,

our words wobbling weakly

past the world's ears;

unless you take your fingers

and rub the avarice

out of our eyes,

we drift further and further

away from our sisters and brothers,

leaving them buffeted and bruised

on poverty's floor;

unless you fashion our hearts

into a sanctuary

for your compassion,

we can only hand out

the moldy bread

of futility,

we can only offer a drink

from the cup filled

with empty promises.

unless you . . .

(c) 2009 Thom M. Shuman

all day, every day

st. lucy stopped for a moment

while she rested her arms and legs

from pushing her little

brother down the sidewalk

in his electric car whose

battery had run down;

stroking Dusty's nose,

her eyes shimmered with delight

and she exploded in a giggle,

'you're a silly dog!'

when he suddenly baptized her

with a sloppy kiss.

pausing for a few moments

from helping his elderly neighbor,

st. chuck leaned on his rake,

smiling as his grandkids,

eagerly and deliberately

scattered the leaves he had

spent all afternoon carefully

piling by the curb,

whispering, 'what a life!'

slowly, painstakingly, as if

she were joining together a puzzle,

differently-abled st. jennifer

put each item in its place

in the cloth bags,

not making them too heavy

(as the customer requested)

making sure the bread

ended up on top,

and nothing too heavy

was near the eggs.

they're all around us, aren't they,

those precious drops of grace

sprinkled in our lives?

(c) 2009 Thom M. Shuman

tumbling act (mark 10:46-52)

not by marching round and round

seven times (or more),

but by simply

standing still;

not in great tumult

or loud curses,

but by a gracious,

welcoming invitation;

not with a parable

or recounting of past

wonders and might,

but by a gentle

affirmation:

the meek find their voice,

blind trust becomes the path to walk,

futures are put at risk,

masks are taken off,

walls fall down

in jericho.

(c) 2009 Thom M. Shuman

able? (mark 10:35-45)

hand me a

steaming cuppa,

swirling with just

the right mixture of milk and sugar,

and i am content

to curl up in my chair,

listening to you

all day;

but offer me

your chipped, stained mug

filled with that vinegary

mix of discipleship and obedience,

well,

you'll forgive me (i'm sure)

if it slips through my fingers,

shattering on the cold, hard

floor of my soul.

i'd bellyflop eagerly

(and all too easily)

into those warm

baptismal waters,

floating the rest of my life,

stretched out on my back,

watching the clouds

drift by, over my head;

but your invitation

to skinny dip in your

drudgery filled pool,

dodging death's icebergs

as they drift by?

you'll understand (i hope)

if i let someone else

go in ahead of me.

disabled by my penchant

for power and privilege,

how can i ever

do whatever

you

ask of me?

(c) 2009 Thom M. Shuman