wondering (Mark 11:11)

leaving everyone wondering,
   he wandered back to
            Bethany,
      not so much to hide,
      but to walk back
         to that open
                grave,
            simply standing
         and staring,
                his thoughts
                chasing after
            one another in his
                   heart;

finding himself across
   the supper table from
          Lazarus, while
     the sisters clattered
        around the kitchen with
     the dishes, stacking them
             for the guys
             to wash later,
       he asked
          (for the millionth
           time, or so it seemed),
   'tell me what it was like:
       the darkness like a stone
                on your chest,
          the silence wrapped
             tight around you
                  like a shroud,
       the minutes stretching out
              into eternity,
                 while you listened
                 for the feathery
                    footsteps.
          tell me again, Laz,
          was it worth it?

the waiting, I mean,
   and the wondering.'

(c) 2012 Thom M. Shuman  

my hour (John 12:20-33)

i wish to see
         Jesus
   in the panhandler
   on the street:
             but
      the stained, tattered clothes,
         the unkempt hair,
            the acridness clustered
            around him
   cloud my eyes;

i wish to hear
         Jesus
   in the politicians
      whose decisions i cannot
             support,
   in the evangelist
      mouthing platitudes to the
             pain-full,
   in the talk-show callers
       spewing hateful bile,
                  but all these words
   clog my ears;

i wish to meet
         Jesus
   in the tattoed skateboarder
            riding the rails
            down at the school,
   in the hip-hopper
            jamming at the
            bus stop,
   in the goths
            hanging outside the
            arcade,
                   but too quickly
               i cross the street
               searching for my
                       twins.

      Jesus,
   why would you wish
            to see
               to hear
            to meet
me?

(c) Thom M. Shuman

persistence (number 21:4-9; psalm 107:107:1-3, 17-22; ephesians 2:1-10; john 3:14-21)

 seduction's snakes
         entwine
   themselves ever tighter
   around my soul,
      biting deeply
      into my heart, venom
         deadening my hopes
            of remaining faithful
   to you,
               then
      you rush up, and with
         the sharp edge of your
               love,
            make the sign of the
                    cross,
   and slowly suck the poison
      out

thinking i was
         (finally)
      weaned from you,
   i find myself
            confundussed
        by the music of the
               Snake Charmer,
      when, 
   hearing me mew like a lost
                  kitten,
         your Word comes
         running up to me,
      breast bared so
            i might taste
        hope;

leaning on my
                shovel,
   having filled the pockets
      of all i deem
                unworthy
         with judgment's
             gritty gravel,
      i do not see
               you
          take those scissors
             formed from the
             cross's beams,
   cutting holes in everyone's
      pockets, giggling as they
         join hands and begin
            to dance to the tune
      grace plays on the
               harmonica.

(c) 2012 Thom M. Shuman

caesarea philippi (mark 8:31-38)

early each morning,
   you stand behind me,
      Valet of my life,
            straightening the collar
               on my shirt, rolling
         the lint off my pants leg,
            handing me my cross
            before i walk out
                      the door,
   whispering,
      'don't forget this'

if
            my cross turns out
to be you,
      Juncture of choices, with your
         uncomfortable hopes,
         difficult words,
         uncompromising stare,
   may it dig into my shoulder
            just enough
            to remind me,
      but not so much
      i become too callused
         to feel
               you;

when that little
         tear
      in my cross threatens
   to widen,
            take out your
            scarlet thread and
               your darning egg,
          Seamstress of hope,
   mending it so my soul
      will not slip out
               unnoticed.

(c) 2012 Thom M. Shuman