I wrote a meditation a while back on the Hands of Jesus.
His hands … Those beautiful hands;
Forming the planets, fashioning the stars
Creating the far-flung reaches of the universe
Intricately sculpting the tiniest atom
Expertly weaving together space and time.
His Hands…Those beautiful Hands;
Condensed down into flesh, tiny hands, born helpless-
The One, the Dependable, becoming utterly dependant.
Tiny, weak, helpless hands, gripping the finger of His
maiden mother.
His Hands…Those beautiful Hands;
Growing, working, helping.
Carpenter’s hands –
Rough and calloused from sweat and work,
Creating, carving out wood, serving His family.
His hands…. Those beautiful Hands;
Of compassion and mercy – reaching out, touching the
unclean.
Bringing healing to the hurting,
Placing on blind-eyes, flashing from white to grey to
blue-seeing!
On the rotten flesh of lepers’ blackened stumps turned pink
and whole.
His Hands.. Those beautiful hands;
Gently positioning on the afflicted of mind,
Bringing peace from chaotic tumbling darkness.
Resting on dearly loved just lost children
Raising them up from the curse of death into the arms of
their grieving parents.
His Hands.. Those beautiful hands;
Bringing nothing but kindness, healing and love; yet
betrayed by a close friend.
Abandoned by the ones who swore allegiance at any cost.
Denied, ridiculed and mocked.
Surrendering to the cruelness of harsh nails, ripping
tendon, bone and muscle, bleeding precious drops of sin-cleansing blood.
His Hands…Those beautiful hands;
They knew no wrong, no sin, no darkness, bearing the
crushing weight of the sin of the world.
Those innocent Hands, becoming twisted and ugly.
The Father they served in such intimate submission, turning,
forsaking, heaping blistering hot wrath.
The righteous anger of the God of justice pouring out on
those precious, beautiful Hands.
Surrendering to the power of the grave 3 dark days.
His Hands… Those beautiful hands;
Death could not keep them down!
Life coursing back, twitching, reddening, pulsing awake, yet
still bearing the ugly-beautiful marks.
His Hands.. Those beautiful hands;
Leaning out and touching the doubters,
Cooking fish-breakfast over charcoal in excited
anticipation.
Ascending on high, reigning in glory to the wonder and
worship of heaven.
Receiving their just reward; the Nations!... You and Me.
His Hands.. Those beautiful hands;
Reaching out in intercession even now for every single one
of us, and those still stumbling in darkness.
O the beauty of His Hands!
