His Hands...

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!