Hands of Faith

My grandfather's hands always fascinated me.

There was nothing particularly extraordinary about them physically, except perhaps the field of freckles that dotted them like a haphazard splash of paint on a blank wall.

No, what made them special hands in my eyes was not what they looked like, but what my Grandpa did with them.

My Dad's dad, he worked in the meat department of a grocery store for over 40 years. Back then, we called him a "meat-cutter," but today he would be called a "butcher."

Whenever I visited him at work, his hands would be busy grinding hamburger, or cutting pork chops, or packaging newly sliced T-bone steaks.

When he brought home the fruits of his labor, his hands would soon be busy again, preparing meat for a cookout, lighting the grill, and serving the best meal ever, every time.

On weekends during the summer, our family convened at a one-room, cinderblock cabin, where Grandpa's hands not only did much of the cooking, but also cut grass, painted walls, patched the roof, hauled water, built the dock on the river and the mended the screen porch.

When the work was done, those hands would hold a paperback book, or deal a hand of cards, or shoot a gun, or bait the hook on a fishing line, or guide our motorboat to shore, or pitch a horseshoe into a distant pit.

I loved to watch my Grandpa's hands, no matter what they were doing. They were hard-working hands.

My grandmother, my Mom's mom, had hands that were filled with talent. She knitted beautiful sweaters, crocheted exquisite afghans, did finely detailed needlepoint and painted paint-by-number masterpieces that looked just like the originals.

They were creative hands.

Maybe that is why I have always admired people who use their hands for a living, who make the world around them better through their hard-work and creativity.

Painters, sculptors, electricians, carpenters, cooks, gardeners, tailors, brick-layers, photographers, quilters, musicians, and fishermen all amaze me, along with so many others like them.

Maybe that is also why I have often wondered what Jesus' hands must have been like.

Have you?

Think about what those hands did while they were here on earth!

They healed, they fed thousands from just a few morsels, they washed the disciples' feet, they broke bread and served wine at the last supper. They cradled small children, turned over the money-changers' tables, and were often folded in prayer.

Think about what those hands did while they were in heaven!

They created the stars and the sun and the moon. They molded the continents and raised the mountains. They formed Adam and made Eve. They "knit together" every baby that has ever been born.

Most incredible of all, though, is that those hands were opened and placed on a wood cross, where they were wounded by the piercing pain of cold, hard, steel nails driven through them by one awful hammer blow after another.

And when I consider that Jesus' hands were hurt for me...how He took my place on that cross...when I realize it should have been MY hands that were hit with those hammer blows...

...I find that I can never look at my own hands in the same way ever again.

And I can never look at Jesus the same way, either.

There are so many reasons to love Jesus. For me, one of those reasons is His hands...all the things they did...what they did for me.

When I get to heaven, don't be surprised if I act a lot like the disciple, Thomas, when he first saw Jesus after His resurrection...

"Now Thomas, one of the Twelve, was not with the disciples when Jesus came. So the other disciples told him, "We have seen the Lord."

But he said to them, "Unless I see the nail marks in his hands and put my finger where the nails were...I will not believe it."

A week later his disciples were in the house again, and Thomas was with them. Though the doors were locked, Jesus came and stood among them and said, "Peace be with you." Then he said to Thomas, "Put your finger here; see my hands...Stop doubting and believe."

Thomas said to him, "My Lord and my God." (John 20:24-28, NIV)

I want to see Jesus' hands too...not because I doubt...but because I believe!


Pastor Greg