The Master’s Hands
Tiny fingers reached out to them,
The baby cooing when they smiled.
The three of them soon joined
By shepherds drawn to this Child.
Eager young hands created things
Guided by His carpenter father.
Reverent hands folded in prayers
Led by his Blessed Mother.
A wave, an inviting gesture
Was all the fishermen needed
To follow where He led them,
To ensure His Church succeeded.
A thick paste made of mud
Once caked these gentle hands;
Mud that gave vision, smeared
On the eyes of a sightless man.
Welcoming hands reached out
To lepers, to those full of grief,
Cradling lost sheep lovingly
Healing and giving relief.
With authority and power
The temple was cleared of wares,
Angry hands denouncing
Sacrilege happening there.
One night these hands humbled
The men whose feet He cleansed
Including the lone betrayer,
One of the twelve best friends.
Holy hands shared bread and wine –
A new covenant was blessed,
Before anguished hands sweat blood,
Before the unjust garden arrest.
Once strong and skilled with a hammer
Divinely blessed loaves and fishes.
Now bloodied palms open wide
Accepting His Father’s wishes.
Brenda Kay Farber
