Hands

Recently, I have found myself transfixed upon human hands in a new, albeit, weird way. Whether it's shaking hands at church or placing them on my wife's pregnant belly, I have first of all come to realize two characteristics about my own hands that I find kind of unsettling. The first is that my hands are freezing most of the time. Is my blood circulation that bad?  I don't know, but my hands are embarrassingly cold. I am always apologizing for my cold hands - which is often in my line of work as a Pastor. Cold hands are never a good thing, even in the summer when the temps are much higher. I've even thought about getting those hand-warmers that we used to keep in our pockets in the winter months - you know, always keep one in my pocket should I anticipate a receiving line or peace-sharing moment arise.  I hate my cold hands. Secondly, I have noticed that my handshake is a tad on the dainty and feeble side of the Grip-o-meter.  Granted, it's not the dreaded limp grip, but I've noticed my hand feeling absolutely crushed on more than one occasion over the last three months. Is it because of the higher population of farmers and hands-on laborers in this area?  Perhaps.  I mean, when you work outdoors and with heavy equipment for a living, its no wonder that your hands develop into calloused, vice-grip-like instruments of squeeze. But, cold and dainty?  Really?  I have a sudden desire to start strengthening my grip by pumping iron with that hand squeeze device my grandpa used to have laying around the house.

Aside from shaking and clasping, I've really noticed people's hands when placing the body of Christ into them during Communion.  There isn't much time to connect with someone when distributing the bread or the wine, so I usually find myself taking notice of two things: their eyes and their hands.  But sometimes, people aren't looking at me, so all I get are their outstretched hands to connect with.  This is how I've started my fascination with hands.  Our hands have no doubt seen, felt and experienced every thing over the course of our lives. I've encountered missing fingers, dirt and grime encrusted hands and big, beefy I-could-kill-a-bear-with-my-bare-hands kind of hands. Some hands are old and frail and others are tiny and innocent. Palms can be sweaty or rough while some are smooth.  As mentioned, some hands are warm and others frigid, and some are comforting while others are threatening. Some hands communicate weakness, while others shout strength and power.  I admit, I've had a bit of hand envy from time to time. But, all in all, what is most interesting about our hands is that I know they hold so much of who we are in them - they embody and reflect what we do, where we've been and how we interact with one another.

As I reflect upon our hands, a well-known story from the life and hands of Jesus emerges. Coming to mind is the story of Thomas, who, unfairly in my opinion, has been deemed "doubting Thomas." Upon hearing of Jesus' resurrection, he demands to touch with his own hands, the wounds Jesus has sustained in his crucifixion - otherwise, he will not believe: "Then Jesus said to Thomas, "Put your finger here and see my hands. Reach out your hand and put it in my side. Do not doubt but believe." John 20:27  Talk about our hands telling a story!  Both Jesus' wounded hands and Thomas' uncertain hands connect in what is by far one of the coolest hand-exchanges of all time.  Yes, our hands hold a tremendous amount of memory and story and serve as the extensions of God in a troubled world, as my sister-in-law Christine in South Africa can attest.  In my case, I've learned that regardless of my hands' weakness or temperature, they continue to help define who I am and how I choose to connect with others on this journey of faith and doubt, in sorrow or in joy.

May God continue to bless your hands to be a blessing for all the hands you come in contact with this holiday season and beyond.

PS: Don't forget to wash your hands! Clean hands are happy hands.