Hands

Four worship services in 2 days is by no means a record - nor unusual.  But in 4 services a lot of people come forward to receive communion - it is at the core of our worship.  For some reason during service #3, I noticed the hands -  not just “oh here are so and so’s hands - but really looking at them.  And I was humbled.

Hands that were 89 and 90 and 95 years old, spotted with age, knarly knuckles, hands bent into unusual shapes by hard work and arthritis…  hands that have a history,  
And then there were the hands of some of the women, perfect manicures, polish fresh and shiny, a counterpoint to the paper thin skin that betrayed their age,                                  
And then there were the farmers hands, large and beefy, the dust that we will some day return to still embedded under their nails,            
And then there were the mothers hands, holding squirming babies and toddlers, trying to juggle the small wafer and their children’s quickly moving hands that wanted to touch everything,
And then there were the youth, the twixt and teens, preadolescence and 20 somethings.  Young hands, some still plump with baby fat, some slender and graceful, some with nails chewed to bits, polish chipped, rarely perfect, hands with a future.

But in spite of all of the differences, they all had one thing in common.  Hands open to receive the life source - needing the bread/body of Christ, needing to soak up the life giving wine/blood.  Some hands wide open with left cupping right, curled into cups or flat out like a plate, some hands with fingers open as if to pinch the wafer out of the air, but all open in receiving.  It was humbling to see that need and pure joy to be able to fill it.