That he will never say goodbye reminds me of
small wadded pieces of paper he chose to keep

in hand: in his pockets, receipts, blank post-its
and scrawled notes on napkins even he could not

decipher. Sometimes he lay sleeping, a paper towel
crumpled in his fist. Curved in, his hands unused

to opening, they stay at his side even now-
their pale, smooth surface protected from me taking

my leave. His left hand with its worm-path scar circling
its newly naked finger is the only tell in this silent letting

go. He folds his hands as though anxious to place them
on a high shelf or perhaps in a scented drawer.

-CousinBang

Let thy work appear unto thy servants, and thy glory unto their children.

And let the beauty of the LORD our God be upon us: and establish thou the work of our hands upon us; yea, the work of our hands establish thou it.

They never cease to move me.

You were dreaming on a park bench
‘Bout a broad highway somewhere
When the music from the carillon
Seemed to hurl your heart out there
Past the scientific darkness
Past the fireflies that float
To an angel bending down
To wrap you in her warmest coat

CHORUS:
And you ask, “What am I not doing?”
She says “Your voice cannot command.
In time, you will move mountains,
And it will come through your hands.”

Still you argue for an option
Still you angle for your case
Like you wouldn’t know a burning bush
If it blew up in your face
Yeah, we scheme about the future
And we dream about the past
When just a simple reaching out
Might build a bridge that lasts

CHORUS

So whatever your hands find to do
You must do with all your heart
There are thoughts enough
To blow men’s minds and tear great worlds apart

There’s a healing touch to find you
On that broad highway somewhere
To lift you high
As music flying
Through the angel’s hair.

Don’t ask what you are not doing
Because your voice cannot command
In time we will move mountains
And it will come through your hands

We are also planning to do this at our local county hospital next month– for docs and nurses and orderlies and cafeteria workers and lab technicians and security guards–to consecrate their hands to service. We ask God to bless “all the works of these hands” and to “use these hands to serve God’s people with love.”

One guy told me, “When you blessed my hands, I looked at them differently for months…it was like my hands had a holy purpose.”

Which of course all our hands do. [Lovely, and good to hear from you, my friend. - PB]

That day, a day of the following summer, Miss White and I knelt in her yard while she showed me a magnifying glass. It was a large, string hand lens. She lifted my hand and, holding it very still, focused a dab of sunshine on my palm. The glowing crescent wobbled, spread, and finally contracted to a point. It burned; I was burned; I ripped my hand away and ran home crying. Miss White called after me, sorry, explaining, but I didn’t look back.

Even now I wonder: if I meet God, will he take and hold my bare hand in his, and focus his eye on my palm, and kindle that spot and let me burn?

In a completely different vein, I’m sure you can create a joke (about a broken lamp, or a blackout, or an electrical storm…) whose punchline is “many hands make light work”.

Yes, that’s all me.

I’m kinda flaky like that.

I’m having a moment where I’m floating between some things right now. There’s a part of me that wishes to reconcile with Christianity, but I’ve noticed that UU tends to be a VERY strongly hostile environment to this because of all the Christian bashing that goes on from all these bitter ex-Christians that are drawn to UU and are, quite frankly, poisoning the waters for people like me. In fact, a UU pagan really pushed my buttons earlier today because he became very hostile to the idea of UUs being Bible-literate - he assumed that if one started with Bible literacy, it would mean the entire denomination would be taken over and there would be no room for non-Christian people.

So because of that,…I’m considering being an Episcopalian because it is welcoming, I love their liturgy passionately, I adore the Book of Common Prayer, and I’ve felt some very heart-melting tenderness and mercy from an Episcopal priest. Sadly, here in central Florida we have Bishop John Howe running the show, and that keeps me on the fringes. He is not in favor of gay bishops, etc.

Maybe that helps?

Hand Meditation
Rev. Nancy McDonald Ladd

I want you to look, for a moment, at your hands.
Hold them up in front of you. Move them in real close.

First look at your palms. Every line, every crease and cranny and wrinkle is a sign of your own individuality, a holy remnant of the makings of your life. What do your palms look like? Are there scars, and to you remember how you go them? Are there spots, blue veins running sacred life into the very tips of your fingers?

Press your fingers together, the softness of your fingertips yielding to the hard firmness of the bones beneath. You are softness and firmness, red life, fragile skin and solid bone. You are none other than yourself, and no other fingertips in the whole reaching world combine the whirls and swirls and softness and bone of your fingertips, these fingertips.

Turn your hands over now, facing up. Do your hands remind you of anyone else’s hands? Do they look like your father’s hands? Like your mothers? Like those of your children? Do you have calluses from work well-done, memories of hands you’ve held, reminders of the places they have been?

Notice the rising pink suns at the base of your fingernails, a reminder that life rises each time your heart beats and your life is yours alone.

These hands have been, can be, instruments of almost anything in the world.

They can snap out a tune,
they can roar in applause,
they can turn into fists,
they can open in invitation.

They can build new homes, build their congregations, comfort the wounded, caress the beloved. They can be hard, and soft, peaceful and mean. They can shape the world, your hands. They are your own instruments of compassion.

And so, let our hands guide us down roads of cooperation, imagination and appreciation. May they reach out to those in dark places and extend lovingly to a world in need. May they shape our lives and our congregation into something ever-closer to all that we pray it may become.

YOU NEED HANDS
(Roy Irwin)

Max Bygraves - 1958
Eydie Gorme - 1958

You need hands to hold someone you care for
You need hands to show that you’re sincere
When you feel nobody wants to know you
You need hands to brush away the tears

When you hold a brand new baby
You need tender hands to guide them on their way
You need hands to thank the Lord for living
And for giving us this day

Let’s dance for the ladies and gentlemen….

(Instrumental Break)

You need hands to show the world you’re happy
And you need hands when you have to stop the bus
But the hands we love so dear are the hands we love to hear
Are the hands that you give to us
Everybody, are the hands that you give
Everybody, that’s nice, thank you,
Thank you ladies and gentlemen, thank you

Grandma’s hands
Clapped in church on Sunday morning
Grandma’s hands
Played a tambourine so well
Grandma’s hands
Used to issue out a warning
She’d say, “Billy don’t you run so fast
Might fall on a piece of glass
“Might be snakes there in that grass”
Grandma’s hands

Grandma’s hands
Soothed a local unwed mother
Grandma’s hands
Used to ache sometimes and swell
Grandma’s hands
Used to lift her face and tell her,
“Baby, Grandma understands
That you really love that man
Put yourself in Jesus hands”
Grandma’s hands

Grandma’s hands
Used to hand me piece of candy
Grandma’s hands
Picked me up each time I fell
Grandma’s hands
Boy, they really came in handy
She’d say, “Matty don’ you whip that boy
What you want to spank him for?
He didn’ drop no apple core”
But I don’t have Grandma anymore

If I get to Heaven I’ll look for
Grandma’s hands