PeaceBang
The manic mind of the minister -- Auntie Mame Meets Cotton Mather. Blogging about Unitarian Universalism, UU Christian spiritual practice, occasional cultural and political ravings, and the inner life of ministry. PeaceBang is the alter ego of a small town pastor serving an historic New England Unitarian Universalist congregation.
HANDS
April 21, 2008 on 2:57 pm | In Liturgy |Since you were all such marvelous help pointing me toward resources about modern day slavery, I thought I’d ask you for your favorite readings, poems and stories about hands.
I’m preaching a sermon about hands this Sunday — my last service before I go on a five-week sabbatical. I think I’ll call it “All Hands On Deck” (thanks, Rali!). I have a pretty good treasure trove of tales from my own life and some stories from the Jewish tradition, but I’m always on the hunt for more good stuff.
If ya got something, I’d love to hear it. And thanks!
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One of my favorite poems is Margaret Atwood’s “The Girl Without Hands,” which may have been inspired by an old, weird fairy tale.
Comment by h sofia — April 21, 2008 #
This is more of an observation than a story, but I’ve always noticed that after a woman becomes a mother her hands look more capable and sure. More weathered, perhaps, but also just more…able.
Glad to hear the Easter Sermon went well.
Comment by Kate — April 21, 2008 #
Dusting
Time to dust again.
Time to caress my house,
to stroke all its surfaces.
I want to think of it as a kind of lovemaking
…the chance to appreciate by touch
what I live with and cherish.
The rags come out — old soft pajama legs,
torn undershirts, frayed towels.
They are still of use.
It is precisely because they have exhausted
their original use that they have come
to this honorable task.
Rag in hand, I feel along each piece
of furniture I live with, and luster returns
to the old sideboard, to the chair legs
and the lamp stands. It is as if by touch
they are revealed and restored to themselves.
Strange that in the dumbness of inanimate things
one can feel so much silent response.
What then of us animate creatures?
We are so many-surfaced: bumpy, smooth,
prickly, rough, silky, hairy, spiny, soft, scaly,
furry, feathery, sharp, and on and on.
And don’t we all want to be stroked in some way
…to be restored to ourselves by touch
as much as by sight or smell or sound?
I want to be a lover of surfaces all day today.
Let this be the prayer:
that my hands not be ashamed
to give and to receive a passionate exchange
…to luster and to be lustered…
and so come to feel Your inward touch.
–Gunilla Norris
Comment by Janeybird — April 21, 2008 #
Okay, not a poem as requested, but ponder on the many, many phrases involving hands:
* Lend a hand
* A bird in the hand…
* Give your hand in marriage
* That ____ is hands down the best ____
* Raise your hand
* Hand me that ____
* Holding hands
* All hands on deck
* and many more
Wow — the hand is a pretty important and useful instrument!
Comment by Lynette — April 21, 2008 #
There’s a cool reading in Life Prayers, a blessing on all kinds of hands - healing hands, working hands, etc. Canna remember the title & it’s at church, but I remember its loveliness. [JUST so happens that my copy of Life Prayers is sitting right here. How weird. - PB]
Comment by Rev. Gidget — April 21, 2008 #
Sounds like the prayer by Diann Neu, which I was just about to suggest! I’ll see if I can dig it up in the next day or so. [J, get a load of this!! - PB]
Comment by Jane R — April 21, 2008 #
How about songs?
Daddy’s Hands by Holly Dunn
and
Grandma’s Hands by Bill Withers
Comment by earthbound spirit — April 21, 2008 #
De-lurking to say that one of my favorite poems about hands is “The Gift,” by Li-Young Lee.
(Hope the xhtml worked there– I’m a newbie at this!)
Comment by Lark — April 22, 2008 #
There’s a lovely meditation on hands on the Worship Web Resources Library by (I think) Christine Robinson
Comment by Pigwidgeon — April 22, 2008 #
Well, all I can think of right now is that Johnny Depp has beautiful hands - ever notice that??
Comment by Tracie the Red — April 22, 2008 #
I’ve been too busy admiring his cheekbones.
Comment by Janeybird — April 22, 2008 #
Kate–your “observation” helps support the prejudice our society holds against singles and childless people. As a 30-something, who happens to be single and childless, let me just say that my hands are not less capable!!
Comment by mec — April 22, 2008 #
Not sure if this is relevant, but I like the song “Hands” by Jewel…
If I could tell the world just one thing
It would be that we’re all OK
And not to worry ’cause worry is wasteful
And useless in times like these
I won’t be made useless
I won’t be idle with despair
I will gather myself around my faith
For light does the darkness most fear
My hands are small, I know
But they’re not yours, they are my own
But they’re not yours, they are my own
And I am never broken
Poverty stole your golden shoes
It didn’t steal your laughter
And heartache came to visit me
But I knew it wasn’t ever after
We’ll fight, not out of spite
For someone must stand up for what’s right
‘Cause where there’s a man who has no voice
There ours shall go singing
My hands are small I know
But they’re not yours, they are my own
But they’re not yours, they are my own
I am never broken
In the end only kindness matters
In the end only kindness matters
I will get down on my knees, and I will pray
I will get down on my knees, and I will pray
I will get down on my knees, and I will pray
My hands are small I know
But they’re not yours, they are my own
But they’re not yours, they are my own
And I am never broken
My hands are small I know
But they’re not yours, they are my own
But they’re not yours, they are my own
And I am never broken
We are never broken
We are God’s eyes
God’s hands
God’s mind
We are God’s eyes
God’s hands
God’s heart
We are God’s eyes
God’s hands
God’s eyes
We are God’s hands
We are God’s hands
Comment by anon — April 22, 2008 #
I assume you already know about this one:
http://pastorprayers.org/2007/08/31/hands-of-almost-a-century/
Comment by fausto — April 22, 2008 #
And here’s a strikingly Unitarian-sounding meditation attributed to St. Teresa of Avila:
Christ has no body now but yours,
No hands, no feet on earth but yours,
Yours are the eyes with which he looks
Compassion on this world,
Yours are the feet with which he walks to do good,
Yours are the hands, with which he blesses all the world.
Yours are the hands, yours are the feet,
Yours are the eyes, you are his body.
Comment by fausto — April 22, 2008 #
Not a poem, but did you look at the chapter on the handless maiden in Women Who Run with the Wolves? Very interesting. Defines hands by their absence.
Comment by Wonder and Wondering — April 22, 2008 #
well thanks for the credit but it was Peter B who said it..
Comment by Rali — April 22, 2008 #
“Grandma’s Hands” by Bill Withers
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
Comment by Satchel Pooch — April 22, 2008 #
You reminded me of the vaudeville song that Malcolm McLaren, manager of the Sex Pistols, sang on one of their record.
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
Comment by Hank — April 22, 2008 #
I second “Grandma’s Hands” by Bill Withers. That song always comes to mind when someone mentions hands. Great lyrics, great song.
Comment by Patricia — April 22, 2008 #
I wrote a meditation about hands for use in my own congregation awhile back. For what it’s worth…
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.
Comment by NancyML — April 22, 2008 #
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?
Comment by Tracie the Red — April 22, 2008 #
Hands feature prominently, if only incidentally, in
Annie Dillard’s “God in the Doorway”, from Teaching
a Stone to Talk. Someone typed in the whole
essay
here,
but here is the passage I’m thinking of:
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”.
Comment by Everett — April 23, 2008 #
Once or twice a year, I do a “blessing of hands” for people who work at our food pantry, and also for the guys who work in the warehouse and drive the trucks that deliver the food to us. We bring oil for anointing, and stand right there wherever people work, holding their hands, and we cross their hands with the oil, asking God to bless all the work of their hands. Then I usually say something like, “[name] may God’s love and mercy be shown to everyone you touch with these hands.” It is really powerful…people drive up to me on forklifts and chase me across the warehouse floor asking for the blessing.
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]
Comment by Sara Miles — April 23, 2008 #
I love the song “Through your hands” by John Hiatt. I’ve also heard Joan Baez sing it. When I became a massage therapist (a brief stop on a path towards ministry) this song summed up a great deal for 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
Comment by marcia — April 24, 2008 #
These are the last two lines of Psalm 90 and they were used as the benediction by my internship supervisor at every worship service:
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.
Comment by Larry — April 24, 2008 #
His Hands
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
Comment by cousinbang — April 25, 2008 #