I watched your hands

Jesus, my Jesus, I watched your hands this week.
They were Chilean, American, Paraguayan,
Sunburnt red, toasted tan, young and old.
They were soft and gentle,
Strong and determined,
Graceful, clumsy,
Neatly groomed,
Nails grimy with the rich earth.

Jesus, my Jesus, I watched your hands this week.
They were Chilean, American, Paraguayan,
Sunburnt red, toasted tan, young and old.
They were soft and gentle,
Strong and determined,
Graceful, clumsy,
Neatly groomed,
Nails grimy with the rich earth.

Jesus, my Jesus, I watched your hands this week.
Hammering stakes that hold down tents,
Tying ropes on an overstuffed pick up truck,
Washing dishes, cleaning bathrooms,
Hugging adolescents shy and stubborn,
Clapping madly to the tune of a crazy song,
Lifted high in worship,
Folded in quiet prayer,
Writing, eating, drawing,
Playing the guitar.

Jesus, my Jesus, I watched your hands this week.
Speaking in pantomime and bridging language barriers,
Clasping in a secret handshake,
And welcoming the outsider,
Taking up a hairy spider,
Cupping cold spring water,
Holding tight in the darkness,
Forming a circle under the starlight as
An open invitation to reach out to God.

Jesus, my Jesus, I watched your hands this week.
You took my hands in yours,
Cleansing and preparing them,
Washing away complaints and selfishness,
Drying off the violence and greed,
In your hands, you opened my palms in opportunity
In your hands, you opened my fingers to give and receive
In your hands, you opened my hands to serve.

Shalom,

Elena Huegel

Elena Huegel is a missionary with the Pentecostal Church of Chile (IPC). She serves as an environmental and Christian education specialist.