Have you ever looked closely at your hands? Really, really examined them? I have. I remember my Dad, shortly before his passing, spending hours studying his hands. I’d love to know what he was thinking at those times.
Mine are the hands that held my first rattle as a baby, helped support me as an infant crawler, grasped crayons, pencils and finally a pen. They held my ball bats, golf clubs and shop tools. They reached out to the distressed, opened greeting cards sent by the special and caressed the one’s I cared for and loved.
The hands of Christ have their own special inscription. They healed the sick, fed the thousands and welcomed the saved. After He was beaten and humiliated His palms were brutally nailed to a cross as punishment for our sinful past. There never has been nor will there ever be another with the identical scars. They remain as vivid testimony to His love and the hope He promised the faithful. He was truly the Messiah, the Son of God.
Listen as Luke describes the final words spoken by Jesus from the Cross,
“Jesus called out with a loud voice,
‘Father, into your hands I commit my spirit.’
When He had said this,
he breathed His last.”
And it will be the hands of Jesus that signals His acceptance or rejection of our eternal future. They will direct us toward or away from the sound of spiritual choirs and the radiant lights of everlasting comfort.
Hear the prophet Isaiah as he speaks of the promises of divine deliverance,
“You will go out in joy
and be led forth in peace;
the mountains and hills
will burst into song before you,
and all the trees of the field will clap their hands.”