Dear All,
We are moving on through Eastertide and hoping that May will bring us all more of that Resurrection hope and joy. Our theme today is a bit of a ‘one-off’!
I started by thinking of the senses – there is so much to enjoy through our senses at this time of year. But ‘touch’ and ‘our hands’ kept coming up so, other than one general one ‘Creator God’, it has ended up with reflections on our hands and touch. I hope something here will find resonance with you this week. Maybe another week we can focus on another of our senses.
The blessing is from Sacred Weave, ‘Let the Peace of the Father…..’ Hoping it brings you and those close to you much peace as we start May.
With love
Blessed be the work of our hands.
Blessed be these hands that touch life.
Blessed be these hands that nurture creativity.
Blessed be these hands that hold pain.
Blessed be these hands that embrace with passion.
Blessed be these hands that tend gardens.
Blessed bed these hands that close in anger.
Blessed be these hands that plant new seeds.
Blessed be these hands that harvest ripe fields.
Blessed be these hands that clean, wash, mop, scrub.
Blessed be these hands that become knotty with age.
Blessed be these hands that wrinkle and scar from doing justice.
Blessed are these hands that reach out and are received.
Blessed are these hands that hold the promise of the future.
Blessed be the works of our hands and hearts.
DIANN NEU
Hands
Anon
Hands sensitive to feel the softest silk
and the roughness of the stony ground.
Skilful hands to sculpt, paint, build and sew.
Hands to speak the word unspoken and unheard.
Another’s hand to beckon and to cherish, to wipe away a tear.
Gentle hands to love, to greet, to comfort, to show the way.
The tender care of parent for a child,
of old for young and young for old.
These are hands you would have us use but
all too often there are angry hands,
clenched fists eager to harm, maim and destroy
not your hands, Lord, but ours betraying once more
the gentleness of your touch.
You know all about angry hands Lord,
hands reaching out to hammer in cruel nails
raised to mock and jeer.
Forgive us Lord for our angry hands.
Those are not the hands we seek
but your hands Lord to lead us by the hand
to shelter, save and help us so that we may learn
To use our hands in ways pleasing to you.
I look at my hands.
My fists ready to strike, either in attack or defence,
but nevertheless still fists.
My white knuckles,
drained of blood,
drained of life
hard, tense, closed.
I look at my fists and I see the symbol of so much of my life.
My striving for my goals
my determination
my power
my drained, lifeless existence
often without meaning.
But now I open my hands, slowly folding back
the fingers and I look at the palms of my hands.
The softer skin so much more vulnerable.
I look at the hands that have cradled a baby’s head,
hands that my parents held to keep me safe,
hands that still reach out for other hands to hold,
hands that caress and comfort those in pain.
In my hands I see a mirror of my life,
So often, closed and hard.
May my heart be open to others, to life this moment
as easily as I have opened my hands just now.
Creator God, forgive our moments of ingratitude,
the spiritual blindness that prevents us
from appreciating the wonder that is this world,
the endless cycle of nature, of life and death and rebirth.
Forgive us for taking without giving,
reaping without sowing.
Open our eyes to see,
our lips to praise,
our hands to share,
and may our feet tread lightly
on the road that, together, we travel.