| May 06, 2007
THE SEASON OF EASTER You are welcome to reflect on this message
On the fourth Sunday of the Easter Season, we’re considering Jesus’ second resurrection appearance in Luke’s Gospel, after the walk along the Emmaus road. Where he continues to play out his theme of those times when the familiar seems strange. And the strange seems familiar. He utilizes a pattern of unawareness, then surprise, and finally recognition. Earlier around the table Cleopas and his buddy acknowledged Jesus when he “broke the bread.” Something about the way he handled it that made their “hearts burn.” Suddenly they recognized the Stranger. Luke has Jesus showing up “on the road,” not the Upper Room like John’s Gospel. And the menu was “broiled fish.” But both appearances in Luke he “opened their minds to the scriptures.” Jesus valued an open mind for his church. It has a surgical feel to it.
But seeing a dead man alive again spooked the disciples. They thought were having hallucinations. But Jesus gave them all the proof they needed for their doubts. Four reasons they can believe he is who he says he is: two hands and two feet. And not just any hands and feet. They were particularly his. And it wasn’t just the hands and feet, but the wounds; that’s what he wanted them to see. It’s an unusual way to present yourself. He could’ve said, “Don’t ya’ll recognize the sound of my voice?” Or “Look at my face.” But Jesus identified himself to his followers by his scars, not his muscles, because sacrifice accomplishes more in the long run than power.
During my Maryland days, I got my first and only pedicure at a little store near our church in Silver Spring. I’ve been cursed with one of those toenails that’s more callous than nail. And I keep slicing my into my toes every time I try to trim it. After bleeding one time too many, my wife suggested: “Why don’t you get a pedicure?” Hey, nothing from nothing leaves nothing! So I did. I was the only guy in the place. The ladies were having their dainty nails done and an Asian woman started massaging my feet. And it tickled like the dickens! So I got the giggles. She held on as best she could. I wouldn’t let her put on any polish. But out of ignorance I gave her a $5 tip! (I understand from the sisters, that’s a bit high!) So she said, “Be sure to come back and see me in a month!” And the next time I show up, she’ll recognize me, not by the feet, but the tip! Wouldn’t it be funny if the FBI hung up those “most wanted” posters with hands & feet on them instead of mug shots? Nah, hands and feet aren’t what we notice. But they say a lot about who we are.
I can tell you about mine. My hands have blue blood veins throbbing on top. And a few white circles there from freezing pre-cancerous tissue. My left ring finger got exploded when I was four, and there’s shrapnel still lodged in it. I can’t do much with it now but at least what’s left of it is still there. And I’m thankful my Daddy wouldn’t let the doctor to cut it off. But I made up for it by whacking off the tip of my left pointer a few years ago, trimming shrubbery in front of the church in Silver Spring. I was doing fine till a pretty woman came strutting by! It’s still numb but I like to think it was in the line of duty. It shows how some of our scars we deserve. My right hand is pretty normal run-of-the-mill, as far as hands go. Four fingers, one thumb. I’ve closed the car door on them a couple of times. And along with various and sundry cuts and scratches from battling the oleander jungle in my yard in Arizona, it’s tested my immune system to the limit.
What led to the pedicure I could blame on the church too. In S.C. days played for the church softball team. One night I got a hit and the outfielder threw high, so when I stepped on second base, he came down on my foot with his cleats, gouging my toenail clean off! It grew back about five times thicker than a toenail ought to be and I’ve had to fuss with it ever since. I’ve also had my share of sprained ankles but not as much has happened to my feet as my hands. Feet are more private than hands. Maybe because they’re covered by shoes. We use our hands more and don’t wear gloves, so maybe we could spot one another more by our hands than our feet. When I’m here longer I’ll be able to identify some of you by your hands by heart. Those I shake-out-the-door every Sunday. Touch enough hands and you get to where you recognize a few. So Jesus identified himself by showing them his hands. Some like ours with wear and tear. Some with rings; some short a finger or two. Some with freckles and moles. Some are lucky, unmarked by time and error. But unmarked hands have no clue about what the communion cost.
The thing I like about hands is they don’t lie. They can’t lie because they can’t talk (unless you use sign language). Now faces can lie, people can be “two-faced.” You know I’m not two-faced or I wouldn’t be wearing this one! But with hands, what you see is what you get. Hands are honest like that. Their integrity will give us away every time. I’ve seen twitchy hand, clenched hands, soiled hands, white hands, black hands, bloody hands, feminine hands, masculine hands. Hands don’t lie.
Jesus’ showed what happened to him. They saw the hands that “broke bread and blessed broiled fish.” They saw the hands that “pressed mud and spit in blind eyes and reached out to a dead girl” who got up out of bed and walked away. They saw hands that “touched lepers” without holding back; hands that danced in the air, preaching the beatitudes. They saw the feet that took him hundreds of dusty miles, sharing his good news with all who were starving for it; into the homes of sinners and bureaucrats whom he treated like long-lost friends. The feet that took him to the Decapolis where a demoniac lived like a wild dog among the tombs, whom he set free from his “legion of devils.” Seeing Jesus’ hands and feet reminded them of the prostitute’s tears and hair.
They’re wounded now–the hands that connected him with others and the feet that joined him to this old earth that he molded aeons ago. What the creatures did to the Creator’s hands made them hard to look at. Earlier on Friday, when they figured out what’s in store for those hands and feet, they refused to look and ran away–hiding out of sight in safety, where they couldn’t see the blood or hear the pounding hammers. “Look,” he said, now that there’s no danger in it. “You can look at ‘em now.” Jesus wanted them to see what he’d been through. So he invited them to look...not at his face, not into his eyes, not at what he had on...but at his hands and feet. Because they told the truth about him. Jesus’ hands and feet were the only proof that he was who he was. So when he left us something to remember him by it was his hands and feet. They do not lie. Hands can touch, serve, or hurt. They can be open and welcoming or fisted and closed.
Churches have hands. And when people out there look around for the risen Christ today, and they want to know what their wounds mean, it’s us they look at. Not our pretty faces and nice clothes; not our sincere eyes or trimmed hair but our hands and our feet! What we’ve done with them, where we’ve been with them; who we’ve blessed with them; whether they’re unfurled or pointing; a cause of blessing or blaming. Church hands. Our hands. They do not lie. With your hands you can give an offering or criticize. With your hands you take the communion. Extend a hand to somebody today. That’s when we’re most like Jesus.
Pastoral Prayer:
Keep on “opening our minds” to the scriptures” so that we won’t “harden our hearts” against its inconvenient truth. Jesus identified himself as the Lord’s “suffering servant.” But we grow skeptical when bad things happen to good people. But the Easter Season marks your stamp of approval on Jesus’ way of life, and death. But save us from reducing the resurrection to a proof of the immortality of the soul.
May your Spirit guide this church so that we will make you known not only “in the breaking of the bread” but in the sharing of it. Help us to accept the forgiveness of Christ not merely as a revelation of divine character but as a model for human behavior.
We invoke your power to overcome strife, to endure suffering, to rise above affliction and to pass through death and beyond. Let us never lose sight of the connection between Good Friday and Easter -- or that your victories don’t come without cost to us. Make us as willing to pay the price of your redemption as we are to claim it for ourselves.
Instead of lamenting our inability to make our neighbors take notice of us, make us doers of deeds that turns their attention to you. Assure us that our Lord’s promise still holds and be present with us now, as in the days of Jesus, to make us whole and to make us holy. Amen. *Credit Craddock for his creativity that lieth herein Back |
“The Hands Don’t lie”*