A searchable, downloadable PDF of the original poem appears below. Mark Dickens is an adherent of St Giles’ Church in Prince George, B.C.
Hands
Hands that formed stars
and pieced together constellations
Hands that molded a celestial orb
tenderly planting a garden
ready for habitation
Hands that sculpted peaks
and cut deep valleys
Hands that took dust
and brought forth bones, tissue, nerves
mere flesh but animated by divine breath
to become one a little lower than the angels
Hands that folded in rest
in joyful anticipation
without puppetstrings attached
Hands that longed to intervene
yet could not
as an apple was eaten
a rotten apple
with bitterness that would linger
for centuries
millenia of pain
confusion and emptiness
Hands that banished
figleaf and all
that longed to hold
yet could not
Hands that made stony ground
thistles and thorns
yet not without a promise
Hands that brought deliverance
held back waters
and sent food from heaven
Hands that shrunk
to be formed in a womb
to be knit together
as they had once
knit the fabric of the cosmos
Hands that wrapped around the finger
of a mother
that clutched at straw
that reached up
for attention and feeding
Hands that played in the dirt
and made mudpies
and played games
and picked flowers
and held other hands
and got slivers
echoes of some
future destiny
Hands that wielded
saw and adze and chisel
with the touch of a craftsman
Hands that laid aside tools
and ceased to work with wood
responding instead to another call
Hands that opened eyes
mended limbs
multiplied bread
and calmed raging seas
Hands that provoked some to love
and some to hate
Hands that could have beckoned
a legion of angels and yet
hung silently with hidden strength
while false accusations were made
Hands that were bound
and held high
while jagged edges
ripped open taut flesh
Hands that still hung silently
as the verdict was read
and the innocent was condemned
to suffer in the place of
the guilty
Hands that shouldered heavy timbers
to walk the way of sorrows
amidst taunts and jeers
underneath a weight far heavier
than mere wood
Hands that received cruel spikes
to find a dwelling place
on blood-stained wood
Hands that hung limp and lifeless
but only for three days
Hands that extend the invitation
Come and follow Me