The Hands of the Carpenter

The Hands of the Carpenter

With hands worn rough from years of working with wood,
He comforted the sorrowful, and healed the sick,
But the crowd murmured,
“Isn’t he son of Joseph, the carpenter;
How dare he tell us how to live?”
With his hands he fed them all,
From the provisions of a small boy’s lunch.
Still they complained, “Just who does he think he is?”
He stretched out his hands and spoke to the storm;
The wind became quiet and the sea calm.
And the people asked, “Who is this man,
That the wind and rain obey him?”
His hands were bound when he stood before Pilate,
Who asked, “Are you the king of the Jews?”
His hands were nailed to the wood of a cross
And yet he prayed to His Father, “Forgive them.”
He held out his hands showing the holes from the nails
And Thomas, the doubter, fell to his knees
and pronounced him “My Lord and My God.”
He stands now with His arms outstretched,
Offering forgiveness, healing and love.
Who do you say that He is?