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I have
long been fascinated by the post-resurrection appearances
of Jesus ... especially some of the smaller, easy-to-overlook
details. Everybody ... well, almost everybody ... knows John's
story about how Thomas says to the others: "I won't believe
until I place my hands in his holes." Whereupon Jesus
appears ... sufficiently holey ... and says to Thomas: "Okay,
check me out."
But few
recall Luke's story of Jesus, suddenly standing in the midst
of his "startled and frightened disciples." Wouldn't
you be startled and frightened? But imagine their surprise
when Jesus asks: "Have you anything here to eat?"
Which is doubly ironic, given that the last time they were
together, he was the one doing the feeding. So they gave him
a piece of broiled fish and (Luke says) "he took it all
and ate it in their presence."
Nobody
is quite sure what that little fish story is all about. But
scholars suggest that by the time Luke put his narrative together
(along about 85 a.d.), there were a significant number of
skeptics who were saying: "Jesus never appeared from
the dead in the flesh. And, to the degree that he appeared
at all, it was only as an apparition ... i.e. a ghost."
So Luke includes this little detail about the "broiled
fish" and the fact that he ate it "in their presence."
It may be Luke's way of saying: "Ghost? Did you ever
see a ghost chew? Did you ever see a ghost swallow? Did you
ever see a ghost digest? Well, did you?"
All of
which was after Jesus said: "See my hands and feet ...
that it is I, myself. Handle me and see. For a spirit has
not flesh and bones, as you will see that I have."
Could
you identify someone by hands and feet alone? Especially if
that was all you could see? Could you pick your spouse's feet
from a lineup? Or your spouse's hands? I seldom forget a face.
But I am terrible with feet. And not much better with hands.
Can't you see it now (on the bulletin board of the post office):
Suspect
has webbed toes on both feet. Little toe on left foot seems
to have been broken, given that it turns outward at a 60
degree angle. Hands are stubby, with telltale signs of chronic
nail biting. Small scar on right thumb.
Hands
and feet are not the first things we notice about one another.
I have one finger that doesn't bend like the rest of them.
That's because I dislocated it playing basketball on the May
Sunday that Al Kaline hit three home runs in one game and
(for the first time, ever) served notice that he was going
to be a star ... that being the year he went on to hit .340.
Which you noticed. But you never noticed my finger ... or
the periodic eruption of eczema I sometimes get right here
(between knuckle number one and finger number two on the back
of my right hand).
And I
am not going to tell you even that much about my feet, given
that I place them under the heading of what Paul sometimes
calls "less desirable parts." And most of you do,
too. When Faith Fowler kicked off her high heels on Tuesday
night, she said: "Anybody who knows anything about me
knows that I never preach in shoes." Whereupon I thought:
"Anybody who knows anything about me knows that I never
preach ... or do anything else ... without shoes." Which
is not completely true. But we won't go there.
Rod Quainton
comes from a denominational tradition where they do foot washing
on Maundy Thursday. I once had an Associate who wanted to
do a foot washing service on Ash Wednesday ... and since I
am longer on permission-giving than on permission-withholding
(and since the Ash Wednesday service was "his call"
to make), I reluctantly said: "Go for it." But what
he hadn't counted on was that Ash Wednesday customarily falls
in February. And during February (in Michigan), people do
not wear sandals. Instead they wear boots, socks, slacks and
pantyhose. Which means that there couldn't be much "washing"
until there had been considerable "stripping," don't
you see. And which is why a whole lot of people left the service
early ... before the "washing" part. It wasn't that
they hadn't been warned. They knew what was coming. They just
hadn't taken the time to pre-think it through. I stayed, even
though I had a hard time letting anybody wash my feet. But
upon giving myself over to it, I liked it. And I came to understand
a fraction of what Jesus meant at the Last Supper when he
said to Peter (concerning the foot washing): "Unless
I do this for you, you shall have no part in me."
"See
my hands and feet," said Jesus. Why? Because of the wounds,
most likely. But there may have been other things ... given
the ways that hands and feet can talk.
A couple
of nights ago, Kris and I raced westward in order to beat
"last call" at a funeral home in Farmington. We
wanted to see Jim Hood's family. And, I suppose, Jim himself.
Thanks to a wonderful embalmer and hairdresser, Jim had "never
looked so good." Which was nice, except for everyone's
remarking that Jim looked "too good." More to the
point, what looked "too good" were Jim's hands.
They were clean. Soft to the touch. No wear in the creases.
No dirt in the nails.
For as
long as I (or anybody) knew Jim Hood, he took care of the
grounds at Nardin Park Church ... 20 acres of grounds ...
as a volunteer. Jim planted trees ... pruned trees ... moved
trees ... cleaned out from under trees. He also cleared brush,
tilled gardens and single-handedly (one shovel at a time)
changed the course of a small river. All of which he did until
he was 87 years old. You say you don't believe it? Look at
his hands. Which never lied in life. But, the other night,
they lied in death ... although, by that time, everybody knew
the truth.
I know
the truth about some of your hands. I am talking about those
of you who come near me, at the 8:15 service, to break bread
from my loaf. I have memorized your hands. And I am moved
by some of the stories I see reflected in your hands. And
time would fail me were I to talk about the hands I shake
every Sunday at the door, and the additional stories they
convey.
I know
less about feet. Most of us cover them, thinking them to be
less than pretty. But hands are no better. They give us away
in all of our humanness. Sometimes clenched. Sometimes nervous.
Sometimes damp with sweat. Sometimes callused with work. And
oft-times soiled. I have yet to meet anybody with lifetime
membership in the "Clean Hands Club."
Said
Linus to Lucy:
"See these hands. One day they could be the hands of
a concert-giving violinist ... an internationally-acclaimed
scientist ... a world-renown surgeon.
Said
Lucy to Linus:
"They've got jelly on them."
Don't
they all?
"See
my hands and feet," said Jesus. And when they looked,
they saw everything he had ever done for them. They saw hands
that had broken bread, blessed the wine and fried fish over
the fire ... holding it out to them, over and over again.
They saw fingers that had touched untouchables ... pressed
medicinal mud pies against a blind man's eyes ... and taken
a dead girl by the hand until she rose and walked. They also
saw hands that bounced when he laughed ... flew when he danced
(oh yes, I think he danced) ... .painted pictures when he
preached ... and rearranged the dust on the ground the day
he waited for even one sinless man to throw even one hostile
rock at the lady they caught with her dress around her ankles.
And looking
at his feet ... the ones that had carried him miles upon miles
for days upon days ... they surely must have remembered that
scandalous night when that vulgar woman wet them with her
tears and dried them with her hair. And I ask you, when was
the last time anybody did that to you?
All of
that is there to be seen tonight. Tomorrow ... along about
12:00 ... we will add wounds. And we will have something to
recognize him by. His hands and feet. They spoke volumes about
him.
What,
pray tell, do ours say about us ... we who would dare to call
ourselves "the body of Christ."
Note:
I am indebted to Barbara Brown Taylor for suggestion of theme
and image.
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