Lyrical Riffs This hand, an unknown woman, reaching up,
A lunge, a grab for the very edge of a cloak,
Healing, hope, desperation for a dying life.
A hand going down in history.
This hand, an unknown friend, reaching down,
A hole in a roof, lowering rope burning against skin,
Help for an injured man, a plea for a new start.
A hand going down in history.
This hand, an unknown soldier, reaching up,
A mottled sponge on a stained stick,
Vinegar, cheap wine, a drink for a dying man.
A hand going down in history.
Two hands, we’re getting to know, stretched out,
Shaping the world from scratch,
Tortured, torn, hammered, laid bare for that very universe.
Two hands going down in history.
Our hands, as much as we know of ourselves,
Offered in ragged prayer, as much as we dare admit,
The good things, the bad, the hurting and hopeful.
Our hands, bringing our history, to his.
Luke 8 vv 43-48, Mark 2 vv 3-12, John 19 vv 28-30
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