...He blessed them.
Have you ever followed the hands of Jesus?
See them as Mary first held him, and his tiny hand wrapped around a finger as He nursed in the warmth of her embrace.
See his hands as he reaches out to touch the grizzled beard of Simeon in the temple.
See his hands as He learns to plane the wood and help Joseph in the carpenter shop, hands growing calloused even as a youth.
See his hands as he opens the Torah and reads from it, a finger tracing along with the words.
See his hands as they fold when John puts Him beneath the waters of Jordan.
See his hands as they crack in the dryness of the wilderness, his whole self parched and weary.
See his hands as he touches the leper and the leprosy flees at his words: "I will; be clean!"
See his hands as he takes up the loaves and the fish and blesses his Father for his goodness.
See his hands as he touches the head of the woman he saved from stoning and says: "Neither do I condemn you; go and sin no more."
See his hands as he pats the donkey's head, riding into his holy city.
See his hands as he takes a whip and turns it on those who would sell what God gives freely.
See his hands as they take a towel in hand and he stoops to wash dirty feet and dry them, one by one.
See his hands as he takes bread into them, blesses and breaks and gives his body.
See his hands as they enclose around the cup, and he offers the sacrifice of thanksgiving, his own blood.
See his hands, outstretched in the garden, and trembling receives the cup that the Father gives.
See his hands as he touches Malchus and restores his severed ear.
See his hands, at his side, not raised to defend Himself, against the blows, the spit, the venom.
See his hands spread out against the wood, split open with the nails, determined to do this for you and for your forgiveness.
See his hands writhing in agony as the sky darkens and he is left alone with the burden of all your sin.
See his hands, lifeless and torn, touched by His mother as he his lifeless body rests in her loving embrace.
See his hands, folded across his chest, laid in a tomb, at rest, in repose.
See his hands, scars still there, yet alive again, never to die again, reaching out to the disciples, giving them peace, calling them to life.
See his hands, handling the fish for an early morning breakfast beside Galilee.
See his hands, raised in blessing as he lifts our human nature to the very throne of heaven.
See his hands, wounded and yet living, and pleading for all ages for mercy, a sweet smelling savor to the Father.
"I have graven you on my hands," he says.
And to be held by those hands? What more could a person ever ask for or desire?
And lifting up his hands, he blessed them, and for your blessing hands, we bless You, O Lord!