Hands Open, Not Clenched

The same human hands that held a newborn and held a grandmother's hands in a pew are the hands that dragged a boy from a doorway and rolled a body into a trench. 

A hand tears a jaw apart like wet bread, another hand dead yet still warm, still wearing a wedding ring. 

But other hands press a stranger's chest and refuse to give up, pass water across a fence, lay a loaded rifle in the mud, knock on heavens door. 

We can build a school with them. We can break a child with them. The hands of God spread the sky like a cloth, and the hands of Christ were pierced and nailed flat while the world did what the world does — and the world is still being crucified, still bleeding in a hundred villages. 

So we do not answer the nails with nails. 

We answer them the way He did: hands open, not clenched, forgiving the ones who drive them in.

-DTH-

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