It’s all about hands.
As the story we’ve been exploring draws to it’s inevitable and terrible, yet glorious conclusion it becomes all about hands.
We see the hands that, as the chorus says ‘flung stars into space’ have been made flesh and are now the hands of a servent.
Hands that tie an apron around his waist and dip into the water, hands that wash the tired and dirty feet of his followers.
Hands that take the bread and break it in to 12, giving each a share in his body. Hands that serve even the one who will betray him that very night.
Hands that share out the wine, as he declares the beginning of a new promise, one where all people can come to know and be forgiven by God.
These are hands that are, later that night, clenched together in a pleading prayer. Hands that open in submission to will of His father.
They are healing hands that touch and renew an ear cut off in the heat of his betrayl.
And they are hands that ultimately will be opened wide and nailed to the cross. Hands that hold him in place while he dies for everything I have ever done to separate myself from God.