PASTORAL MESSAGE: The Hands of the Carpenter

By GARY LITTLE
Parisioner, Mesquite Episcopal Community

The hard and grizzled hands of the carpenter, today held no saw, nor hammer nor shave. The hands drove no nail, nor turned no lathe, nor formed neither wheel spoke nor table leg.

This night, those hands of the carpenter supported Mary, his wife, as she finally rode, after all that way she had stubbornly walked. Near sunset, with the lights of Bethlehem still distant, Joseph had slung their baggage onto his back, not much, just what they needed for a few days, and insisted Mary ride the ass.

Complaining that she was fine, she nevertheless let him help her on the small beast’s back, and even Ayir seemed to be happier.
Joseph’s hands, used to the tools of a carpenter, now guided gentle Ayir, leading with the halter, stroking the flank, and murmuring a soft, “shush … shush” as needed to calm the animal and make the ride easier for Mary.

At times he cursed the need for this journey, so near to the birthing of their child. “Shush,” Mary said, “it is as it should be.”
She gently touched one of those rough hands of a carpenter, and gave it a soft squeeze.

The streets were hushed with mystery, the night was cold and still as they passed dwellings on the outskirts of Bethlehem. Joseph kept watch for any sign of an inn or hostel where they might bed down for the night.

Preferring not to spend another night on cold hard ground with a wife so close to delivering, Joseph had pressed the final inn keeper, but had received a shake of the man’s head. As he turned, Joseph heard a soft grunt and the inn keeper’s wife say, “But … there is a new stall, with fresh hay and easy access to water and even a manger. It will be warmer, and does keep you out of the weather.”

Those rough and calloused hands now cradled, from head to foot, a small wriggling form, with feet kicking, hands balled into fists, and eyes bright and curious.

Those tiny grasping hands found Joseph’s thumb that by hammer had been mashed, seemed to sense the hurt that had been, and the babe chuckled, looked at Joseph, and smiled.

Without the hands of the carpenter, rough and calloused, holding the lead and guiding the way, there would have been no first Christmas.