Hands

2013-06-23 Hands

Habitat Blitz Sunday

Lake Hills Presbyterian Church (USA)

Scripture                                                                                     Ephesians 2:13-22

13 But now in Christ Jesus you who once were far off have been brought near by the blood of Christ.14 For he is our peace; in his flesh he has made both groups into one and has broken down the dividing wall, that is, the hostility between us. 15 He has abolished the law with its commandments and ordinances, that he might create in himself one new humanity in place of the two, thus making peace,16 and might reconcile both groups to God in one body[a] through the cross, thus putting to death that hostility through it.[b] 17 So he came and proclaimed peace to you who were far off and peace to those who were near; 18 for through him both of us have access in one Spirit to the Father. 19 So then you are no longer strangers and aliens, but you are citizens with the saints and also members of the household of God, 20 built upon the foundation of the apostles and prophets, with Christ Jesus himself as the cornerstone.[c] 21 In him the whole structure is joined together and grows into a holy temple in the Lord;22 in whom you also are built together spiritually[d] into a dwelling place for God.

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Hands

One hand holds the hammer, 

another hand, the nail. 

One hand delivers bottles of water, 

another picks them up from the ground beneath the roof's edge, where they have rolled and fallen and bounced with hollow pops.

One hand lifts a board. 

One hand pulls the rope. 

One hand stirs the paint while another raises the brush, 

pulls it down, 

then up again 

until the wall is covered in the color that a little girl will claim as her very own, 

the tint and tone of her room, 

her place, 

her princess' castle, 

her dance studio, 

her library, 

her place to snuggle in safety, 

and sleep, and dream.

One hand tightens the drain trap. 

The kitchen's hidden elbow that never bends, 

but keeps collections of leftovers too small to contain, 

and bobby pins, 

and the tweezers used to retrieve a lost earring.

One hand tightens the screw of the wallplate that covers the lightswitch that will flip on when the guests yell, "Surprise!" 

One hand holds the siding strip on the sawhorse while another holds the tape measure. 

"Measure twice, cut once," is spoken yet again, as another hand marks the place 

that another will saw in the first time he has ever operated such a sharp-toothed beast.

One hand pulls up that of another. 

One hand signals a thumbs up, a wave, a high-five. 

One hand extends palm up, a question, the asking of what it might do next, because it can serve and it can work and it can be useful even more. 

One hand presses itself into its reflection in prayer.

One hand with another, and another, and another, building together what not one could do on its own. 

No longer instruments for personal progress, they are hands holding hope and sharing what no fingers can enfold, but all, together, can give away.

Not one hand, but two. 

Not two hands, but four. 

Not four, but eight, sixteen. 

Hands multiplying beyond the edge of weak numbers, pointing away to heavenly aims, saying, 

"No, not me, but you, and past you to the Christ 

whose hands lived and died with nails, with hammers, with boards 

and people whose hands he held and holds even now." 

Hands beyond count, but hands that do count. 

And the counting begins with one.

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"You are … citizens with the saints and also members of the household of God, built upon the foundation of the apostles and prophets, with Christ Jesus himself as the cornerstone. In him the whole structure is joined together and grows into a holy temple in the Lord in whom you also are built together spiritually into a dwelling place for God."

In the hands of Jesus Christ, we who are many, we who are different, we who are separate, are built together into one. 

The counting always begins with one.

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It takes a lot of hands to build a house. But when they're all working together, as they say, many hands make light work. 

In just a few minutes - as soon as the preacher stops talking - we're going to have a slide presentation that celebrates the many hands that worked yesterday on the house we're sponsoring with Habitat for Humanity. 

But before we do that, I want to tell you about another set of hands. I want to tell you about the hands of somebody you probably never met. It's someone whose picture won't be in the slideshow, but whose hand is very present in this project. I want to tell you about Mildred Cardwell, and let you know a little about the work of her hands.

Mildred sat about three-quarters of the way back in the center section of pews. It's hard for me to tell precisely who her pew belongs to now, because it's a very popular section. Mildred always sat beside her friend, Mildred Campbell, so we were blessed with a marvelous pair of Mildreds in close proximity.

Mildred Cardwell was a widow. She lived with her cat, whose name was Anthony. They shared a very modest home, tucked way back off Alcoa Highway across from the National Guard Armory. You've driven past it countless times, and likely never given it a second thought. Next time you go that way, when you get to the Armory, look to your right, and you'll see Mildred's home.

After worship on Sundays, Mildred would step outside the sanctuary and shake my hand. Her hand was a like a tiny, delicate bird that held yours as gently as an egg. And she herself was slight; you worried that a large gust of wind might carry her off. Mildred was quiet, even shy, but always, always generous with her smile and an unimposing thrift of kind words.

Mildred didn't have much family left. She kept a few close friends, preferring quality over quantity. She kept to herself; mainly, I think, because she didn't want to trouble anybody. It was a manner she continued after she developed cancer, and peacefully died at the age of 83.

A few months after we had her funeral, I got a phone call, telling me that Mildred had remembered Lake Hills in her will. That was so like her: sweet and kind. I said, "Oh, that's so nice." And then I heard how much she had remembered the church. It was the largest single bequest we've ever received. It was a few seconds before I remembered to breathe. It was a gift, pure and simple, with no strings attached, no wishes, no direction. Just, a gift.

So, we did what all good Presbyterians do: we formed a committee. And we gave them the task of figuring out how to be good stewards of Mildred's gift. After listening to the congregation and praying and talking, they decided to divide the gift into three areas - Ministry for our youth program, Making the church more accessible to people with limited mobility, and what you're going to see in a minute, a Habitat for Humanity house.

Now, we've worked on Habitat houses before. But never until now have we had the resources to be the main sponsors. We're not just volunteering, we're leading the way.

And we're doing this because of the gift that came from the kind and gentle, generous, quiet hands of Mildred Cardwell. Our hands are at work because of hers. 

Things that count always begin with one.

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When you hold your hands out beside someone else's, you see how unique they are. Your hands may be rough and calloused. Yours may be gentle and soft. Your hands may be frail. Your fingers may be painfully bent by age. Your hands may have the smoothness of youth, the strength to grasp and bend the world to your uses.

But however they look, however they feel, however they might compare, your hands bear a gift. You may not see it; others might not grasp it, but the gift is there. And the gift is in your hands.

Your gift might be a surprise, opened long after you're gone from this world, a last will and enduring testament. Your gift might be the ability to play a musical instrument. It might be painting a work of art. Your gift might be the hammering of nails, the tightening of a wrench, the typing of a spreadsheet, the kneading of dough, the pushing of a wheelchair, the carrying of someone else's burden. You might not have discovered what it is yet. 

But whatever it is, the gift is in your hands. 

"But," you think, "I'm just one person." Things that count always begin with one, one who shares her gift, who joins her gift with someone else's, who then join their gifts with those of more, building and building up beyond what they can hold and giving away the gifts which can't be held, but only given.

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Think back on how many hands have shaped you. 

Hands that built you, formed you, lifted you when you felt like you were ready to be condemned.

How many hands?

Hands beyond count, but hands that do count. 

Hands invisibly connected to one another, but all beginning with, and all held by the hand of Christ. 

The One, in whose hand we do count. 

One hand, building you, building me, building all of us together, into a dwelling place for God.

Use the gifts God has placed in your hands to build someone up today.  

Do it.

Just because you can see they need a hand.

And I promise you - the Bible promises you - that one day you will look back and discover that all along you've been being rebuilt by the hand of The One, in whom everything that counts begins.