While watching the Pope's motorcade from the White House to Saint Matthew's Cathedral this past Wednesday I paid close attention to his hands. As he drove by the crowds he made small crosses in the air, he raised his hands up and down just a little (his gestures are not grand) and at times he gently drew his hand back and forth over the people palm down. Then, maybe when he got tired, he switched to using his left hand.
In a number of media interviews, priests were asked, "What do you think the Holy Father will say to the assembled bishops?" And almost always the priests answered, "He won't be finger wagging."
In speaking to about three hundred bishops, Pope Francis referred to his own hands as, wrinkled with age. He then shook hands with each of those bishops and along the way to wherever he was going next, he picked up children and caressed the faces of the elderly and those with special needs.
Even as Pope Francis walked along the lined up crowds someone dropped a little souvenir card. The Pope bent down, picked it up, and in great courtesy returned it to the person who'd dropped it.
Even as Pope Francis walked along the lined up crowds someone dropped a little souvenir card. The Pope bent down, picked it up, and in great courtesy returned it to the person who'd dropped it.
Hands matter. Saint Mark tells us five times of Jesus taking people by the hand and leading them or raising them up.
Hands speak their own language, don't they? Hands can dismiss and object; hands can invite and console. Hands can bless and clap; hands can insult or curse. Hands can give and hands can receive. Hands can twitch and thump, "I'm in a hurry," or hands can rest at peace.
We might pay attention to our own hands this week and what they're saying.
