Which one should I stretch?
In front of this crowd and this slightly unhinged prophet, which one should I stretch?
I’ve got one nice hand. It’s smoothed and jewelled. Manicured and acceptable. Youthful even, in the right light.
But if I stretch that one out, maybe he’ll just shake it, and with a nod of the head go on with his day.
Or there’s my other one. The one I don’t show people. The one I actively work to hide.
It pains me to put it out there. No cream gets rid of its darkness. No ring can cover its ugliness. No glove really hides its hideousness. It’s weak, and diseased and quite dead. It’s so, so withered.
I look for a room out the back, away from the judging eyes of the crowd, but the look in his eye says, ‘no, we’ll do this here’.
So maybe, just maybe, if I can humble myself and shove my emptiness and brokenness in front of his face…
this carpenter from Nazareth might just change everything.