They were like no other: The gentle touch; the soft, comforting presence.
They rested on my shoulders
Only for a moment. But they felt like
They were there for a lifetime.
For those few moments they were there,
I felt a comfort long forgotten by
Many like me, many without a father,
Without the father they know and love.
I grasped those roughened hands-
So large yet so loving- with both of my own-
So small and tender beside them.
Was I to know that I was only a character?
Was I to remember it was only a play?
He was there, the Lord, Christ, my savior.
He rested his hands on my shoulders,
And my heart was touched. My soul felt
Hurt it could not be forever. The dream
Only lasts so long before it passes away.
They slide slowly out of my hands. And then
They are gone. I can only recall what they
Were like. Those gentle hands. Those loving
Hands. Nothing alike. Nothing more loving.
I draw my hands to my heart. Though I
May look as though I am John the Beloved
Disciple, I am no better than Judas
Iscariot in my own heart. Forgive me Lord.
Forgive me for foolishly asking if it was
Me. Forgive me because I know I am one
Of your betrayers. Because he had
His hands on my shoulders.