Saturday, April 4, 2009

The Hands of a Priest

Sent by a friend:

Right now, I'm looking at my pewter figurine of the saint you blessed, perched on a ledge in my family room.

When you gave the figurine your blessing, you cupped him in your hands.

Seeing you handle what you blessed made me think, "This man -- my friend, Kyle Schnippel -- is a priest.  He can do something no one [besides other priests] else can." 

Realize how much what you do conveys who you are.


Always amazed, still humbled, by being chosen to do something that I am not worthy of doing.

4 comments:

MJ said...

Beautiful sentiment. Thank you for saying Yes!

Adoro said...

Awesome. Reminds me of the rosary you blessed for me.

Rachel Gray said...

A group of us friends were talking to a priest once, and one girl was going on about his consecrated hands and making him, I think, just slightly embarrassed. "I washed my dog today with my consecrated hands," he said. We cracked up. But it is a true and remarkable thought that God works powerfully through the hands of priests!

Eric said...

The Beautiful Hands of a Priest.

We need them in life's early morning,
We need them again at its close;
We feel their warm clasp of true friendship,
We seek it while tasting life's woes.

When we come to this world we are sinful,
The greatest as well as the least.
And the hands that make us pure as angels
Are the beautiful hands of a priest.

At the altar each day we behold them,
And the hands of a king on his throne
Are not equal to them in their greatness
Their dignity stands alone.

For there in the stillness of morning
Ere the sun has emerged from the east,
There God rests between the pure fingers
Of the beautiful hands of a priest.

When we are tempted and wander
To pathways of shame and sin
'Tis the hand of a priest that absolve us.
Not once but again and again.

And when we are taking life's partner
Other hands may prepare us a feast
But the hands that will bless and unite us,
Are the beautiful hands of a priest.

God bless them and keep them all holy,
For the Host which their fingers caress,
What can a poor sinner do better
Than to ask Him who chose them to bless

When the death dews on our lids are falling,
May our courage and strength be increased
By seeing raised o'er us in blessing
The beautiful hands of a priest.

Beatiful Hands of a Priest