In the grip of Christ, we have no need.
My dad drew up my hand and placed it next to my grandfather’s, who was in the casket. He then placed his next to mine, so that all three were in a row, saying, “You see, Sammy, where you get your hands?” My young eyes noticed the similarities between my grandpa’s hands, my dad’s, and my own. Each had the same wrinkly skin and stubby strength, passed on from generation to generation. In that moment, as a little boy, I learned more than just genetics; I learned that everyone you love, will leave you, no matter how strong his hands.
Our safety in life is not found in all the trivial and temporary things that can be stripped away in a second. Our comfort in life is not found in plans, pleasures, power, or people, for all will vanish. If we place ourselves into their greasy hands, we will slip right out. These things will always let you down. People will always let you down, your possessions will always let you down, pleasures will always let you down. None of these have hands that are fit to hold the human soul.
So what should you give yourself to and where is your solace found? Recently, some have said that religion is not the answer. They are quick to point out that Religion will let us down, too—that religion hurts, drops, kills. It is graspless.
When your friends fail, when your money disappears, when your reputation is tattered, where is your comfort to be found? Even more, when your life itself refuses to breathe again, what is your comfort in death? What will hold you then?
It seems that we need hands that have been both to heaven and earth. We need hands that hold the power of the cosmos and that hold the palm of the child. We need hands that have thrust the stars into their orbits and that have thrust the heart into the human. We need hands that have both the power to heal and the tenderness to hold.
The hands of Jesus Christ are the hands for us. Not only did they spin the world into motion, but also they touched the oozing sores of a leper and dried the tears of a prostitute. They wakened the universe with power and they writhed in pain from mortal nails. His hands were both divine and dead, miraculous and mortal.
The holes in his hands are a portal through which heaven and earth touch. And that is where he holds us. That is our solace and comfort. That is where we will never be shaken, the spot from which we will never be let go. In the grip of Christ, we have no need. In the grip of Christ, we can let go of our troubles, our idols, and our self-definitions.
What is truly, deeply, our only comfort? Even the most non-religious person can see that our comfort is not in what we can hold onto, for our grasp is so weak and the natural course of this life rips everything out of our grip. My solace and comfort come not from what I can hold onto, but from Whom is holding onto me.
So reads the Heidelberg Catechism, “What is your only comfort in life and in death?” The answer: “That I am not my own, but belong—body and soul, in life and in death—to my faithful Savior Jesus Christ.”
You belong to Jesus Christ and he will never let go of you.
He is the image of the invisible God, the firstborn of all creation. For by him all things were created, in heaven and on earth, visible and invisible, whether thrones or dominions or rulers or authorities—all things were created through him and for him. And he is before all things, and in him all things hold together.[1]
© Samuel Kee, 2012
[1] Colossians 1:15-17, ESV.
