Jesus worked beside his earthly father
fashioning, what some called, ďartĒ from wood.
Sometimes a design was sparing,
plainly crafted, sturdy but good;
yet what appeared to be only casually made,
was with purpose like a loving serenade.
He grew from lad to manhood
and His hands revealed the cost;
rough and calloused with scars and cuts,
marked with blisters, lines and ruts;
and when His Saviorís heart turned from wood,
His artistic talent flourished as it could.
The hands of this carpenter -
that chiseled and formed -
was a craftsman beyond any gauges,
teaching and shaping
with miracles and words,
The Masterís genius was preserved on pages.
He traveled the streets and countryside
displaying His work of love, and
He widened His gaze to include me
though He was someone I had not heard of.
His words He gave to the hungry,
His life He gave for all.
He was hunted down while he lived,
and mocked with a crown of thorns.
He was prodded with weapons of force
that tore his flesh without any remorse;
He was hounded and maligned with scorn,
Yet His gift survived - reborn.
His hands that patterned majesty
He stretched out for all of my sins;
nails pierced His skin to bind Him
but His existence was not a whim,
and the splendor of what He created
has survived for all sinners reinstated.
The hands of a carpenter named Jesus
were meant to comfort and repair, and
His artful masterpiece has remained
in the hearts of men to share -
the gospel of peace, love and glory -
with the world He left in their care
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