tagged: Church Life, Ministry, Tony Sisk

Mrs. Francisco's Hands

Posted by Tony Sisk in Uncategorized

This past Friday, I had the blessing yet arduous task of officiating at yet another funeral. This funeral was especially strenuous for me because I had to drive a 600 mile round trip to get there. I just recently have changed places of service. I had been at Hunting Creek Baptist Church in Nathalie, VA for over six years. This past month, the Lord called me to a new place of service in Waynesville, NC—Grandview Baptist Church.

However, Mrs. Francisco had specified in her will that I preach her funeral service. It was a blessed privilege. Had she lived to June 5 this year, she would have been ninety. My mind tumbled last week, first with the pain of being unavailable to the family during the time of Mrs. Francisco’s last few days but also with what I needed to say to honor not only Jesus, but also this sweet lady who had raised a family, grounded them in their faith, and left a legacy of twenty-four children, grandchildren, and great-grandchildren.

Then it hit me—as I was praying and studying, my heart and mind were turned to Mrs. Francisco’s hands. During the latter years of her life, her hands became riddled with rheumatoid arthritis. It was a constant source of discomfort, pain, and oftentimes agony for her. It had robbed her of her independence, which is terribly difficult for an elderly person. I decided then to celebrate Mrs. Francisco’s hands.

I talked about how once when I visited with Mrs. Francisco at the nursing home, the nursing assistant brought Mrs. Francisco lunch. When she unveiled the meal, Mrs. Francisco’s face fell.

“What’s wrong?”

“That isn’t good.”

“How do you know? You haven’t tasted it.”

“Oh, I know. Just look at it.”

I laughed heartily, fully understanding, and I asked Mrs. Francisco what she would like for lunch. She said with resolve, “A hamburger!” I promised her that the next time I visited, we would enjoy a hamburger together. I stopped at Burger King and picked up Whoppers and French fries (plus a combo for Mrs. Francisco’s roommate). I placed everything before her and she meekly asked, “Will you unwrap it?”

I did, for her hands would not allow her. I squirted ketchup, put her straw in her Diet Coke, and she enjoyed every swallow. A few months later, I helped her out again, this time literally feeding her. I once also held the phone to her ear so that she could have a conversation with her sister. Mrs. Francisco’s hands would not allow her to do the things she once did freely.

I then called everyone’s attention to the work of the hands of God in the Old Testament; how he took up a handful of dirt and fashioned a man; how He delivered the Israelites from Egyptian bondage by the strength of His hand; how His right hand would sustain them in a time of trouble; and then how also that hand, if necessary, would discipline.

Then, in the New Testament, we see the hands of God veiled in human flesh, in His Son Jesus Christ. I spoke of the mighty power of those hands where miracles took place and the compassion that reached out to the blind, the lame, the hurting, and the lost. I spoke of those tender hands that picked up the children and blessed them. I also spoke of the hand that reached out and touched an untouchable; how when a leper asked to be healed, Christ didn’t leave it simply at “Be cleansed;” He punctuated it with the touch of His hand.

I then spoke of those same hands that though there was healing, mercy, grace and compassion in them, the hands of vile sinners nailed them to a cross. Why would such a thing happen? It was so that we could have life—life eternal and life abundant; and that by believing that those hands will reach out to you just by simple faith.

Because Mrs. Francisco had asked Jesus to save her, she is in heaven now—her hands having been strengthened. God has imbued a new vigor, a new might into her hands. And I concluded with this verse,

After these things I looked, and behold, a great multitude which no one could number, of all nations, tribes, people, and tongues, standing before the throne and before the Lamb, clothed with white robes, with palm branches in their hands, and crying out with a loud voice, saying, “Salvation belongs to our God who sits on the throne, and to the Lamb!” Revelation 7:9-10

Whenever I would part company with Mrs. Francisco, she wanted a hug. However, the flat of her hand could not embrace my back. I could feel the underside of the joint of the thumb, that meaty part of your hand, patting my back. I would hug her strong; she hugged as strongly as she could.

As I peered into the casket the day at Mrs. Francisco’s body, her family had placed white gloves over her hands. However, I know that she is now gripping that palm branch worshiping her Savior; her hands strong. When I get to heaven, there are two sets of hands I want to see; those of my Savior, and like Thomas, I want to trace my fingers inside the nail prints. Then I want to find Mrs. Francisco—and I want to grip her hand in mine, with no shame because of their ugly state, with no leer of intensity, and with absolutely no wince of pain.