TOUCH OF THE MASTER’S HAND

 

Monday, February 26, 2024

 

TOUCH OF THE MASTER’S HAND

Matt 8:2-3

2 And, behold, there came a leper and worshipped him, saying, Lord, if thou wilt, thou canst make me clean.

3 And Jesus put forth his hand, and touched him, saying, I will; be thou clean. And immediately his leprosy was cleansed.

 

          It was ringing in my head at four o’clock this morning. A poem written by Myra Brooks Welch called The Touch of the Master’s Hand and put to music by many southern gospel artists.

 

          I am not young, and neither are most of my associates and friends. All of them have a story anxious to be told of redemption, usefulness, and finally retirement. Some who had long thought retirement was akin to sin have now been forced by age, illness, and a dramatically changing culture to withdraw. One dear friend has lost his wife, an unthinkable circumstance for anyone who has deeply loved. Another is on Hospice and surrounded by family and friends. Yet, we still sing!

 

          I suspect most of you have heard the song at one time or another, so I won’t include all the lyrics here to conserve space, but I want to remind my friends and myself that our value is not in us but in the MASTER.

 

You know there’s many a man with his life out of tune,

Battered and scared with sin and he's auctioned cheap,

To a thankless world much like that old violin,

Oh, but then the Master comes,

And that old foolish crowd they never understand,

The worth of a soul and the change that is wrought,

Just by one touch of the Masters hand.

 

Master, your first touch gave me life. Many such touches after gave me purpose. Now your touch gives me peace. Thank you, Lord. AMEN