One fine spring day, on my father’s Mississippi Delta farm, Jaybird, my boyhood best friend and mentor, told a story to a group of us children, a story he called “Easter Hands.” As the old black man slipped into the hypnosis of his bullfrog bass voice, we little ones clustered at his feet, leaning toward him like eager flowers toward the rising sun. He told us the story of Easter. We had heard Jesus Christ called different names — Savior, Messiah, the Nazarene, Son of Man — and our young minds were confused. Jaybird explained in a way we understood.
“Without the other hand’s support, this one tires and falls.”
The old plowman clasped his hands together, palm-to-palm. Though gnarled by years of toil, they were beautiful, monuments to a lifetime of tending crops. Twice each day, he raised the clasped hands in prayer. At dawn, he knelt and asked for what he wanted that day; at dusk, he knelt and gave thanks for what he got that day. More than eight decades later, these daily rituals of faith still comforted and reassured him. After telling us to notice how the hands hold up each other, he dropped one and said, “Without the other hand’s support, this one tires and falls.”
When the remaining hand fell, he continued, “Now the hands are apart, unable to depend upon each other for support, but if they are brought together again, they do for each other what Jesus does for you … He holds you up.”
Now that our attention was focused, Jaybird explained that Jesus left His Father's side in Heaven, came down to this world, and walked as a man among men. Daily, He used His hands to embrace, to feed, to heal, even to raise the dead, but most of all, He placed His hands together to pray for all the earth’s people. With his hands still clasped, Jaybird spoke once more.
“One evening, as Jesus knelt with His hands together in prayer, talking to His Father, evil men came and took Him away. They beat Him, cursed Him, spit on Him, and condemned Him to die. They placed a crown of thorns on His head; they taunted Him; they plunged a sword in His side; they pulled the praying hands apart and nailed them to the cross.” Here Jaybird held his arms wide apart.
‘For God so loved the world, that He gave His only begotten Son, that whosoever believeth in Him should not perish, but have everlasting life.’”
“But the evil men did not know … Jesus no longer needed to put His hands together in prayer. Beyond the cross, beyond the grave, He returned to His Father’s side, to the place where He wanted all God's children to be: Heaven. With those nail-scarred hands wide apart, He beckons to everyone, young and old: ‘Come to Me, come to My eternal embrace.’ My children, you must never forget what the Bible tells us: ‘For God so loved the world, that He gave His only begotten Son, that whosoever believeth in Him should not perish, but have everlasting life.’”
We will not forget, Jaybird, nor will we ever forget you — or that wonderful story: Easter Hands.
Jimmy Reed is an Oxford, Mississippi resident, Ole Miss and Delta State University alumnus, Vietnam Era Army Veteran, former Mississippi Delta cotton farmer and ginner, author, and retired college teacher.
This story is a selection from Jimmy Reed’s latest book, entitled The Jaybird Tales.
Copies, including personalized autographs, can be reserved by notifying the author via email (.(JavaScript must be enabled to view this email address)).
One fine spring day, on my father’s Mississippi Delta farm, Jaybird, my boyhood best friend and mentor, told a story to a group of us children, a story he called “Easter Hands.” As the old black man slipped into the hypnosis of his bullfrog bass voice, we little ones clustered at his feet, leaning toward him like eager flowers toward the rising sun. He told us the story of Easter. We had heard Jesus Christ called different names — Savior, Messiah, the Nazarene, Son of Man — and our young minds were confused. Jaybird explained in a way we understood.
