SERENDIPITY FOR SATURDAY

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THE POWER OF PRAYING HANDS

Back in the fifteenth century, in a tiny village near Nuremberg, lived a family with eighteen children. Eighteen! In order to keep food on the table for this crew, the father and head of the household, a goldsmith by profession, worked almost eighteen hours a day at his trade and any other paying job he could find in the neighborhood.

Despite their seemingly hopeless condition, two of the older boys, Albrecht and Albert, had a dream. They both wanted to pursue their talent for art, but they knew full well that their father would never be financially able to send either of them to Nuremberg to study at the Art Academy. After many long discussions at night in their crowded bed, the two boys finally worked out a pact. They would toss a coin. The loser would go down into the nearby mines and, with his earnings, support his brother while he attended the academy. Then, when that brother who won the toss completed his studies, in four years, he would support the other brother at the academy, either with sales of his artwork or, if necessary, also by laboring in the mines.

They tossed a coin on a Sunday morning after church. Albrecht won the toss and went off to Nuremberg. Albert went down into the dangerous mines and, for the next four years, financed his brother, whose work at the academy was almost an immediate sensation. Albrecht’s etchings, his woodcuts, and his oils were far better than those of most of his professors, and by the time he graduated, he was beginning to earn considerable fees for his commissioned works.

When the young artist returned to his village, the Durer family held a festive dinner on their lawn to celebrate Albrecht’s triumphant homecoming. After a long and memorable meal, punctuated with music and laughter, Albrecht rose from his honored position at the head of the table to drink a toast to his beloved brother for the years of sacrifice that had enabled Albrecht to fulfill his ambition. His closing words were, “And now, Albert, blessed brother of mine, now it is your turn. Now you can go to Nuremberg to pursue your dream, and I will take care of you.

All heads turned in eager expectation to the far end of the table where Albert sat, tears streaming down his pale face, shaking his lowered head from side to side while he sobbed and repeated, over and over, “No… no… no… no.” Finally, Albert rose and wiped the tears from his cheeks. He glanced down the long table at the faces he loved, and then, holding his hands out for all to see he said softly, “No, brother. I cannot go to Nuremberg. It is too late for me. Look… Look what four years in the mines have done to my hands! The bones in every finger have been smashed at least once, and lately, I have been suffering from arthritis so badly in my right hand that I cannot even hold a glass to return your toast, much less make delicate lines on parchment or canvas with a pen or a brush. No, brother… for me it is too late.”

More than 500 years have passed. By now, Albrecht Durer’s hundreds of masterful portraits, pen and silver-point sketches, watercolors, charcoals, woodcuts, and copper engravings hang in every great museum in the world, but the odds are great that you, like most people, are familiar with only one of Albrecht Durer’s works. More than merely being familiar with it, you very well may have a reproduction hanging in your home or office, Albrecht’s Praying Hands.

Many who see this painting assume that these may represent the praying hands of Christ. Others might assume that they are the hands of an individual posing for Albrecht. The truth is, one day, to pay homage to Albert for all that he had sacrificed, Albrecht Durer painstakingly drew his brother’s abused hands with palms together and thin fingers stretched skyward. He called his powerful drawing simply “Hands,” but the entire world almost immediately opened their hearts to his great masterpiece and renamed his tribute of love “The Praying Hands.”

So the next time you see a copy of that this creation, take a second look. Remember, these are not the hands of a model, but of a brother who worked hard in the mines so his brother could go to school, but in the process lost his opportunity to go because of damage to his hands. I wonder, if heaven had an art gallery where there were multiple portraits of hands that had given so much for others that they were now unable to accomplish their owner’s dreams, would our hands be included in those masterpieces?

Those worn and damaged hands may not be worth much to some, but to others, they are worth their weight in gold. That’s why I believe that somewhere on those walls are the nail-scarred hands of our Lord and Savior Jesus Christ. Just think of what His sacrifice has meant to you and the effect it has had on your life. I’m sure, they will be just as valuable to you as Albert’s hands were to his brother Albrecht. – Dr. Robert R Seyda

About drbob76

Retired missionary, pastor, seminary professor, Board Certified Chaplain and American Cancer Society Hope Lodge Director.
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