*In Rembrandt’s painting of the prodigal son, he uses light to draw our eyes upon the hands of the old man who has placed them on the back of his youngest son.  The prodigal has returned, and is kneeling in broken apology, waiting for punishment for an unspeakable crime.  The younger son’s request for his share was a direct affront to the old man’s life and welfare; would the boom be lowered?  In the father’s hands we see something hard to detect if we haven’t spent time gazing at the portrait. The hands are not taut with anger, but lie deftly in an unmistakable gesture of cherishing, as if the figure he touched would crack under the slightest weight. Look again, and we notice that the hands are different, one ruggedly hewn and masculine, and the other more slender, piano fingered and feminine.  We see here the mysterious translation of Rembrandt’s painting of the hands of God as being both male and female.  One says “go, you are free;” and the other, “I have you, you are safe.” 

We need both hands every day. The male hand put in motion how the story would end, because God is both secure and wise enough to watch us leave.  The father allows his son’s rebellion, feels the anguish of separation. Why? Love is not love if conditions remain.  But also, there was no other way he could ultimately get his son’s heart back.  He had to risk his annihilation, the death of all dreams, and everything he had worked to give to him.  Therefore, the father, bent from age, watches the back of his son depart, perhaps never to return.   Perhaps this is why the father touched the back of his son so delicately and romantically; it was the last thing he had seen before he topped the hill and disappeared. 

But what about the other hand? This hand that says, ‘I have you, you are safe.’  How do we sense when it’s time for us to give up our fight, and return?  Can we ever say, we are safe from the world, the flesh the devil? Can we ever say we are free from the 10,000 different ways we can lose everything, material, emotional and relational, like job sitting in a pile of shards, cutting ourselves because bleeding feels better than feeling nothing?  This hand, this caring, concerned and hopeful hand is God’s promise that we are invincible until His will is fulfilled in us.  Granted, invincible is a high bar.  But think about it this way.  Invincible, meaning in the deepest place of our security in Christ resonates hope, life, and indestructible belief in our union and glorification with Him. 

Both hands are ones that we need to see with eyes of faith.  If I am free, then risk comes more naturally than fear. If I am safe, then risk will be tested, so that its efficacy stamps a permanent mark on my autobiography of belief in God.  The old man stooped over the wayward son, with one hand saying ‘I let you go free, and now my reward is your whole heart.’  The other hand proved the very nature of Father in securing life and ensuring legacy. 

As you consider your relationship with Jesus, remember Rembrandt’s portrayal of the father’s two hands. If we are created in the image of God, then in his nature we hold both the feminine and masculine, the willingness to watch whatever we love leave, perhaps never to return, and the certainty, that in the journey, safety will be elevated by the sheer will of God. He never tires of recasting us better into his image, by using materials that sober and stretch us beyond our strength, that in the end, proves how determined He is to be faithful to the finish.

*These thoughts are inspired by the writings of Henry Nouwen.