Nails
Nails . . . Three nails
Instruments that connected flesh to wood . . .
hands and feet to a cross.
Nails . . . Three nails
Instruments that brought about sadness . . . pain . . . destruction . . . death.
Nails . . . three nails
The holes they left have become the identifying characteristic of the man who bore them so long ago.
But that’s not the way it always was.
It’s not the way it was meant to be.
Nails were the instruments of that same man’s livelihood.
Nails allowed him to participate in the creative work of his Heavenly Father.
Nails connected one piece of wood to another to transform the wood into something that was useful and beneficial . . . a work of art . . .
Something that brought joy both to the carpenter
and to the recipient of the carpenter’s handiwork.
Nails . . . the same instruments, along with hammers, saws, drills, paint brushes and science books that those participating in this year’s mission trip will be using,
not in a carpenter shop in a small town called Nazareth
but wherever they’re needed in a small town called Dunlow.
Nails . . . Three nails.
That’s what the cross that those who will be journeying 587 miles tomorrow morning from the hills of Northwestern New Jersey to the mountains of West Virginia will receive tonight to be worn during their Appalachian mission trip. The cross is simply made of
Nails . . . Three Nails.
We pray that it be a meaningful reminder for them
and a rich symbol to all those who gaze upon it.
Not of death . . . but of life.
Not of destruction . . . but of construction.
Not of a means of pain and sadness . . . but of joy.
May those who wear it see those nails . . . those three nails
As instruments that not only connect one piece of wood with another,
But them to us . . .
Them to each other . . .
Them to the community they serve . . .
And them to the self-sacrificing love of
The one who bore the marks of
Nails . . . Three Nails.
