Take My Hand
My Dad and I
I have a vague memory of walking alongside my father, stumbling along actually, as we would venture out into one of the fields he was cultivating. Our treks usually took place on a Saturday or Sunday evening, checking on the crops before the week began. I was often invited to join him. I was thrilled. Oh the fragrance of honeydews and cantaloupes and watermelons.
As we got further out into the field on one of those evenings, my father would take my hand. His hand felt strong. I felt steady. Though he was not a high-touch kind of dad, I remember feeling how much I belonged somewhere, how much I mattered, when he took my hand, out in those melon fields, as dusk descended.
Can you remember a time when someone took your hand? Perhaps you were a child, like me in the melon fields, when you needed acceptance and protection and safety. Or maybe it was your spouse, just when you needed to be soothed and assured. We can all remember those times sitting with a friend who needed just a touch. Taking a hand sometimes changes so much.
On the night that Martin Luther King, Jr. was assassinated, he asked the musician Ben Branch if he would sing Precious Lord, Take My Hand at the event that night. They didn’t make it to that event. That was the night, April 4, 1968, King was savagely gunned down on the balcony at the Lorraine Motel in Memphis.
There were lots of rumors floating around when King arrived in Memphis that day.
Well, I don't know what will happen now. We've got some difficult days ahead. But it really doesn't matter with me now, because I've been to the mountaintop. . . .
And I've looked over. And I've seen the Promised Land. I may not get there with you. But I want you to know tonight, that we, as a people, will get to the promised land!. . . .
And so I'm happy, tonight.
I'm not worried about anything.
I'm not fearing any man!
Mine eyes have seen the glory of the coming of the Lord!!
Mahalia Jackson sang the song for his memorial service on April 9.
Precious Lord, take my hand
Lead me on, let me stand
I am tired, I am weak, I am worn
Through the storm, through the night
Lead me on to the light
Take my hand precious Lord, lead me home
Here was a man who was tired and weak and worn from all the storms, but he could see the light out ahead, because he took the hand of his precious Lord. Lead me to the light, precious Lord, lead me home.
I’m drawn to that amazing story in the Gospel of Matthew when Jesus comes walking on the water toward the disciples. Just before this event he had gone “up the hill by himself to pray. It had grown late, and he was there alone.” He prayed all night.
The disciples, who had gone ahead in the boat, hit some rough weather. Then, “between three and six in the morning he came towards them, walking across the lake. . . . At once Jesus spoke to them: ‘Take heart! It is I; do not be afraid.”
And then Peter, in his inimitable, impetuous way, called out to Jesus:
‘Lord, if it is you, tell me to come to you over the water.’ 29 ‘Come,’ said Jesus. Peter got down out of the boat, and walked over the water towards Jesus. 30 But when he saw the strength of the gale he was afraid; and beginning to sink, he cried, ‘Save me, Lord!’ 31 Jesus at once reached out and caught hold of him. . . . Then they climbed into the boat; and the wind dropped. Matthew 14
We’re all riding out storms right now, aren’t we? I’d like to walk with my dad once again, out into the melon fields, taking his hand to steady my stride.
But here I am, stepping out of the boat, on my own, even as the gales are raging.
And then I hear that voice of Jesus, “come,” take my hand, “do not be afraid.” Sometimes I want to go my own way, but then I take his hand, and everything changes. The storm grows calm. I make it through the night. He leads me to the light.
Taking a hand can make all the difference, can’t it?