The Beautiful Hands of a Priest
This is the kind of paper that was never meant to be thrown away.
Tucked among my mother’s things, it is worn, folded, and softened by time. At the top, typed simply, are the words: “The Beautiful Hands of a Priest.” There is no author, just the poem itself.
The poem was passed down orally in Ireland, and around 1963, it was shared by Fr. Crowly of Dunsallagh with the Clare singer Tom Linehan, helping carry it forward. This is a piece not owned by one person, but handed down, preserved because it mattered.
My mother was a devout Catholic, and her only brother was a priest. The role of the clergy was not something distant, it was part of her life and her family. A poem like this would have needed no explanation.
The words themselves are simple. They focus not on authority but on the hands of a priest, hands that comfort, bless, and remain present in the most important moments of life.
I can understand why my mother kept this poem, not because of who wrote it, but because of what it represented. A poem passed orally, from one person to another, eventually typed onto a single sheet of paper and saved.
My mother did not display this. Did not explain it. She just kept it.
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