The Interpreter’s Hands – M. P. Aleman

Faithfully each Sunday morning for one sanctified hour,
the interpreter signs the hymns, the sermon
and the scripture readings for all to see;
though only one young woman in the first pew
reads and sings along, watching the interpreter’s hands
flit about like doves while sharing the Lord’s language.
At times her hands separate the air like Moses the Red Sea,
only to close mysteriously thereafter, as her fingers
fold faith into meaning between the two supplicants
who meet between sound and silence.
Something of Mary, the mother of Jesus,
shines in the interpreter’s face as she sends the sermon out,
signing smoothly the power of the Word, the message of her Lord.
Her reader loves both the message and the messenger,
whose words fly forth, sparrows in the morning,
scattering seeds over fertile ground,
while the reader sits in rapture,
having seen the Lord speak of matters at hand.

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