Karl Keating addresses hand holding during the Our Father at Mass (see second item).
Unfortunately, he doesn't provide much ammunition for killing it, so the hand-holding Nazis will keep grabbing. I can't say how many times I've attended Mass, kept my hands folded and eyes down, and then suffered the poke on the shoulder: "Hold my hand."
The fun really starts when the pews aren't crowded, with the result that I must go into Twister-like positioning to get both hands--and, if I'm lucky, one of my feet--on fellow worshippers. The ultimate fun is when they sing the Our Father. I'm standing there with both arms up, a foot turned onto someone's hip, and then I start doing a little jig. By the time we're finished, I'm so tired that I can barely pick up my beer and cigarette.
