STATION 6

VERONICA WIPES JESUS’ FACE


Veronica weaved between the sets of hardened hearts, the throng
Of angry voices wild, the echoed chant of a killing song.
Then past the clanking swords in sheaths and the useless need for shield,
She learned to twist her body through the mass that would not yield.

In dust covered white dress she flowed with crowd heading down
The winding path of sediment, through the harshest light in town.
A mob’s heightened hysteria declared a man’s death be done.
The timorous few beside the woman could not save God’s Son.

She came to where Jesus leaned, His face was drenched, His body bruised.
His feet raw they wobbled so, His human form almost all used.
She crawled on hands and knees. She shrieked and scraped the ground so cold.
Between the limbs of hatred’s stance she forced her way bravely bold.

There at His side she thrust her hand to reach to His agony.
With a scrap of cloth she traced His face, a touch of humanity.
An imprint of His grace of life lingered on in her stretched hand
Eternal blessing for those who foundered yet helped others stand.

Time stopped not His torture forward but He turned and gave a look.
He shared his eyes, He loved her soul, hands clasped as she then shook.
Then down the path shoved on and on He moved to salvation’s hour.
The mob closed her out again they had no idea of His power.

Veronica crept to edge of the street to follow His trail
To Golgatha where crosses now stood, She cried out with a wail.
She fell to ground her dress ruined, never to be sewn again.
She gathered courage, prayed for Him not to be alone then.

Veronica loved, she wiped her tears then she stood to watch Him die
Here upon this earth she braced for the moment that must go by.
Lightning crashed against the sky and the world flashed to light then gray,
Veronica held close the cloth that wiped His pain away.