Part 2 - The Cloth

GOOD FRIDAY

It was the wee hours of this morning when I was discarded in the garden

Fallen away as a Jesus’ follower ran away

to get away

from the hoard, the angry mob, the violence;

anger and hate –for one who could change everything

their fortunes, their position, their status quo

and so they bound and took the One. –Jesus was gone

I alone was left to pray in the garden.

It was the wee hours of this morning when women came through the garden

Starting their day, on the way to the market

Woven baskets over their arms

On the way to trade their wares

To gather produce, herbs, and spices for their family meals

As one women swished past,

I was swept off the ground, folded; reverently placed in a basket beside some eggs

To be traded, kept, used

It was later, after the sun had risen and the street was full of people

That the day changed from ordinary to a sad kind of miracle

All along the street people in a mass crowd

were encountering the One,

touching, smelling, seeing

But not how the One was expected –

The One was suffering, thirsting, crying

Weak in the knees -human beyond human

Humiliated under the weight of a cross.

The matron who had swept me from the garden

Folded me, reverently placed me in her basket

Stopped –

She stopped in the street

As if no crowd was present

She stopped

at the sound of the One crying;

Turning she looked at the One eye to eye

And she reached for me

Gently taking the folds of cloth in her soft hands

She walked to the One

And holding his cheeks in her hands wiped away the tears

The sweat –and for an instant, the pain.

The narrative of the Stations of the Cross says that the matron’s name was Veronica.

She choose to be present with Jesus along the way to cross,

offering him a cloth to wipe his face,

legend says that an imprint of Jesus’ face was left on the cloth

I was there that morning

Through the hands of compassion I encountered the One

Wiped and gathered his tears, took for an instant some of the pain.

Looking at the cloth of my existence

I was the same cloth, no material face

Yet I was changed –I had intimately encountered the One

My fabric was transformed in a miracle!

Perhaps I glowed different, was whiter than snow

But from that moment every other place I end up

With me, is the presence of the One

His suffering, his pain, his tears

Tears that have a miraculous power –to love

Especially love for the unlovable.

And that’s why today is different

The One is encountered as we once again let the Word of the Passion penetrate-

Walking the way to the cross

We as the matron in Jerusalem are invited

 to practice Presence –in suffering; in pain; in tears

To be present for God, in God, as God dies

Wiping God tears

We wipe our own

With compassion we seek out and wipe the tears of others

Others who suffer, are in pain, those crying –

It is here that the miraculous arises

and the presence of the One is all around

         and the world

Encounters God who dared to love –humanity

That is a miracle in itself.

As we come to the end of the walk, 

As we lay ourselves at the foot of the cross

It is here that we find

The vera icon –the true picture

The cross

Ultimate, intimate love.

It is here in our own suffering, pain, and tears

That we are exhausted by guilt, shame, humility

It is all laid down

Poured out

And as the last words are heard

 

-it is finished- As the last breath is exhaled  - Inside us dies too  A love so intimate, a love so extravagant And me so undeserving I will curl up and rest here, at the bottom of the cross To soak in the remaining Presence Of the One Despised, forsaken, a miracle in disguise In this moment I am my all and yet nothing, In the shadow of the cross