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
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