Silent Voices: Veronica wipes the face of Jesus

As one of the stations in the traditional version, the encounter of Veronica with Jesus is not recorded in scripture.  The story, dating from perhaps the 4th century, tells us that Veronica courageously approached Jesus in his passion and wiped his brow.  His face appeared on her cloth.

Veronica is given no words, her voice is silent.  Yet, she is given the image of Christ's face on a cloth.  The story of Veronica is analogous to the exchange that takes place in the Eucharist.  The Eucharist in adoration makes Christ present as an image for prayer.  Yet, adoration as an act of worship is designed to bring the person to a desire for union with Christ, a union begun by the reception or consummation of the Eucharistic host.  In the act of eating, we are brought up into the life of Christ, as St. Augustine is known for saying, "Behold what you are; You are what you receive."

The face of Christ on a cloth points to something greater.  Veronica is herself to be an image of Christ and bears that image for all to see.  Both Victim and Savior are pictured.  The suffering Christ (Isaiah 53) is the face of all victims of violence, the poor, and those who suffer.  Christ as Savior ("Lord, to whom shall we go? You have the words of eternal life, John 6:68.") is seen in all who work to eradicate the conditions of modern forms of slavery and in those who alleviate the sufferings of the victim.

We often talk about bearing one's cross as an acceptance of difficulties that come our way. The very act of bearing one's cross creates an attitude that is open to the Lord's helping to shoulder these crosses.  An open attitude willingly shoulders the crosses of others and eases their pain through empathetic gestures. Bearing these types of crosses and offering empathetic gestures are part of living an active life of love.

Struggling with anger due to a past made unbearable due to another's abuse, whether verbally or physically or both is not a cross to bear.  Nor is putting up with current abuse.  Our Lord is with us, working to free us from the slavery that keeps us so bound. We cooperate by recognizing the evil perpetrated by the other and resisting it, in a prudent way, until we are free of the abuse.  The anger is then best placed in the hands of God, as we ask for the grace to forgive (since we experience no peace within our own soul without the grace of forgiveness).  God is with us as we then seek justice.

Noticeably, there is a process or stages the individual goes through (based on awareness of experience and not study). At first, there is a joyous disbelief, a kind of happy surprise that the time of suffering is over.  This is followed by a time of ambiguity, of questioning, now what am I to do?  Time does not stand still however and before the ambiguity is figured out, the sense of lost time presses hard upon the mind.  So, the jump into fast and unrelenting activity wins out and the desire to produce is strong. Obstacles come and are plowed through with new found strength and seemingly the world itself appears available again to enjoy.  With that enjoyment comes a growing impatience that is determined never to return to a situation of abuse, never to allow that experience to happen again.  Impatience brings it's own problems.  Was it a moment of tiredness, or was it encroaching exhaustion, or was it simply bound to end?  A small misinterpreted remark triggered intense feelings, feelings out of proportion and clearly coming from somewhere in the past.  Caught in time, a quick apology is given with others barely noticing, but the internal struggle now begins.  This is going to have to be worked out.  The past has left its mark.  The thought frightens, "I can't fix this...I can't fix myself."  And the mind begins to look towards a savior.

In our quest for justice, the story of Veronica reminds us that the image of Christ is borne by those suffering and is appropriated by those who are merciful.  We do well to practice mercy as the means to seek justice.  In doing so, our words may be absent, but we are not silent.