Station 6: Veronica Wipes the Face of Jesus

Vera Eikon. True image. Veronica.

This station is one of the first to get cut when it comes to scripture based stations. Veronica is not a name we hear in the canonical scriptures. There is no verse even that mentions a woman running to Jesus’ side to wipe away his tears, blood and spit. Veronica, like many of the saints, is as much tradition as she is scripture or history.

According to tradition, it is Veronica that touches Jesus’ garment to be healed in that familiar verse where Jesus feels power flow out of him by the faith of a woman. It is also, according to tradition, Veronica that receives the only true likeness of Jesus, imprinted on the cloth with which she wipes his face.

As I consider this station, I wonder “Why are we so obsessed with images, likenesses?” It’s a question I often ask myself as a maker of images. How do we explain the power of the visual representation?

Looking at the last two centuries we witness how powerfully the creation and mass production of images has affected our ability to relate to one another, how much smaller and more comprehensible it has made our world. We know through seeing. And we desire, crave an image of the one we choose to follow, that we might know him as well.

As a young person, having grown up inundated by strong visuals (in advertising, television, movies and the internet), and more specifically, strong visuals which may or may not correspond to reality, I have a distrust of the honesty or comprehensiveness of any single image. I know that between me and any image there exist half a dozen filters, computer programs, machines and other pairs of eyes. An image, even a photograph, is not a window, but a portrait.

And yet, we, as followers of Christ, followers of Jesus want a “True Image” to follow, to know. We want to know exactly who Jesus was, what he said, what he did, how he understood himself. Really. We want to know.

But despite all our historical studies, despite the best efforts of archeologists, theologians and historians we have only portraits, representations. There are no windows in time. There is no way, to actually “know” the historical Jesus. Our faith tells us that this is not the point though. It is not Jesus we seek, but the Christ, and we know in faith that the image of Christ, does exist, and it exists in the blood, the tears, the mud and spit which we map out on a fabled piece of cloth, in the hand of a woman who is herself the True Image, Veronica, the Vera Eikon.

Veronica, stitched over centuries from scripture, from experience, from tradition. Veronica, the church, the only true image of Christ we have. Filtered through centuries of Christians before us, woven from stories told and retold, altered and adapted. The Vera Eikon, a portrait, each stroke a member, a follower, a believer, an act of faith, hope and love. Each stroke telling us something of the Christ.

As we gaze on Veronica, on the image of Christ, we gaze back upon ourselves and confront ourselves with our faith, our only means of seeing. Veronica, wiping away the blood and tears she herself inflicted, the mud made from her own spit. Veronica with a cloth woven from her own hair, bathing these worthy feet in precious oils.

As I consider this station, Veronica comes to me as a woman, staring simply into a reflective surface, with that mix of fear, pain and liberation that comes with looking honestly at oneself. She holds in her hand a cloth, filthy, the grime from it staining her hand. Can there be the same kindness in her eyes for herself as there was for the one lost? Is there any meaning in his sacrifice if there cannot be?

Into the Wilderness

Discernment is a word we throw around a lot in the church. Most often with regard to ordained ministry. “She is in the discernment process.” “I have agreed to be on his discernment committee.” But it is also an essential part of each of our spiritual journeys and our lives as human beings.

In today’s gospel we hear a three-part story. For Mark, this is the beginning of the story of Jesus.

Part one: he “came from Nazareth.” We know from the other gospels and from later on in Mark that this is where most of Jesus’ life has been lived to this point. His family is there, he has grown up there, been educated in the scriptures there, and has learned his trade there. He probably has gotten sick there, been cared for, been loved and learned the cruelty of children there as well. Given our current understanding of developmental psychology, and our faith in his full humanity, we can assume that it is there that Jesus has come to know his own individuality and agency and gained a sense of self, both as independent and in community.

And it is vital to our understanding that he is, in this moment, leaving all that behind and coming to John, the baptizer, at the river Jordan. There are a lot of questions left unanswered in Mark’s brevity: What is he seeking there? Why does Jesus need John’s baptism? What drives him so powerfully that he would be willing to leave behind all he had ever known? We don’t know. Did Jesus know? Or did he just feel the faintest of stirrings, deep within himself and head out to see what God might be doing.
A lot of young people make their way to cities after college, New York in particular. Many don’t know what exactly they will do, or how they will make a living, but they strike out, in hopes that, once there, they will “figure it out.” On arrival they find a bustling place, lives scurrying about frantically, pieced together from jobs, relationships, chance encounters, art, food and folly. Many can’t say exactly why they come, but it’s likely it has something to do with a search for purpose.

To many who have done this, the idea of “figuring it out” is a funny one. As though it were something one did once, and then having “figured it out,” one could spend the rest of life living happily into that. “Ok, I’ve figured it out!” Instead there is this constant process, of figuring it out, discerning purpose, calling, vocation. Losing sight, changing, shipwreck, gladness, discerning again. God doesn’t always make it easy on us. But we follow along, listening for the faint stirrings and inching our way closer to God and to God’s perfect vision for us.

And even when the whisper is a shout and the calling is clear, the means are not always quite so clear. As Jesus is being baptized, he sees the heavens open and the spirit descends like a dove upon him while a voice speaks, “Thou art my beloved Son, in whom I am well pleased.” Now, doesn’t that sound great?! Having heard the story countless times, knowing where it leads: the healings, the miracles, the teachings and transforming love (as well as eventually the cross and Calvary) we often assume in some ways that suddenly Jesus knows what to do, that somehow the Spirit has given him “God vision,” that he can see clearly his Messianic calling. But is this calling any more clear than the calling to be Christians, children of God, is to us today? How many countless ways do we find to be Episcopalians alone? Much less Christians. And how often do we hear the message, “You are my beloved. In you I am well pleased” and sit self-satisfied, doing nothing. Sometimes we need a little push to do anything about it.

Part Two: “The Spirit immediately drove him into the wilderness. And he was in the wilderness forty days, tempted by Satan; and he was with the wild beasts, and the angels ministered to him.” As Kermit might say, “Sheesh.” Unlike other Gospel accounts where the Spirit leads Jesus into the desert, where Jesus is given agency, Mark picks up the drama. Like a master, this gentle descending dove-like spirit, drives Jesus into the wilderness. No idle self-satisfaction allowed.

Unlike other Gospel accounts, Mark is short on details for this part of the story, but all the vital elements are here: the duration, the temptation, the threat of violence and the sustaining care God provides. Forty days, as most of us know, is biblical shorthand for a long time. But even so, forty days is a long time. Today we recall day five.

For many of us, this kind of retreat into isolation is at least somewhat appealing. Forty days of alone time? Forty days to work on “figuring things out,” discerning God’s call in my life? If only I had that kind of time, money, and discipline.

Our wilderness often has a different terrain. Having felt God’s calling on our lives we have to figure it out amidst our over-booked, over-worked modern lives. Our isolation occurs within communities, families, workplaces and churches and can often seem to go on forever. Our temptations are many: the gods of self and materialism, of exclusivity and pride, of despair and prejudice surround us. And the wild beasts wear different masks. But the ministering and sustaining presence of God is no less with us. The angels also wear different masks, and come in unexpected forms.

Part three: Now after John was arrested, Jesus came to Galilee, proclaiming the good news of God, and saying, "The time is fulfilled, and the kingdom of God has come near; repent, and believe in the good news." Now, for many of us, floundering in the wilderness is a familiar feeling. We are not so comfortable with preaching the Kingdom. But it is this to which our calling as children of God points, the fulfillment of the good news of God, the kingdom made manifest. The time is fulfilled.

Lent is a powerful season in the Church year. Some will mock the New Years-like resolutions we make; attempts to better ourselves by abstinence, penitence and goal-setting. And yet, there is something powerful about the season that calls people to make the connection between lived lives and the calling of God. There is something that makes us want to bridge the false divide between faith and social realism. Discernment is not a simple thing, or something we do all at once, it is a daily calling, a daily wrestling, like cutting back on caffeine or spending more time talking with our family. And it’s something we do in the midst of life, messily and with countless challenges. It’s how we live out the calling God has made on each of our lives to be and proclaim the good news. This Lent we are invited to join Jesus in the wilderness, to acknowledge our isolation, name our temptations and challenge the wild beasts. We are also invited to see the hand of God in sustaining us and recall faithfully that calling of baptism that brought us here in the first place.

In the words of the Prayer Book, “I invite you, therefore, in the name of the Church, to the observance of a holy Lent, by self-examination and repentance; by prayer, fasting, and self-denial; and by reading and meditating on God's holy Word,” that we, too, may come to Easter having discerned more clearly God’s calling on our lives, and live more perfectly into his kingdom.