To be Like Veronica


Veronica.

The name probably rouses thoughts of the Stations of the Cross, as is natural. Just after Simon of Cyrene helps Jesus carry His heavy load, and just prior to His second fall, a simple character emerges from the blood-thirsty crowd to perform a magnificent act. With feminine gentleness, Veronica removes the veil from her head and offers Our Lord what little relief possible, soaking up the blood and sweat from His eyes and face. No doubt, the blood and sweat would run again, but the effectiveness of her remedy was not important. What mattered was her courage – her willingness to reject the callous crowd and defend Our Lord, especially when no one (save His holy mother) would dare.

For such a reason, she is now a saint.

I never paid much thought to Veronica, to be honest. Growing up, the Stations of the Cross were a staple during Lent…something which had to be done. While I loved Christ and understood the gravity of His sacrifice, I was a kid. I regarded the Stations with a dignity similar to the command to clean the dishes…something Mom forced me to do. I circled the perimeter of the church with total strangers, recited the various prayers which accompanied the various steps Jesus took on His journey to Golgotha, and when finished, detoured immediately to the fish fry.

Kids.

The Sixth Station of the Cross, appropriately titled “Veronica Wipes the Face of Jesus,” always seemed so…meh. I do not mean the Station felt insignificant, but surely Veronica’s action was not as paramount as the Fourth Station – “Jesus Meets His Mother” – and definitely not as impactful as the Eleventh, “Jesus is Nailed to the Cross.” Right? As an adolescent, I generally overlooked Veronica’s gesture with a mental wave of the hand.

Today, I am far more enlightened.

I realized the magnificence of Veronica’s action while praying the fourth Sorrowful Mystery of the Rosary... “The Carrying of the Cross.” Deep in meditation, I saw Our Lord with arms outstretched beneath the 100 pounds of wood imposed upon His bloody and beaten body. I understood His heart, pounding desperately to feed blood to His muscles shredded from the flogging. The crown of thorns pierced His scalp and forehead, producing a constant stream of blood to His eyes, blurring His vision. His legs shook with weakness from the impossible task of dragging His cross to His death – a realization which no doubt assaulted Him psychologically all the while.

And the crowd. Men, women, and soldiers surrounded Him without mercy. To the Jews, He was someone who committed the sacrilege of calling Himself God. To the soldiers, He challenged Roman authority when He referred to Himself as “King of the Jews.” Each had their special reason for hating Him, and no amount of blood could quench their thirst. He walked the Via Dolorosa as a lamb amongst ravenous wolves – soldiers flogged His body, already ripped to shreds, while the crowd flung insults and objects towards Him without reserve.

He was born for this reason, though. He understood His purpose – to take upon His shoulders the sins of the world – as Isaiah foretold well before His birth: “But He was pierced for our transgressions, He was crushed for our iniquities. The punishment which brought us peace was on Him, and by His wounds, we are healed.” (Isaiah 53:5). He trudged to His death amidst a mob which represented the very evil He would overcome – each wrathful face, hateful comment and blow to the face, another sin upon His shoulders.

When suddenly, like a rose among weeds, she appeared.


Veronica’s appearance during the Passion was simple and brief, but her action was anything but. The courage to go against the crowd – defy the Roman soldiers and the very real threat against her own safety – for the sake of Christ suffering was monumental. I imagine she thought very little (if anything) of herself the moment she saw Jesus. Her heart moved with total abandon towards Him, flooded with sympathy, and her body merely followed. Nothing mattered – not the crowd’s impression of her, nor her own wellbeing – save the brief and momentary comfort of Him whom she loved.

I imagine to Jesus, her gesture of love amidst so much hate provided great consolation.

While meditating upon The Carrying of the Cross, I realized just how little I reflect Veronica…and how much I should aspire to do so. The modern world is the Via Dolorosa renewed, as society flings blows towards God intent upon killing Him once again. Prayer is removed from schools, the Ten Commandments are removed from courthouses, and one cannot even utter “Merry Christmas” without angering an atheist. We should not be surprised, then, when we turn on the news and are appalled. Children are shooting other children, babies are found in dumpsters, organs from aborted fetuses are sold on the black market, and men are (literally) becoming women.

I guess when you’ve killed God, anything goes.

Which brings us to our current situation…a society which hates Christ. We are executing Him again – flogging Him with our sins of indifference, and piercing His hands and feet with the nails of relativism. Modern standards demand “tolerance” for each and all…unless, of course, you’re Christian. Speaking personally, living amongst such hedonism requires courage. Something so simple, such as praying grace before eating in public, makes the heart pound with anxiety.

“What if they’re not Christian? Will I offend them? What will they think of me?

When I do manage to pray grace, I always make the Sign of the Cross iiity biiity. Maybe they won’t notice.

Why can’t I be like Veronica? I pray God help me do so. Help me not be ashamed of Him when the world demands otherwise. Give me the courage necessary to declare to others, “I love Jesus!” When others take His holy name in vain, move me to correct their error. Declare through me Christ’s truth (which has never changed) when others err against the truth. Holy Spirit, make me a light for the darkness of our times. Like Veronica, I want to go against the mob of the modern world. I want to stand up for You, to comfort You, and be a source of joy for You when the world breaks Your Sacred Heart.

Like Veronica, I want to wipe the tears from Your face.



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