STATION 6: THE VEIL OF VERONICA

My servant grew up in the Lord’s presence like a tender green shoot, like a root in dry ground. There was nothing beautiful or majestic about his appearance, nothing to attract us to him. He was despised and rejected — a man of sorrows, acquainted with deepest grief. We turned our backs on him and looked the other way. He was despised, and we did not care.
— Isaiah 53:2-3 (NLT)

Then the righteous will answer him, “Lord, when was it that we saw you hungry and gave you food, or thirsty and gave you something to drink? And when was it that we saw you a stranger and welcomed you, or naked and gave you clothing? And when was it that we saw you sick or in prison and visited you?”
And the king will answer them, “Truly I tell you, just as you did it to one of the least of these who are members of my family, you did it to me.”
— Matthew 25:37-40 (NRSV)

Station 6

She saw his face—
bruised, bloodied, streaked with sweat and dust—
and she stepped forward.

There were no orders to obey,
no swords drawn to force her hand.
Just compassion.
And a cloth.

In the middle of a violent procession,
She offered tenderness.
While others mocked,
she moved with mercy.

No one else moved.
Only her.
Only love.

She could not stop the suffering.
She could not lift the cross.
But she did what she could.
She wiped his face.
She gave dignity to the broken body of Christ.

And legend says the imprint of his face remained
on the cloth she carried home.

Maybe it still does.
Maybe his face still shows up
in every person we pass by on the side of the road.
And maybe love still calls us
to pause,
to see,
to serve—
not because we can fix it all,
but because we refuse to walk by.

Let us pray.

Jesus, you met kindness in the middle of cruelty. You received compassion from hands that dared to reach out.

We pray for all those who care for others in quiet, tender ways: for nurses, aides, and chaplains, for friends who show up with casseroles and warm hands, for strangers who choose kindness when no one is watching.

Teach us, like this legend of Veronica, to step forward even when it’s risky. To bring dignity to those who are hurting. To see your face in the faces of those who suffer.

And when we feel helpless — remind us: we don’t have to fix everything. We just have to love.

Amen.