By His Wounds: The Passion of Our Lord Jesus Christ

Seraphia (Veronica) Wipes the Face of Jesus

Seraphia (Veronica) Wipes the Face of Jesus

Seraphia* was prepared to see her Lord, as was her daughter. She had the veil in her hand—the same one she had placed on the ground the day Jesus had entered Jerusalem admist hallelujahs—while a glass of strong wine in the other.

The crowd was getting louder, giving the indication that the criminals were approaching. Well, two criminals and one innocent Lord.

"Come now," Seraphia said to her daughter and she handed her the cup of wine. "We must hurry."

The two females rushed out of their house and into the crowd. Seraphia instructed her daughter to stay close. She pushed her way through the crowd, trying desperatly to not lose the precious veil. It was of the assense that she reach Jesus.

She saw her chance. She hastily grabbed her daughters hand and pushed her way past the barbaric men and weeping women. She tripped, nearly releasing the veil onto the ground, but her daughter grabbed her elbow and maintained her mother's equilibrium. Her head glanced up and her eyes spotted her Lord.

She nearly fled. He was so...different. Unrecognizable. Carrying that cross, wearing a crown of thorns, and having been scourged, he honestly did look like a criminal that had committed a horrible crime. But Seraphia knew he had done nothing wrong.

Then, Jesus faltered. He fell forward, stumbling under his own feet, and landed crashing on his knees. The man helping Jesus stumbled, too, yet remained nearly standing. Jesus' hands, ripped to shreds, made contact with the ground with great force. His wrists bent backwards, the bones nearly snapping. The heavy cross followed him in the fall, an arm piece landing on his finger—make him silently scream—until the assistant pushed the cross away from Jesus and into the crowd. The Roman soldiers instantly started whipping the bystanders with rope, pushing them backwards and cursing at them.

Seraphia grabbed her daughter's hand and charged forward. She ducked under the blow of a whip, but someone else tripped her and she stumbled to the ground, the white veil cushioning her fall. Seraphia gasped and grabbed the veil off the dirty floor, only to find herself directly—only a few inches—near the face of her Lord. Her God. The King of kings and Lord of Lords. He was breathing heavily, his body heavy as he struggled to gain a breath—whether from the fall or all prior abuse towards him. His face was speckled with tears and scrapes, bruises and blood. His left eye was swollen shut, while the other was black and blue. Blood dripped off his nose and onto the ground. The thorns around his head also dripped blood. Precious blood that no one cared about.

Except Serephia.

"Allow me, my Lord." Serephia bowed her head as she handed the veil to Jesus, not even thinking if he would be able to grasp it.

But after a moment of looking at her, Jesus tentatively raised his hand up, and fingered the veil, red blood-prints immediately standing out against the starched cloth. He nodded, Seraphia saw, then pressed the veil up against his face, wiping the sweat and blood of very delicately.

He returned the veil to Seraphia, her not even caring that her precious veil, the one of most importance to her, was now covered in blood and sweat—ruined, as most all would say. But to her it wasn't ruined. It was perfect.

As was Jesus' face. She could see his features better now. His tan skin. The barely noticeable freckles sprinkled over his nose. His kind, blue-green eyes that stared into her soul. She could almost feel the love pouring into her heart. His love. For her.

"Bat sheli," Seraphia called, not turning around to see her daughter yet feeling her fingers cup around the wine glass. She offered it to Jesus. He stared at her, yet didn't accept the drink. Before Seraphia could say anything, a Roman soldier came running up near her and kicked the glass out of her hand. He whipped her on the back twice before she was able to configure what was going on. Grabbing her daughter's hand, Seraphia turned towards her house, veil in hand, and ran away without looking back.

Once inside, Seraphia had a great trouble breathing. She hurriedly looked over her daughter for injuries, yet found none. She wiped her face with her hand, grabbed her stomach, and tried to calm herself. Her back ached from the rope of that Roman soldier. It would be bruised by tomorrow.

And Jesus would be dead by tomorrow

At that moment, Seraphia realized what she had just done. She had hurried away from her Lord without saying farewell, without giving him words of encouragement, without even praising His Holy Name. She had hurried away like a coward, and then complained at the two wounds on her back, when she was sure Jesus would love to have only two wounds on him.

Seraphia fell to her knees, not even caring how badly it hurt as they hit the hard ground. She folded her hands in prayer as tears streamed down her face.

"Salach li, my Lord!" she cried. Her hands came to her face, then spread out before her as she reached for something to grasp in comfort.

She grasped her veil.

Still sobbing, Seraphia glanced up at the red-white cloth, only to see an image that startled her. Hurriedly, she outspread the veil to its entire length. The world stopped as Seraphia gazed into the face of her Lord. The veil, where Jesus had pressed his face into it, was now a beautiful picture Him. She could see every detail, every feature, and every wound Jesus had. But this time, it was more beautiful to look on. His eyes were fully open in this image, and they had the same kindness in them as when Seraphia saw in them moments ago. His hair was dry and no longer matted, yet the crown of thorns was still clearly visible.

This veil did not appear the same veil Jesus had wiped his face on. Where there should be blood and sweat stains and an unidentifiable image, there was instead the most beautiful, most painful portrait of Jesus Seraphia had ever and would ever lay eyes on.

Overcome with emotion and gratitude, Seraphia glanced to the Heavens and whispered, "Toda, Father." She then grasped the veil, hugged her daughter, and sobbed.

*Biblical studies have shown that Veronica's real name was Seraphia. The name Veronica was later given to her, composed from the words vera icon (true portrait) which is used to represent her brave conduct for that day. She was also the cousin of John the Baptist.