Footsteps of Jesus 06

Description

A Woman Wipes the Face of Jesus

Isaiah 53:2b-3

As told by the woman with the issue of blood 

I loved the view from this window, the streetscape of busy travellers, and the city humming with activity. It was here that I saw him that fateful day, above the narrow climbing path. Imagine having to climb it with a tree on your back. From the distance, I saw the procession stop, and the Romans force another man to carry it. I looked at the prisoner, seeing beyond the blood and bruise that made him almost unrecognizable, but then I knew, and my heart skipped a beat. It was the same man who had brought the crowds together to hear him speak of God, and do all manner of miracles.

I was in the crowd that day, the day when Jairus begged Jesus to heal his little girl. I was that woman who imagined I could get away with surreptitiously touching the hem of his garment. I was the one he compassionately healed, the one who was given back life after twelve years of misery and alienation!

On this day, there were crowds, but not with praise and adoration on their lips. I heard the roar and ugly noise from afar. There was a crowd ahead and many more trailed behind, jeering and spitting upon him.

I ran down the stairs as I was. I needed to be near him, to offer him what comfort I could. I emerged from the doorway and it was at that moment he was passing me by. I saw his face, torn, bleeding and sad beyond human understanding. Dust and sweat mingled on his brow, together with dried blood. I remembered the Scriptures from Isaiah about the servant of the Lord, and I knew that he was the one, and that his suffering was for our sake. He was indeed wounded and bruised, oppressed and afflicted, and he took it all so silently. I realized at that moment that it was for our transgressions, or iniquities.

There was no moment to stop, to think before doing it. I reached up with the cloth I still held in my hand, forgotten in the rush down the stairs. I reached out, just like I did before, not to touch the hem of his garment, but to wipe the sweat and blood from his face, and to touch him with the gentle touch of love and compassion, born of gratitude for all he had done for me.

 

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