A tsunami of whipped up hysterical rage drags Jesus, bloodied and battered, towards the destiny we continually make for Him. 
Raw flesh where His skin was torn off by the cruel scourging,
Raw wounds constantly whipped by the soldiers.
Morale slowly being asphyxiated by the abuse of last week's turncoat palm wavers.

Then for a few moments, the blood red sea of baying wolves is parted by a women as she courageously approaches Jesus and gently wipes His face.

A  moment of compassion in a cruel world.  Her reward?  Forever is the face of Christ imprinted in her cloth.

Veronica must have treasured that precious gift from God for the rest of her life.

But I wonder, which is the most valuable? The cloth or the kindness which earned it?