HOLY WEEK

A Reflection for Wednesday of Holy Week

‘The Seamless Robe’, taken from ‘The Things He Carried’ by
Stephen Cottrell.

He carried a seamless robe.

It was a thing of delicate beauty and of great craftsmanship,
robust and at the same time light, woven in one piece from top to
bottom; like the robe a high priest would wear as he went about his
duties.

Like everything else, it would be taken from him.
Freshly made, it billowed from the loom as it was released,
completed. The freshness and the newness of it made you want to
bury yourself in its folds. Or else just put it on. The fingers that spun
it, the hands that made it, held together in satisfaction of a job well
done. For things crafted have a lasting value: but one that is easily
squandered. Mass production leaves little space for the tiny detail
that makes this thing and that thing. Or is it just plain compromised
by cheap labour and the lust to possess everything.
Laundered and hung out to dry it drifted in the breeze like a flag.
But there was no breeze that day. The air seemed to hang in the sky
like a great leaden weight: like the yellowing clouds of smog that
stain our cities. Somewhere a fire was crackling. Dogs barked.
Children cried out in fear and stared in bemused amazement.
His sweat and blood stained the cloth. It clung to him, and
where it had been lashed, the fibres of the material stuck to the
congealing wounds.

Around the hem, where the stitching was plain to see, the
material was starting to fray. Something was unravelling, becoming
undone.

And on another day, in another crowd, one would reach out to
touch this hem. Not to admire its beauty, or measure the quality of
the cloth, but to come as close as one could to touching the man; to
feel his pulse and know the energy of his life. And even in a crowd,

with hundreds jostling around him, clamouring for attention, he
would cry out, ‘Who touched me?’, as if this were something
obvious. But he could tell. He could be pressed in on every side and
still discern each touch. You see, there are no crowds for him, only
people, each one a thing of beauty, each one delicately and
unrepeatedly distinct. He sees each face, knows each name, feels
each touch and knows its meaning.
What do you want me to do for you?

Scripture Readings
Matthew 9: 20-22

“If I only I touch his cloak, I will be made well.”
John 19: 17-25
‘They also took his tunic.’

Prayer

Today, Lord, I come to you
like that sick woman who touched the hem of your garment.
I draw near to you
knowing that you draw near to me with
your precious gift of healing and forgiveness.
Fill me with the energy and power of your Spirit.
Make me whole
that I may serve you to the end,
My Master and my Friend. Amen.

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