The Shroud of Turin, and especially the Face image, has been the source of great devotion for me over the years. The peacefulness, now, in death is juxtaposed in wrenching witness with the wounds. And, while I do not care for nearly anything else in Kazantzakis, these words of his spring to mind:
My God and I are horsemen galloping in the burning sun or under drizzling rain. Pale, starving, but unsubdued, we ride and converse.At moments as I pray the Rosary before this Face, it seems somehow like a stone monument of Our Lord and I smile. For I know that this image has a vindicated, more-alive-than-I-am, loving Person who has passed through death and wants to be Good Shepherd to all who are weary and heavy laden. To all the Prodigal Sons and Daughters of the world. All.
"Leader!" I cry. He turns his face toward me, and I shudder to confront his anguish.
Our love for each other is rough and ready, we sit at the same table, we drink the same wine in this low tavern of life.