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“Physician? This country has all kinds. What kind of physician was Caesar looking for?”
“The One Who heals simply by speaking.”
“Oh, that One.”
“Then you know of the One I’m describing?”
“Yes, I’m afraid I do.”
“Good. Because Caesar is very eager to have you send Him to Rome as soon as possible. He wants his disease to be healed, too.”
Inwardly, Pilate was terrified, knowing that he had allowed Jesus to be killed because of jealousy. “But the man you’re talking about was a criminal! He seduced more and more people to his movement every day!”
Volusianus eyed him suspiciously. “So what exactly are you trying to tell me? Where is this Man Whom my lord and master has sent me to find?”
Pilate stood there, speechless.
“Well, where is he?” insisted Volusianus. “In prison, somewhere? Tell me: What have you done with Him?”
The governor’s words came out only with great difficult. “I’m afraid that after discussing the matter with the city’s leaders, the decision was made to crucify Him.”
Heartbroken, the royal messenger had no choice but to return to the emperor with bad news.
But along the way, he met a woman named Veronica, who had known Jesus. “Excuse me,” he sighed, “but there was a remarkable physician in this city, Who healed the sick simply by speaking.”
Veronica smiled back. “I know the Man you’re speaking about, yes, what about Him?”
“Do you any idea why anyone would have killed a Man like that?”
“Oh, my dear sir.” Veronica began to weep. “It was my Lord and my God that Pilate condemned and crucified. All because they were jealous of Him!”
“Jealous?”
“That’s right, jealous. Regular folks loved Him; but corrupt officials in high places wouldn’t stop until they saw Him dead.”
“But I was supposed to bring this Man to the emperor himself. We hoped He could help cure him.” Volusianus hung his head. “Now I’m afraid I’ll never be able to accomplish my mission.”
Veronica slowly regained her composure. “Well, after Jesus finished preaching in our town, He had to leave, so I wanted a painting of Him. That way I’d at least have His likeness to console me while He was gone. As I was taking the canvas to an artist, I met Jesus.
“You say you’ve actually met this Man?”
“Yes.”
“Well, what did He do? What did He say?”
“When He found out where I was going, He asked me for my canvas.”
“Yes, yes,” replied Volusianus enthusiastically. “Then what?”
“The He gave it back to me.”
“Was there anything on it?”
Veronica nodded meekly.
“What?” Volusianus’s eyes grew wider. “What was on it?”
“Oh, you wouldn’t believe me if I told you.”
“But I would, really. Tell me: I will believe you. And I will personally make sure that Caesar himself hears about what you have to say today.”
“Well, I could hardly believe my own eyes, but,” continued Veronica, slowly measuring out of her words, “incredibly, there was a picture of His marvelous face on it.”1
“What are you saying? Your blank canvas suddenly had the face of Jesus painted on it?”
Veronica nodded. “That’s right. That’s exactly what happened.”
“That is amazing,” sighed Volusianus. “Caesar will certainly have something to say about this, I’m sure.”
“What will you do now?”
“I will return to Caesar with this news. But only the gods know for sure if I will find him still fit enough in mind or body to receive it.”
“I wonder what would happen if your master were to look upon this painting with his own eyes.”
“What do you mean? Take your painting to Caesar and present it to him in person?”
“Yes, that’s right. Maybe if he saw it himself, you know, maybe that way he could experience His healing power, too.”
Volusianus was astonished. “Yes. I do think you’re on to something there. Is it possible to buy a picture like this with gold or silver?”
“No, of course not,” she smiled. “But I will go with you, and together we’ll take the painting to Caesar.”
So Volusianus started off for Rome then, along with Veronica and her portrait of Jesus.
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