All lovers come at last to Gethsemane,And wait there for the outcome of their loving.
Loving itself is a beginning,
Love does not compel but can only wait,
And the intensity of the waiting is the measure of the loving.
And to wait no longer is to cease to love.
The robe of royal purple in which he is dressed by the soldiers does not fit.
It is too large: it is not his own.But it is not the mocking soldiery alone who dress Him in ill-fitting robes of earthly power:
So also in art and imagination, do some of those who believe in Him.
Because they believe in the primacy of power,
They attribute to Him the trappings of power
And adorn Him with its symbols:
Then, while showing respect to Him, they can continue to worship power
And take pride and satisfaction in their own power.
But the robe which belongs to him
His own robe
Is that 'dying crimson' which
Like a robe spreads o'er His Body on the Tree.
It is the robe of a life poured out,
Of power expended,
Of self given in love.
It is the wearer of this robe
That we must learn to worship.
W H Vanstone, 'Icons of the Passion'