This subject matter is one that I visit every year as we celebrate life everlasting ensured by the gift of a father and the sacrifice of a son. I cannot imagine nor fathom the depth of overwhelming, heart-wrenching pain Mary endured at witnessing her son hanging on that cross. Her sorrow had to have absolutely consumed her. Here was that young woman who had been visited by an angel who told her she had been chosen by God to bear His son. A joyous, miraculous event! And now thirty-three years later she stood literally under his feet with tears streaming down her face watching his pain as he died before her eyes. Even though she knew who he was. Had listened to him preach. Teach. Had heard what he promised if people committed their lives to his Father.
Yet as she followed him to Calvary while he half-shouldered, half-dragged that massively heavy burden, she herself bore the excruciating weight of every human mother. We have all been overwhelmed at times with wanting to make things better when we see our children suffer. But to be present and have no control? Feeling absolutely helpless? And know that it must happen.
But she did come, didn't she? Came for her child. Her boy. Just as we all are there for her child. As well as our very own.
