I was praying the rosary this morning, meditating on the first glorious mystery, the Resurrection. I was thinking about Mary’s perspective during the three days before the Resurrection. What could she have felt? What were her thoughts?
I tried to imagine what it would have been like to be the mother of Jesus, to have my beloved son, the one who was the gift given to me by God, captured, falsely accused, and sentenced to torture and crucifixion. She was there that day, watching in anguish as he was flogged, mocked, and crowned with thorns. She walked along the road as he carried the heavy cross to the place of execution. She must have hidden her eyes but heard the striking of the hammers as the steel nails were driven through his hands and feet. What courage it took for her to stay at the foot of the cross as he hung there, dying a slow, torturous death. I can see and hear her weeping, her heart breaking within her. She could not help but wonder why all this was happening. She must have wanted the madness to end.
And then, once he breathed his last, what else could she do but grieve his loss? The beautiful Pietà never ceases to move my soul. It captures that moment after Jesus was taken down from the cross, his lifeless, bloodied body, broken and mutilated, lying limp in her maternal arms. Her beloved son. Her everything. Precious One who loves us that much. Love that never ceases. Her love. His silent, dead body.
This was days before the Resurrection. She had no idea what was to come.
During those days and hours when he lay in the tomb, what was going on inside her?
I am going to venture to say that she must have been confused. How could it end this way? The scenes of violence upon her son must have flashed again and again in her mind. She must have also replayed his look of silent love and surrender and those last words he spoke. Words of love. Such love!
“Father, forgive them, for they do not know what they are doing.” (Luke 23:34)
“Truly I tell you, today you will be with me in paradise.” (Luke 23:43)
“Woman, here is your son” and “Here is your mother.” (John 19:26–27)
There was a similar time in her life when, for three days, she was in confusion and grief: the days after the Passover feast in Jerusalem. On the road home, she and Joseph realized their son Jesus was not with them. Maybe she thought back to that time of panic and fear.
“Where is he? He isn’t here, on his way back home. We have to find him!” She and Joseph searched for entire days in Jerusalem. What might she have thought as she tried to sleep those nights? “God, help me find my son. I love him so much. You know where he is. Bring him back to me!”
Could this memory have comforted her? Did she think to herself, “I found him in the temple. I found him whom my heart seeks. (Song of Songs 3:1–4). I must hope in God. (Psalm 42:5)”
In both of these situations, Mary must have experienced all the range of human emotions. And, full of grace, she was likely able to make continual acts of trust in her heart.
“Lord, You have never failed me yet. I don’t understand this. I know Your ways are not my ways.” (Isaiah 55:8–9)
“I want to trust You.”
“I will place my trust in You.”
“Help me to trust You.”
“Calm the storm in me. Bring my Son home. Bring him back to me!”
My hope grows when I remember how both stories end.
Mary finds Jesus after days of searching frantically. He is in the Temple, and all who hear him are amazed at his understanding and his answers (Luke 2:46–47). Then he returns home with her and Joseph and remains obedient to them (Luke 2:51).
And after the terrible silence of the tomb, the story does not end in death. Jesus is risen! The disciples discover the empty tomb, and the risen Lord appears to them (John 20:1–18).
Both stories end in hope.
And so, in my own darkest hours, I can pray with Mary. I can grieve. I can wonder. I can wait. And I can trust.
“Jesus, hear me. Jesus, I know you are there. Come back to me.”
So beautiful, so encouraging. Thank you.
Beautifully written Dorie.