They told me not to come. They said it would only make it harder….as if
staying home while my son hung on a cross would be anything less than torture---no
matter where I was. Since he was making
this sacrifice for a world of people who had spat on him, betrayed him,
abandoned him, mocked him, ignored him, and now slowly killed him… well then it
seems to me that I can make this sacrifice for him. I can sit at the foot of the cross as my son
slowly dies. I can do that at
least.
I am so close I can smell his sweat. That smell brings me a strange comfort. It is as familiar to me as my own sweat. I smelled it after he came inside after
running around with his friends and lay down with me at the hottest part of the
day, when all you could do was rest. I
smelled it as he worked with his father on various projects. I know that smell as well as I knew his voice
and his face.
As soon as he started this crazy
journey…trying to help people understand and know God, understand and know
him---as soon as he started that, I have been spending more time with him. Sometimes I have stood at a distance as he
has taught. Sometimes I just watched him sleep.
I don’t ever want to forget his face.
When I watched him sleep, I would remember who he was as a child, that
sweet baby I held in my arms so many years ago.
It feels as though thousands of
years have passed since he was born. But now that sweat is mixed with a
different smell. Blood.
That combination of blood and sweat
reminded me of another time years ago when I lay on the floor in a room of hay
with animals walking in and out. Joseph pacing by my side, trying to be
helpful. Blood. Sweat. I was there at his birth and I will be there when he
dies. I will stay.
I look up and I can see him looking
at the soldiers as they divide his clothing.
It makes me angry. He just looks
sad. Sad and tired. Then he turns to me and his eyes meet mine. A fresh pain courses through my body. I did not think the pain could get worse, but
it does. I am reminded of that time when
he was just 8 days old. Joseph and I were so happy. We had been through so much
but now we had this beautiful boy. We
went to the temple with our small sacrifice of 2 pigeons. We offered this sacrifice to the Lord. As we prepared to leave an old man approached
us. While he was old and walked with difficulty, his face emanated joy.
He came and took Jesus out of my
arms. At first I was afraid he was going
to take him from me, but then he spoke and I knew there was something special
about this man. He said something about
seeing salvation and how Jesus, our baby, would be a light for all people. He then blessed
us all and said something I will never forget. “This child is destined for the
falling and the rising of many in Israel, and to be a sign that will be opposed
so that the inner thoughts of many will be revealed—and a sword will pierce
your own soul too.”
It did not make sense to me
then. How could he be a light to all
nations, but also be hated and opposed?
Why would my soul be pierced? I had listened to God. I had said yes when he made that crazy
request of giving birth to a baby who was to be the Son of God. I said yes.
Why would my soul be pierced? But
I understand now. I understand what it
is to have your soul pierced. I felt it
long before this moment. I felt it when
the people tried to stone him because he said things that were contrary to what
everyone believed, when he disagreed with the great religious leaders and even
the Romans. I begged him to stop, stop
causing a stir. There had to be a better
way. He did not listen. He just gave me that
look. I felt my soul pierced again when
he was arrested, then again when the crowd shouted, “Crucify him.” I felt it
over and over again. Now, it was
complete. My soul was in pieces. There was nothing left to pierce.
There is that look again. He looks into my eyes. I expect to see pain, maybe even anger. But as I search his eyes, I see something
else. I see love. Though it must be so
painful to speak he says, “Woman, here is your son.” Then he looks at John, the only one who is
here with me and says, “Here is your mother.”
Even at this horrible moment, he is still trying to take care of
us. Now is says that he is thirsty and I
want to bring him something, but they will not let me. He looks at me one last
time and then looks at the sky as if searching for something. We all look up as well. I don’t see a thing. I hear a gasp and I get up so I can be just a
little closer. He says, “It is
finished.” And it is.
I fall into the arms of John and we
weep together. We stay until they take
his body from the cross. They let me hold him one last time. While my grief feels overwhelming, more memories
started to flood in while I hold him. I
remember the people who followed him. I
remember the people he cured and how they looked at him. He turned water into
wine. He opened the eyes of the blind. He even brought a man back to
death.
Then I hear his voice so clearly I
think he must still be alive, but he remains limp in my arms. I hear him say, “‘A little
while, and you will no longer see me, and again a little while, and you will
see me’? You will weep and
mourn, but the world will rejoice; you will have pain, but your pain will turn
into joy.” He was always saying things
like that…things that no one really understood.
But those words come to me now with renewed clarity. Maybe my pain will turn into joy. My pain
will turn to joy. I say that over and over
as I watch them carry my boy away.
