“Near the cross of Jesus there stood his mother, his mother’s sister, Mary the wife of Clopas, and Mary Magdalene. Seeing his mother there with the disciple whom he loved, Jesus said to his mother, ‘Woman, there is your son.’ In turn he said to the disciple, ‘There is your mother.’ From that hour onward, the disciple took her into his care.” John 19:25-27
The following is from Journey Through The Stillness (my personal spiritual journal shared publicly on Facebook.) This fits in perfectly with Lenten meditation on the Passion of Jesus. Mary was there.
Mar 30, 2010 – The Stillness Is Mary’s again. Her Son has gone off to pray. Mary knows danger is looming. She has a sickening feeling in the pit of her stomach. She knows some of His followers are with Him and hopes they will keep Him safe. They do not. She hears He has been arrested and races to where they have taken Him, her heart pounding wildly. She hopes for a glimpse of Him, and that He might see her, knowing she would do anything possible to relieve Him of this destiny, even take His place. She sees a crowd gathering and knows instinctively that He is there. Pushing through the back of the crowd she gets close enough to see. There He is, her Son! Her heart stands still. He is tethered to a post. His slumping body is bloodied and beaten. Through silent sobs she watches as the inhuman torture continues. Each wielding of the whip brings a new torment, another tear in His precious body, more blood. She longs to cry out, but doesn’t. She wants all eyes on Him to bear witness to His pain and suffering, to remember for always, to remember for all mankind. Then she sees the Crown. As they place it on His head and press down to secure it, to inflict unfathomable pain, her head reels and her legs begin to give out from under her. “No, No,” she says, and forces herself upright. She must see; He is her Son. They have spat on Him and given Him a reed to hold. They are mocking Him. She feels such anger rising within her and she knows she cannot act on it. She can do nothing! They lower the Cross onto His shoulder. She sees Him falter under the weight. Her heart cries out to God, “Help Him. If You truly love Him, help Him!” She sees the blood from the Crown of Thorns streaming into His eyes and down His face. Her heart cries out again to God. “Help Him! Can’t someone at least wipe His face!” She follows in the crowd, at times racing ahead, trying to place herself along the roadside to be there when He passes by. “Let Him see me, God. Let Him know I am here.” She witnesses Simon, the Cyrenian, being forced to help Him, and sees His face being wiped by a woman. At once she knows God has heard and answered her pleas. She knows her Son is in God’s hands. Her pain for her Son is enormous, unbearable, but she knows she will bear it, and so will He, for it is God’s will, and His will must be done. She continues on to Golgotha. Her heart is waiting, waiting for it to be over.
(See here the Mar 22nd Stillness for the completion, yet actually written before.)
Mar 22, 2010 – The Stillness is Mary’s. We are together at the foot of the Cross. Jesus is gently laid down on the Cross and removed. It is a horrible tormenting pain for her to watch as they remove the nails and lift Him from the Cross. This is her SON, whom she gave birth to, and whom most of the world knew nothing about. Yet, for those who did, there was great promise. She keeps saying, “It is finished now; He is free.” They take Him to the tomb and place Him on her lap while they make ready. She looks upon His face with such tenderness and sorrow. She cannot take her eyes away from Him, lest she forget. They take Him again. They are ready for her. She begins the wrapping, slowly, gently. She kisses both of His cheeks and, quietly racked with sobs, she covers Him with the shroud. She looks up to God and says, “I send Him back to you, Oh God, in order that your promise will be fulfilled, but I am empty now.” Then, we leave. Mary goes off to mourn and wait. The Stillness is over. I have been told to write this down.
Oh, Mary, you gave up all for us, that we might live.