Mary is present. Mixed in with the crowd of curiosity seekers, she witnesses the agony of her son. She does not tear her hair out, she does not struggle, she does not yell. She is there to show her love, a love that, because of its depth, is exempt from any pretense. Among the living, there is no pain greater than that of a mother whose own son is torn away from her. It is unspeakable, unbearable. It is nature that rebels and overturns its own order. That little face, which for nine months she guarded in the shadow of her womb. She won’t see him again. She won’t hear his voice again, the voice that a long time ago timidly stuttered her name.
How strange Simeon’s words must have sounded to the young mother who walked into the temple with her newborn baby. How many sleepless nights she must have “kept these things in her heart.” The serene breathing of the baby in his crib and she, at his side, with eyes wide open, peering into the darkness of the night. “And a sword will pierce through your own soul also."
The sun, when it shines, does not really shine. The voice, when it sings, always stumbles on an out-of-tune note. Now, while the crowd pushes and strains so as not to miss even one second of the spectacle, she finally knows. The shadow has dissolved. It is in front of her, transformed in realty. The sword is unsheathed. The blood of the Son and the blood of the Mother are again united, as in the moment of birth.
Prayer:
Holy Mary, glorious Mother of all who live, look at these desolate times when the human being, more than anything else, is afraid of maternity. Turn your gaze upon us, full of mercy! Convinced that to have a child is a matter of technique and desire, many have forgotten the profound reality that conceals life within itself. The evil that corrodes us is not the sterility of the body, but of the heart. We want to be in control of everything. We demand, we claim—and we call this thirst for dominion love.
But as you teach us on the road to Golgotha, love does not expect. It is attentive. It does not run after. It welcomes. Love is sober and demanding, patient and merciful. Love generated from the depth of our being is always a sign of contradiction because it unveils the thoughts of the heart. It relentlessly separates that which is truly fertile from that which, following the way of manipulation, only pretends to be.
This is an excerpt from Meditations on the Passion by Susanna Tomaro.
