Friday, February 11, 2005
Lenten Meditation:
Meditation on Mary's Last Moments with Jesus
For me, personally, the one thing which is the saddest
is contemplation of that moment when Mary is left alone
with the body of her son...How hard it must have been...
I visualize it sort of this way. Our Lord's body lays
on a stone shelf, perhaps already on half of the
shroud, where loving hands have laid him after washing
away what they could have of the day's horrors. She
sits there beside him, holding his cold hand, once so
able and loving, and looks at his poor battered face,
swollen from the abuse he had received. With Mary, I
meditate on the abrasions, cuts, blow marks, wounds,
and think of the words of the prophet, "By his stripes
we were healed."
Oh unimaginable day, that must have started when some
discple knocked on her door with the awful news of his
arrest. She had been there for him as much as she
could, heard the cries of pain as the nails passed
through his wrists, as they hauled the crossbar up to
it's place on the supporting post, his words of
forgiveness and blessing, his heart-rending cry of "Why
have you forsaken me?" Now he was gone, this wonderous
child born that night so many years ago...the sign that
would be contradicted, and now the sword Simeon
promised had indeed piered her heart.
Heavy, heavy must the numbing grieving shock and
fatigue that she was feeling by this moment. To stand
there for hours, to say yes to God when all that was
most precious to you was being tortured to death. Were
the hands who had come to comfort her, sister, friend,
follower of her son comforted instead by her steadfast
love?
But in the end, it comes down to this sad, sad
moment...saying goodbye. How fragile and small she
must have seen to those few friends gathered there to
do the final deed, hovering nearby at a respectful
distance, so beaten down. Silently the tears slide
down her cheek to fall on her beloved son's face as she
bends over to wipe his brow, touch his hair and kiss
him goodbye one last time.
I can see John coming behind her to help her up and
away one last time, as she walks into what must have
been the darkest of nights in her life.
Contemplating this moment, all I can say is "O my Lord,
I am so, so very sorry," knowing full well that my sins
are part of why this moment happened. I come away
thankful and amazed that Jesus would ever want to have
anything more to do with us.
Meditation on Mary's Last Moments with Jesus
For me, personally, the one thing which is the saddest
is contemplation of that moment when Mary is left alone
with the body of her son...How hard it must have been...
I visualize it sort of this way. Our Lord's body lays
on a stone shelf, perhaps already on half of the
shroud, where loving hands have laid him after washing
away what they could have of the day's horrors. She
sits there beside him, holding his cold hand, once so
able and loving, and looks at his poor battered face,
swollen from the abuse he had received. With Mary, I
meditate on the abrasions, cuts, blow marks, wounds,
and think of the words of the prophet, "By his stripes
we were healed."
Oh unimaginable day, that must have started when some
discple knocked on her door with the awful news of his
arrest. She had been there for him as much as she
could, heard the cries of pain as the nails passed
through his wrists, as they hauled the crossbar up to
it's place on the supporting post, his words of
forgiveness and blessing, his heart-rending cry of "Why
have you forsaken me?" Now he was gone, this wonderous
child born that night so many years ago...the sign that
would be contradicted, and now the sword Simeon
promised had indeed piered her heart.
Heavy, heavy must the numbing grieving shock and
fatigue that she was feeling by this moment. To stand
there for hours, to say yes to God when all that was
most precious to you was being tortured to death. Were
the hands who had come to comfort her, sister, friend,
follower of her son comforted instead by her steadfast
love?
But in the end, it comes down to this sad, sad
moment...saying goodbye. How fragile and small she
must have seen to those few friends gathered there to
do the final deed, hovering nearby at a respectful
distance, so beaten down. Silently the tears slide
down her cheek to fall on her beloved son's face as she
bends over to wipe his brow, touch his hair and kiss
him goodbye one last time.
I can see John coming behind her to help her up and
away one last time, as she walks into what must have
been the darkest of nights in her life.
Contemplating this moment, all I can say is "O my Lord,
I am so, so very sorry," knowing full well that my sins
are part of why this moment happened. I come away
thankful and amazed that Jesus would ever want to have
anything more to do with us.
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