Pietà
"Just over three decades earlier, Mary had borne God in her womb, given birth to the Lord of Life himself, and wrapped him in linen swaddling bands, and cradled him against her body, holding the baby Jesus close in the intimate darkness of a shelter hewn from living rock, a cave in Bethlehem. Now, in the darkness of the strange eclipse that had come over the land, as the rock itself had come alive with a sudden earthquake, Mary cradles the lifeless body of the adult Jesus, who is wrapped again in linen cloths. How the Virgin’s Immaculate Heart must have broken at this point, and yet Mary united her sorrows and sufferings with that of Christ Crucified because she knew that her son had to be “about his Father’s business” (Lk 2:49), doing the Father’s work of redemption. For the way of love had led Jesus, begotten from before all ages of the Father’s heart to this point, and Mary had walked with him every step of the way. And now she lies there on the ground, in the shadow of the Cross, cradling her son. Her heart, which had beat in tandem with Jesus’s, now beats alone; Christ’s Sacred Heart has been stopped.
For the immaculate Virgin, this must have been a moment of great isolation: Her most chaste spouse had died some years before, and now her sinless son had gone too, leaving her in a darkened world as the light of Life is snuffed out, and the powers of darkness seems triumphant. For those who are striving for virtue, who are trying to live the Christian life in this world, sometimes we can feel quite alone and isolated and surrounded by opposition too.
But as St John wrote: “the light shines in the darkness, and the darkness has not overcome it.” (Jn 1:5) So the kindness of a stranger, a secret follower of Jesus like Joseph of Arimathea who made all the practical arrangements to have Jesus’s body recovered and buried, is a light in the darkness. So too the presence of St John and St Mary Magdalene, faithful followers and friends of Jesus who would now care for Mary. In our world, kindness, friendship, love – these are signs, coming from the disciples of Christ in our time, that the light of God’s grace, his love, still shines in the darkness. And the darkness shall not overcome it.
With Mary, therefore, we are called to keep faith, to endure the darkness and the loneliness temporarily, just for part of this brief lifetime. For Mary’s faith in the promises of God and in the words of her son would lead her to know that death is not the end. Through her prayers, may we too have the light of such faith in dark and desolate times."
- from my reflections on the Stations of the Cross, published here.
Terracotta figures by Andea della Robbia, made ca. 1510-1515, and housed in the Victoria & Albert Museum.
Pietà
"Just over three decades earlier, Mary had borne God in her womb, given birth to the Lord of Life himself, and wrapped him in linen swaddling bands, and cradled him against her body, holding the baby Jesus close in the intimate darkness of a shelter hewn from living rock, a cave in Bethlehem. Now, in the darkness of the strange eclipse that had come over the land, as the rock itself had come alive with a sudden earthquake, Mary cradles the lifeless body of the adult Jesus, who is wrapped again in linen cloths. How the Virgin’s Immaculate Heart must have broken at this point, and yet Mary united her sorrows and sufferings with that of Christ Crucified because she knew that her son had to be “about his Father’s business” (Lk 2:49), doing the Father’s work of redemption. For the way of love had led Jesus, begotten from before all ages of the Father’s heart to this point, and Mary had walked with him every step of the way. And now she lies there on the ground, in the shadow of the Cross, cradling her son. Her heart, which had beat in tandem with Jesus’s, now beats alone; Christ’s Sacred Heart has been stopped.
For the immaculate Virgin, this must have been a moment of great isolation: Her most chaste spouse had died some years before, and now her sinless son had gone too, leaving her in a darkened world as the light of Life is snuffed out, and the powers of darkness seems triumphant. For those who are striving for virtue, who are trying to live the Christian life in this world, sometimes we can feel quite alone and isolated and surrounded by opposition too.
But as St John wrote: “the light shines in the darkness, and the darkness has not overcome it.” (Jn 1:5) So the kindness of a stranger, a secret follower of Jesus like Joseph of Arimathea who made all the practical arrangements to have Jesus’s body recovered and buried, is a light in the darkness. So too the presence of St John and St Mary Magdalene, faithful followers and friends of Jesus who would now care for Mary. In our world, kindness, friendship, love – these are signs, coming from the disciples of Christ in our time, that the light of God’s grace, his love, still shines in the darkness. And the darkness shall not overcome it.
With Mary, therefore, we are called to keep faith, to endure the darkness and the loneliness temporarily, just for part of this brief lifetime. For Mary’s faith in the promises of God and in the words of her son would lead her to know that death is not the end. Through her prayers, may we too have the light of such faith in dark and desolate times."
- from my reflections on the Stations of the Cross, published here.
Terracotta figures by Andea della Robbia, made ca. 1510-1515, and housed in the Victoria & Albert Museum.