Her pregnancy was a scandal from the start. People sneered at this young, quiet, joyful, but dirt poor girl and her soon-to-be husband and did what was to be expected in society. They judged her. This was at a time when the men of the village could have killed her and her unborn baby, but thankfully that didn’t happen.
Instead, she was ostracized and made to live in fear. She knew the pregnancy was a blessing, the child growing in her a gift that even the threat of death could not keep her from celebrating. So she shared her joy with relatives and they saw that light shining from within.
She and her husband raised their son on meager means. They never were bitter about life, despite their daily struggle and the suffering all around them. Then her husband died, and it was just the two of them for so long.
She kept a painful secret in her heart whispered to her a few days after her son was born. She knew that – now that he was a man – time was running out and the sorrow she kept inside her for decades would soon happen.
He liked to help people, and she encouraged that. He was kind and caring, always honest yet merciful and compassionate, especially to people who everyone else cast aside and looked down upon. Rather than being proud and claiming credit for his upbringing, she gave that credit to God, glorifying Him for everything her son was.
His example drew so many people to him. They were drawn to every word he spoke, and the revolutionary things this poor man with no formal education taught. She stood by his side as the crowds grew larger and the numbers of his enemies grew as well. He was so different and commanded so many hearts and minds that he became dangerous to the jealous.
People started to talk about how some of the most powerful among them wanted her son dead. How they were plotting to kill him. How they needed witnesses to testify against him.
Then one day it happened, and it happened so quickly. A mob arrested her son and held a rushed trial where even the magistrate could find no law he had broken. But the mob had predetermined his fate. After false witnesses failed to convince the judge of his guilt, the mob turned angry, and the judge gave in.
She watched them whip her innocent child all across his body. Her agony was as intense as his as the scourging ripped the flesh off him and as he cried out with every lash. Not one evil thought crossed her mind about the men hurting her child.
She watched as they tortured him and mocked him and humiliated him in front of everyone. She remained meek and mild as the greatest of sorrows welled from deep within her soul.
She watched the life drain from her innocent son. In those moments and without the fallen nature of the rest of us who would have despised his accusers, torturers, and murderers and wished them ill, she placed all her faith in God and gave everything inside her to His plan, no matter how painful this sorrow had pierced her immaculate heart.
Right before he died, he turned to one of his followers and said, “Behold, your mother,” giving his mother to his followers.
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On this Mother’s Day, I reflect on the dying wish of Jesus Christ for His followers to take his Blessed Mother into our hearts. Part of this reflection, for me, is trying to see her Son through her eyes. Trying to understand how to be a better Christian by attempting to model my life and my worship of Jesus Christ after her example. Mary our mother withstood every test of temptation and overcame every trial and struggle because of her fidelity to God. I can think of no greater testament to motherhood than the queen of mothers herself.
God bless you all, and Happy Mother’s Day.
