She stood there.
She did not run.
She did not scream.
She did not collapse in despair.
She stood there—beneath the wood of the Cross—her eyes fixed on the torn, disfigured body of her Son.
Mary.
The mother of the Eternal Word now watches that Word fall silent.
What did she feel? Words fail. Our language cannot hold such grief. No mother should ever watch her child die. And yet Mary, who had said yes to God with a heart open wide, now tastes the bitter chalice of that same yes. It is not just physical agony she witnesses—it is spiritual desolation, cosmic dereliction. “My God, my God, why have you forsaken me?” Her Son’s cry tears through her like a sword.
And she does not look away.
O you who pass by the way, look and see: was there ever sorrow like her sorrow?
She had once held Him close, kissed His brow, whispered lullabies into the ears of the Infant Christ. She had watched Him grow, seen His first steps, heard Him call her “Mother.” She had treasured every word, every glance, every joy. And now—now she beholds Him nailed to wood, gasping for air, crowned with thorns, mocked by the very ones He came to save.
What mother could bear this?
And yet Mary does. She bears it with Him. She suffers in Him. Her sorrow is not just maternal—it is redemptive. At the Cross, her motherhood is transformed. Jesus looks down from His agony, sees her, and gives her to us: “Woman, behold your son.”
In the moment of her deepest loss, she becomes our Mother.
She does not speak. She does not protest. Her heart is crushed, yes—but her faith does not waver. She believes even when all seems lost. She hopes when the light has gone out. She loves with a love that will not be extinguished by death.
This is not sentimentality. This is the raw, sacred endurance of one who trusts in the promises of God.
In her silence, she teaches us to trust. In her sorrow, she teaches us to love.
Brothers and sisters, come close. Do not turn your eyes away from Calvary. Look upon Mary. Let her tears move your heart. Let her stillness become your anchor. Let her maternal love wrap around your brokenness, your sin, your suffering.
She stood there—for Him.
She stood there—for you.
She stands there still.
O Mary, Mother of Sorrows, teach us to stay.
Teach us to love like you.
Teach us to believe when the Cross seems too much.
And when the night is darkest, remind us that Resurrection always follows the Cross.
Amen.
