You were right. Three days ago, I sat at the bottom of the hill and watched. I watched as they nailed Jesus to the cross, as they lifted him up, as you knelt at his feet for hours.
My heart broke for him, for you, for me. I couldn't bring myself to move to your side. I wanted to comfort you; to hold you in my arms; to tell you it was going to be ok. But, I couldn't. You were so much and I was so little.
I was scared; scared of death; scared of seeing your son up close. What I could see, I just knew it was going to be in my nightmares forever. The kind, gentle teacher whom I'd heard speak truth and life, witnessed his healing of so many, and laid palm branches on the road for just days before was so broken, bloody, and tortured. I couldn't bring myself to get any closer. All I could do was sit and cry. I actually cried myself to sleep on the ground at one point, only to be startled awake when the ground trembled and the heavens roared.
Again, I was scared by desperation to go to you but frozen in place. I watched as Jesus was lowered into your arms. I was in awe as you sat looking at him, gently wiping the blood from his face. Then you looked to heaven. I remember wondering what you were saying to God in that moment. Silently, I screamed, "how could you let this happen!" My tears began anew and I crumpled to the ground. I don't know how long I lay there, wallowing in disappointment, fear, and despair.
I will forever be grateful for the moments following your gentle touch on my shoulder, Mary. I looked up to see your own tear-stained face as you gently cupped my chin. Your son had just been tortured and died, yet you took time to console me.
"Dry your tears, my child, this is not the end." You immediately lifted my heart with joy. In one moment, I knew not why. Rationally, I should have thought you mad with grief to offer such words and myself foolish for believing you. As I watched you walk away with the funeral procession, your words and touch bolstered my courage to follow and believe there was more to come.
This morning, as the word spreads and I hear cries of "He is Risen" sweep through the land, I find joy in knowing you were right. Thank you, Holy Tabernacle and Mother of All, Mary.
Your Child in Christ,
This is a repost of my very first blog post in 2020. I love it so much I wanted to share it again.