John 19:25-27John 19:25-27
At the Cross her station keeping,
Stood the mournful Mother weeping,
Close to Jesus to the last.
Through her heart, His sorrow sharing,
All His bitter anguish bearing,
Lo, the piercing sword had passed.
There stood by the Cross of Jesus, His Mother, and Mary of Cleophas, and Mary Magdalen. When Jesus therefore had seen His Mother and the disciple, standing, whom He loved, He saith to His Mother, Woman, behold thy Son. After that, He saith to the disciple, Behold thy Mother. And from that hour the disciple took her to his own.
There Stood by the Cross of Jesus, His Mother - The sword of sorrow, foretold by Simeon, was now piercing Mary's heart, as with heroic bravery she stood at the foot of the Cross and witnessed the death agony of her beloved Son.
Thine Own Soul a Sword Shall Pierce - Simeon here foretells the bitter sorrow that Mary was to suffer through her Son. The prophecy was fulfilled more particularly on Mount Calvary, when Mary stood by the Cross and saw Him Whom she loved so tenderly as her God and her Son, dying in such pain and disgrace. "Great as the sea was her sorrow." For this reason the Church calls her Queen of Martyrs.
Woman, Behold Thy Son - There is something very solemn in these words, almost the last of the dying Saviour. Mary is now established as "the Mother of all living," as she is styled by many of the Fathers. Saint Augustine says: "She was clearly the Mother of His members, which we are, for she took part in causing that the faithful should be born in the Church, and they are members of the head (Christ);" and Origen declares that "no one can arrive at the true meaning of the Gospels, without reclining on the breast of Jesus (that is, being like Saint John) and receiving, from Jesus, Mary to be his Mother also." Truly, as we call Jesus our Elder Brother, for He is "the first born among many brethren," in the same way may we call Mary our Mother.
The Disciple Took Her to His Own - From that time Mary dwelt with Saint John and was to him as a Mother, and he took care of her like a son. We do not read in the Gospels that our Lord ever appeared to His Mother after His Resurrection; but as Saint John tells us,J "there are also many other things which Jesus did, that are not written," and we cannot think that He Who commanded us to "honor our father and our mother," would Himself leave His widowed Mother, who for His sake had been so sorely afflicted, without consolation. He showed Himself to Mary Magdalen twice, and also to other women, and it is only natural to believe that on His Resurrection He went at once to His Mother, that she who had borne a chief part in the sorrows of His Passion, should be gladdened by the sight of His glory. And how great must have been Mary's joy that Easter morning, when, "according to the multitude of sorrows in her heart, His consolations brought joy to her soul!"
The Apparition of Jesus to Our Blessed Lady
O Queen of Sorrows! raise thine eyes;
See! the first light of dawn is there;
The hour is come, and thou must end
Thy Forty Hours of lonely prayer.
Day dawns; it brightens on the hill:
New grace, new powers within her wake,
Lest the full tide of joy should crush
The heart that sorrow could not break.
Oh never yet had Acts of Hope
Been offered to the throne on high,
Like those that died on Mary's lip,
And beamed from out her glistening eye.
Hush! there is silence in her heart,
Deeper than when Saint Gabriel spoke,
And upon midnight's tingling ear
The blessed Ave sweetly broke.
Ah me! what wondrous change is this!
What trembling floods of noiseless light!
Jesus, before His Mother stands,
Jesus, all beautiful and bright.
He comes! He comes! and will she run
With freest love her Child to greet?
He came! and she, His creature, fell
Prostrate at her Creator's Feet.
He raised her up; He pressed her head
Gently against His wounded Side;
He gave her spirit strength to bear
The sight of Jesus glorified.
From out His Eyes, from out His Wounds,
A power of awful beauty shone;
Oh how the speechless Mother gazed
Upon the glory of her Son!
She could not doubt; twas truly He
Who had been with her from the first,
The very Eyes, the Mouth, the Hair,
The very Babe whom she had nursed.
Her burden o'er the desert sand
The helpmate of her toils, twas He,
He by whose deathbed she had stood
Long hours beneath the bleeding Tree.
His crimson Wounds, they shone like suns,
His beaming Hand was raised to bless;
The sweetness of His voice had hushed
The angels into silentness.
His sacred Flesh like spirit glowed,
Glowed with immortal beauty's might:
His smiles were like the virgin rays
That sprang from new-created light.
When wilt thou drink that beauty in?
Mother! when wilt thou satisfy
With those adoring looks of love
The thirst of thine ecstatic eye?
Not yet, not yet, thy wondrous joy
Is filled to its mysterious brim;
Thou hast another sight to see
To which this vision is but dim!
Jesus into His Mother's heart
A special gift of strength did pour,
That she might bear what none had borne
Amid the sons of earth before.
Oh let not words be bold to tell
What in the Mother's heart was done,
When for a moment Mary saw
The unshrouded Godhead of her Son.
What bliss for us that Jesus gave
To her such wondrous gifts and powers;
It is a joy the joys were hers,
For Mary's joys are doubly ours.
- Father Frederick William Faber
- text taken from Heaven's Bright Queen, by William James Walsh