At the Cross her station keeping,
stood the mournful Mother weeping,
close to her Son to the last.
Through her heart, His sorrow sharing,
all His bitter anguish bearing,
now at length the sword has passed.
O how sad and sore distressed
was that Mother, highly blest,
of the sole-begotten One.
Christ above in torment hangs,
she beneath beholds the pangs
of her dying glorious Son.
Is there one who would not weep,
whelmed in miseries so deep,
Christ’s dear Mother to behold?
Can the human heart refrain
from partaking in her pain,
in that Mother’s pain untold?
Bruis’d, derided, curs’d, defil’d,
She beheld her tender Child
All with bloody scourges rent;1
That is a portion of a Christian hymn from the 13th century. The Latin title is “Stabat Mater” which translates to “Sorrowful Mother.” The hymn is a reflection on Mary’s pain as she witnessed the crucifixion. Though its authorship is unknown, Sorrowful Mother grew in popularity until it was sung throughout Christendom. It has been passed down through the generations. The song hauntingly captures Mary’s broken heart.
The apostle John recounted these terrible moments in his gospel. I want you to picture what John describes: Jesus is hanging on the cross, already brutalized with whip, spear, and thorns. Below him, four Roman soldiers divide his clothing among themselves. As Jesus bleeds they haggle over the remaining piece‒his undergarment. All the while, Mary stands close by, watching.
How terrible the pain of a mother—to witness the humiliation, torture, and execution of her child. How did Mary endure seeing the cruelty inflicted on Jesus? How did she stay through the hours it took for her son to die?
Can you imagine a pain equal to what Mary experienced in those moments? It’s hard to. It is a comfort when we realize that the only thing that rivaled Mary’s pain was her love. Mary’s love for her son was so great, I believe it surpassed her pain. Her love was her staying-power; it kept her at the foot of that bloody cross. Oh, what wondrous love!
Grieving people understand that great pain is often rooted in great love. We see this truth clearly on display in Mary. But we also see it in Jesus. John 19:26-27 say, “When Jesus saw his mother there, and the disciple whom he loved standing nearby, he said to her, ‘Woman, here is your son,’ and to the disciple [he said], ‘Here is your mother.’”
It’s not hard to imagine Jesus’ pain at the crucifixion. There’s the physical pain caused by Roman brutality. The emotional pain of being rejected by his fellow Jews and betrayed by his disciple Judas. The pain of being abandoned by most of his male disciples. And the greatest burden of all, the pain of submitting to torture and death to atone for the sins of the world.
But have we noticed the pain of Jesus as a son? In these moments, he was a son stripped naked and nailed to a cross in front of his mother. As he was tortured and taunted and mocked, his mother watched, and he saw her distress. Despite his own terrible pain, Jesus saw his mother’s pain and was overcome with love.
God’s law, the Torah, gave clear instructions about caring for the most vulnerable in society, including widows. In accordance with the law, Jesus would have stood in Joseph’s stead to care and provide for his mother once she’d become a widow. But what would happen to Mary after Jesus died? Who would care for her?
Jesus knew the heart of his heavenly Father, described in the Psalm 68:5 as the “father of orphans and protector of widows.” A clear example of God’s care for the vulnerable is in the Torah gleaning laws. This set of laws instructs God’s people to purposefully leave the edges of their fields unharvested, and to leave some fruit on their grapevines and olive trees. What remained would provide for the poor, for orphans, foreigners, and widows.2
This law is pivotal to the story of Ruth. We remember that Naomi and her daughter-in-law Ruth were vulnerable widows. There were no remaining male family members to provide for them. So Ruth gleaned wheat and barley from the fields of a man named Boaz. This led to a marriage between Ruth and Boaz, who are ancestors of Jesus.
With this in mind, turn back to the scene of the crucifixion. Knowing his death was imminent, despite the pain engulfing him, Jesus used some of his last words to honor both the law and the heart of the heavenly Father. He protected and provided for his mother when he said, “Woman, here is your son.”
I want you to picture Mary and John standing below the cross. Imagine, at Jesus’ words, John places an arm around Mary’s shoulders. Hold that image in your mind and hear the echo of words spoken just days earlier:
“I am the true vine, and my Father is the gardener…
Remain in me, as I remain in you.
No branch can bear fruit by itself; it must remain in the vine.
Neither can you bear fruit unless you remain in me.
I am the vine; you are the branches…
As the Father has loved me, so have I loved you.
My command is this: Love each other as I have loved you.
Greater love has no one than this: to lay down one’s life for one’s friends.”3
Mary and John are standing at Golgotha, which was known as, “the place of the skull.” It’s where Rome executed criminals, a place that probably sent shivers up the spines of passersby. You could hardly bear to look for long.
But I want you to look at Golgotha on that fateful day and gaze fully at the scene. Look beyond the skulls, beyond the executioners—even, for a moment, beyond the cross. Open the eyes of your heart and see this place transformed. “Woman, here is your son…[John] here is your mother.” At these words, Golgotha becomes a garden. The Father is the gardener. Jesus is the true vine of the garden. John, is a fruitful branch. Mary, now entwined with John, reaps a harvest.
Jesus’ words on the cross were an act of love and justice: by declaring John and Mary family, Mary gleaned a secure future. John wrote in verse 27, “from then on this disciple took her into his home.”
Think of the gift Jesus gave to both Mary and John: Together, they could bear the pain of Jesus’ death. Together, they would rejoice at his resurrection. Together, they would bear much fruit for the Lord as they spread the gospel. Together, they would live as Jesus had commanded: “Love each other as I have loved you.”
It’s easy to become transfixed by the pain at Golgotha. For centuries, songs and poems like Sorrowful Mother have reflected on this pain. I don’t want to ignore or minimize the pain at the cross, because through the pain we see the love. But, I also don’t want the pain to blind us to the beauty on display at Golgotha. In the place designated for torture, pain, and death, there was love overflowing, justice reaped, and futures secured—not just for Mary and John—but for all of us.
In the darkest moments of human history, if you listen closely, you might hear the echo of a song. It’s a simple melody of hope written long ago by King David: “Weeping may last for a night, but joy comes in the morning.”4
Joy is coming for Mary and John.
Joy is coming for you and me and all people who call Jesus, Lord.
So, weep for the pain.
Wonder at the love.
And hope in the promised joy.
Amen.
Pastor with a Purse 