The Sorrowfilled Assumption

The Feast of the Assumption falls on a Friday this year which for those faithful rosary bead pluckers will appreciate as a day to consider the Sorrowful mysteries.  The Assumption marks the beginning of St. Michael's Lent, a 40 day mini-Lent practiced by St. Francis that encourages ascetism, prayer, fasting and healing at a halfway point through the liturgical year.  I felt torn between pondering these gruesome mysteries juxtaposed to the glory of Mary's Assumption into heaven.  As I prayed in front of the Blessed Sacrament, a connection between the two emerged and challenged me to consider Mary's point of view during the Passion. 

Where was she the night of the Last Supper? Was she in a nearby house, with a view of the upper room prepared for Him and His friends to observe the Passover?  A cool breeze and a full Moon perhaps joined her in her vigil over that room and what could be felt as the culmination of her life's purpose.  Was her heart breaking knowing that she couldn’t share one last meal with her Son? Her thoughts instead took her back in time reminiscing about Him as a baby - needing her to be fed, to learn how to walk, to babble His first words.  Now 33 years later, He feeds Himself, strengthening those same two legs for the Way of the Cross and preparing to utter His final 7 words.  Suddenly she hears the sound of a door opening and the Last Supper adjourns.  Her Son emerges with 3 people behind Him.  She knows who they are despite the darkness cloaking their identity.  She can tell by their gait, their posture and their mannerisms.  She's been traveling with this group for 3 years and knows her Son's best friends.  The friends that He would want by Him at a time like this.  Did she sleep at all that night or did she endure her own agony in her room?  The words of Simeon echoing in her ear "a sword will pierce your own soul too."

As the sun broke after a restless night of going in and out of sleep, she learns of His arrest.  Did she utter a short prayer of strength for the day ahead, both for Him and herself? As the morning unfolded and she moved to the pillar, she saw her Son scourged.  Did she turn away in sorrow?  Perhaps.  But maybe mixed within those emotions was even pride.  Pride that she is a witness to her Son following God's plan for His life. Proud that His faith and obedience is so strong that He is willing to endure such torture for love of the Father.  For love of the Mother.  For love of each of us.

Emerging now from the chamber after being mocked, clothed in a purple cloak and a crown of thorns, she looks around for His friends. Is there no one here willing to defend Him?  Did she hold back the urge to scream to let her Son know there is someone out there on His side?  Did they make eye contact, giving Jesus a boost of hope knowing that His mother, who was with Him from the start is still with Him at the end.

Finally that urge to see her Son became too great and she needed to see him. She needed Him to know His mom was by His side.  She looked for a spot while He carried the cross to get close to Him. A break in the crowd forms and she rushes into the gap and is able to touch Him perhaps kiss His face one last time. How hard this must have been for a mother to see.

As the procession exits the city and the commotion and excitement wind down, those following Jesus dwindle too. A small crowd of Pharisees, a handful of secret followers along with Mary, Magdalene and John continue to the summit.  She watches as they strip Him and force the nails through His skin, muscle, cartilage and bone.  She stays for the entire 3 hours, enduring the pain moment by moment along with Him.  She listens as the thieves bicker about Him, witnesses the extension of mercy to the Good Thief and condemnation to the other while He still hangs on the cross.  She feels helpless when He says He thirsts and is unable to offer Him anything other than her tears.  Finally, she hears Him call out one last time to His father, not for Himself but for mercy on those subjecting Him to this barbaric death.  As His head bows, she realizes it is as He says - it is finished.  Her heart is pierced along with His when the centurion thrusts his lance into His side.  John consoles her as He is placed in her arms one last time.  Cradling His neck, just as she did when He was  a newborn, staring into the eyes that had brought her so much joy.

But just like Jesus chose death on the cross, Mary chose to stay.  No one made her.  She could have left at any moment yet she stayed to witness the greatest act of love ever performed.  And Her reward for being faithful is the same promised to us for our faithfulness - to one day come face to face, body and soul, with God when our mission in this world is finished.