Fourth Station; Jesus meets Mother Mary

Photograph of Wall Art - with thanks to the Artist

Jesus meets His Mother. The woman who conceived Him. The woman who grew Him in her body, whose blood coursed through His veins through their shared placenta until He was ready for birth. The woman who birthed Him in the physical anguish all woman share when they give the gift of their child to the world. The woman who breastfed Him, cared for Him, fled with Him from soldiers who had been sent to kill Him. The woman who had picked Him up when He fell, nursed Him when He got sick, taught Him the Torah, the Word of God. The woman who had believed in Him at Cana, encouraging Him to start His Mission. The woman who had loved Him from the very first, and who now saw the results of hours of torture at the hands of a gang. The sword that Simeon had prophesied entered her soul. We who have suffered know that there is an emotional and spiritual pain from deepest suffering which causes actual physical pain; it constricts the chest, agonises the cardiac area, affects the breathing, constricts the throat muscles, weakens the knees. This is the suffering this brave woman went through. And this indeed was her finest hour; the mother of a criminal, shortly to be stripped completely naked to the gaze of gawking crowds as was the Roman custom at a crucifixion, she stood by Him. Now was the time He needed her most of all. And yet, unsettlingly, her pain served to make His even worse. Seeing her suffering, constricted His heart. And He needed all His strength to get through to the end of this desperate road. Jesus knew well that satan's hordes were all around; this was their hour, the hour of darkness as He proclaimed (Luke 22;53). And yet this gracious Lady, this mother, did not desert Him. Now another suffering clouded His mind - who would look after Her when He was gone? Widows in Israel needed male relatives . . . and the Plan which had begun in His mind as He saw John His disciple accompanying His Mother as they followed Him on the road to crucifixion began to take root. He who was soon to lose His earthly life would give her a new son to care for her; and a new mother to comfort John when He missed the companionship of His most beloved Messiah. As He shakily moved past His Mother towards His execution, He began to think; He must tell them . . . 'Mother, here is your son. Son, here is your mother' . . . He prayed for the physical strength to bear what lay ahead, and to still have sufficient strength to utter the words . . . 

And so this brave man stumbled forward past the woman who birthed Him to the hell that lay ahead in the wood, the thorn and the iron nail -

'Lord Jesus, thank You. Words cannot convey our gratitude to You for selflessly taking up the burden of this painful death to make things right between our race of humanity and Yours of Divinity. By giving up your Immortal status for a time and becoming a human like us, you made it possible for us to touch the Divine in a way we understand - your human hand, your prayer tassels on your robe. We could see your hair waving in the wind, hear your laughter at a joke. We could watch from the campfire as you hungrily ate your meal after a long day of ministry and healing. We could see the cracks and dust on your weary feet as you washed them after the long days of winding walking, bringing the message of hope and faith to all.

Let us be worthy of you. Let us be strong. Strengthen us with the power of your arm, the strength of your spirit, the love of your heart. Amen.'