By Chris Sparks
Most attention gets focused on the Cross, and for good reason. But think on this: Follow Our Lady in spirit home from the tomb.
She goes home, not to any old night, when she could have worn herself out in work, could have questioned the Apostles, have reconstructed what had happened. No; she was going home to the Sabbath on the evening of the death of her Son.
Mary would have known
More than that, Our Lady would have known by that point Who exactly she had borne. She would be aware of what Simon had said, the thing that made Jesus rename him Peter, the Rock: “You are the Messiah, the Son of the living God” (Mt 16:16). She would have known of the miracles, the many, many confirmations that everything she had been told during that long ago visit from an angel had been true, that she had in fact borne the Son of God. Indeed, by the end of her Son’s earthly life and ministry, she must have known that she had borne God Himself, that the Son of God was coeternal with the Father. She would know that on that Friday, Jesus, who was God the Son, had been put to death.
Perhaps the blood of her Son was still on her garments. She, who had seen and spoken with angels, who had been obeyed by a Person to whom she owed obedience, who had already begun to exercise the power of her intercession, who had every spiritual gift and blessing — she had seen the death of her Son.
She had even consented to His self-offering. She would have known that He had said, “This is why the Father loves me, because I lay down my life in order to take it up again. No one takes it from me, but I lay it down on my own. I have power to lay it down, and power to take it up again” (Jn 10:17-18).
So as she went from tomb to Sabbath table that evening, Our Lady of Sorrows also was — what? Was she at peace? She had to have known of the prophecies of His resurrection, and if anyone would have, could have believed them in the face of every reason not to, it would have been her, greatest in faith, hope, and love. And yet she was also the most motherly of all mothers, and they had killed her child.
Returning to a laden table
Even worse: the rest of His followers — her children — had, just the night before, had one Last Supper with Him, and within hours, abandoned Him, all of them. At least John had found his way to His side before the end. But Peter had denied Him; Judas had betrayed Him. Was all that known to her that night, on the way back to a house, and a laden table, candlelit and prepared for the Sabbath?
John was with her, and presumably Mary Magdalene, too. What did they talk about? Or did they dine in silence?
Time to rest, and worship — but Jesus lay dead. The body of God was ravaged, cold, and hardening in the tomb of a rich man. He’d been killed by law and order, by the earthly authorities, by those sworn to worship Him.
Jesus, the Son, had died. What did the Mother of God say to God the Father that night? Did she have an opinion about this divine plan, this path of salvation? She had felt, we are taught by the mystics, the pains of the Passion in her own flesh, had shared in her Son’s suffering. Had she, the Queen of Mystics and Martyrs, also felt the death of God?
The sky had darkened, and the earth had shaken, and creation had marked the passing of the Creator. And then the light returned, and the earth ceased shaking, and — was that the beginning of her hope? Had the enduring created world been a sign to her that the Creator still lived, that though she held the Body of her Son, He would live once more? Or had she gone into the whole hell of the Passion already knowing that she, and He, would come out the other side?
Either way, that day He had died, and she had shared His suffering. And now — now, she had to go home to dine.
Chris Sparks is the author of the Marian Press book How Can You Still Be Catholic? 50 Answers to a Good Question.
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