Her Son

Imagine with me for a minute, the feelings of Mary, His mother.
How would you feel if this were your son?

Her first-born son,
he came into this world in such a lowly manner,
in a way, she would never have chosen for him,
a start to this world that seemed so unfair.
As events transpired, she kept all these things
and pondered them in her heart
and oh, how she loved her son.

She took him to the temple
where he was blessed by those of old.
Yet from the same mouth, it was said,
“A sword shall pierce through thine own soul.”
She wondered at the words spoken that day,
still, she loved him with all her heart.

He was unlike any other child she had known
and soon surpassed her in knowledge.
“I must be about my Father’s business,”
he answered as she searched for him desperately.
He was looked down on by her relatives
and ridiculed among her friends.
It broke her heart to hear them talking,
still, she loved him, for he was her son.

When a problem arose, He was her first thought.
She knew in her heart why he was here
and told the servants to do as he said.
She believed in him and trusted his wisdom.

Often gone from her table with his ministry,
yet in her heart, she kept him close.
When she was able, she sought him out,
fighting the crowds for a glimpse of her son,
not completely understanding, but still loving him.

One day she heard news, stories passed on,
the words echoed around her of the son whom she loved.
Her heart pounded with disbelief.
Could it be true, did they hate him so?
Fear mixed with the love in her soul,
she must go.

Jerusalem’s streets were swarming with Jews,
bleating lambs all Passover ready,
still, she fought the crowds to get to her son.
She must find him, her heart quaked with fear,
would the scriptures of old come to pass?
What was the meaning of all this?
Thoughts swirled through her mind,
what part did her firstborn son play in this story?

She asked first one and then another,
“Have you seen him? Have you heard?”
One answer after another directed her
past houses and down the streets
to the noise of a crowd pushing and shoving
for a spot outside Pilate’s palace.

Her eyes darted wildly about, and looking up
she saw the soldiers as they swung wide the doors
and Pilate strolled out again to face the crowd.
Behind him came two soldiers escorting a man
beaten and bruised, a crown of thorns piercing his head,
blood was trickling down his face
and onto the purple robe thrown around him.

She stared and gasped, “NO!” It couldn’t be!
The news she had heard was true.
Here stood her son, her firstborn son, the teacher,
the miracle worker, lover of children and the poor,
her tender-hearted, beloved son.
Tears streaked her cheeks as she watched
and listened as Pilate announced that
he found no fault in this man.
Hope filled her heart, but did she even dare
to hope that Pilate would release him?
Her hands clutched her dress and her friends
held her up as her legs gave way
to the roaring crowd screaming, “Crucify! Crucify!”
And she watched as her beloved son was led away.

Following, fighting the crowds,
she gained her strength and pushed towards the front.
Tip-toeing upward she caught a glimpse of
a soldier dropping a heavy cross
on her son’s bloody, beaten shoulders.
Her mother’s heart cried out with pain for him
as she watched him sink to the ground.
No, it could not be that they would treat him so.

Arriving at the place called Golgotha,
she watched and listened to the ringing of hammers
as they pounded the nails through her son’s hands and feet.
Her heart hammered and agony ripped her soul
as they lifted and dropped his cross into place.
With tears streaming down her face,
she quietly crept forward to stand near his feet
and as she did, she heard him say,
“Father, forgive them for they know not what they do.”

She watched as the soldiers
divided his clothing piece by piece.
She listened as they strolled by to mock him,
hurling insults at him as he gasped for breath.
She listened as one criminal flung words
while the other rebuked and asked for mercy.
Her heart leaped as he looked down into her eyes
and said, “Woman, behold thy son!”
Her mind replayed the scriptures of old
and questioned the events taking place
as her heart cried out for her beloved son.

As noon drew near, a darkness fell over the land.
Fear crept into her heart, “What did this mean?”
She heard a slight stirring above her as her son
pushed up with his legs and cried out,
“My God, my God, why hasn’t thou forsaken me?”
and with a loud cry, he took his last breath.

She felt, in that moment, as if the very breathe of life
was being crushed from her lungs.
Nothing had prepared her for the anguish
of seeing her firstborn son breathe his last.
A cry of grief burst from her heart
as John took her hand to lead her to his home.
“It really is finished,” she thought,
as she walked away and left her son hanging there.

A day of quiet mourning followed,
weeping in silent disbelief,
questioning all she had ever believed to be true.
How had this happened?
Was he not come to save his people?
Was there no hope in the words of scripture?
She sat in silence and pondered
all these things she held in her heart.

But early, on the first day of the week,
came women with shouts of joy,
“He is not here! He is risen!”
Her heart leaped within her as she heard their words.
“He was alive? Was her son really alive?”
She drank in every word spoken,
and listened as they recounted him saying,
“And on the third day, I will rise again…
He is not here for he has risen!” they cried.
Her bruised and battered heart could barely
take in the words of which they spoke,
so great were the effects of them.

In time, she beheld her son, her precious son,
with nail prints in his hands and feet.
She pondered in her heart
all the treasured memories she kept there,
from swaddling him in a stable
to her utter despair at the cross only days ago.
Now her heart thrilled as she beheld the One,
the One who had risen from the grave,
God’s only Son, who had conquered death
once and for all for the sins of the world,
and she rejoiced.