The joys of Our Lady of Sorrows

 There are for me two surprising things about today's gospel. On the one hand, we see what looks like a farewell from Jesus turn into a command for Mary and John. On the other hand, we are given an object lesson in the joys that stand behind every sorrow that Providence allows to be visited on us.

One reading of this gospel would see Jesus’ words simply as a valediction, a last testament. It is as if He were saying, “Look after mum for me.” Famous last words abound in history, from Nelson’s sublime, “Kismet, Hardy” to Oscar Wilde’s jocular, “Either it goes or I do” (looking at the lurid wallpaper in his Parisian garret). In this perspective, the words of Jesus seemed rather more mundane and indeed closer to what our own words might be. “Look after mum for me.”

Except, it seems that this is not Jesus’ intention at all. For He does not turn to John first but to his mother. Addressing her formally with a Hebrew expression that means something like “Madam”, He tells her to look at the man who is now her son. This is not a farewell. This is a command. It is an order. Normally we try to lighten the burdens of people who are in sorrow. Jesus, however, tells Mary there is work to do. He makes her not a new mother but a mother anew.

Looking at John, Mary could henceforth have said, “This is my beloved son. This day I have begotten him.” If we miss this command to Mary, then, Jesus’ words seem like they are simply registering Mary in the Saint John’s old folks’ home. If we take account of them, we see that Jesus’ words register John in the school of Mary.

And this is the second surprising thing about the gospel today. On the one hand we see, as it were, the death bed scene of Jesus who is nailed to the cross. How crushing for His mother and for those of His friends and family who were present. No wonder she is Our Lady of Sorrows. Here in this moment, the sword of sorrow predicted by Simeon pierces her heart and leaves wounds that will be glorified but never taken away. In contrast, nevertheless, we should remember Jesus’ own words about the woman who sorrows while she is bringing life into the world but who, when her labour pangs are over, rejoices at the new birth. If we may be permitted to lift the veil of this sorrowing mother, perhaps we will glimpse a secret joy at the newfound purpose God, her Son, has placed in her hands. We can no more doubt the burgeoning of Mary's joy here than we can doubt any of Jesus' promises. This is not the end; this is a new beginning. Her sorrows will soon be turning into joy. She who mourns is in a sense already comforted. Her fiat in sorrow before her Son's execution can now become a fiat in joy at the new life in her arms.

And perhaps more wonderful still, in the face of her new son John, and in each face of everyone baptised in the blood of Jesus, she catches the likeness of her own son.

Holy Mary, mother of God, pray for us sinners now and at the hour of our death.