Calling on the name of Mary, our mother, is invoking one who loves with a mother’s love and to invoke the intercession of someone familiar with every grief and fear we can know in our lives.
The relative silence of Mary in the Gospels, surpassed only by that of St. Joseph, is something I think about a lot. Mary is frequently recounted as pondering the awesome weight of the mystery of salvation, and her seemingly impossible place within its plan, in the stillness of her heart.
If you read it a certain way, it almost sounds placid, though I am sure the reality was anything but that for a young, unwed mother seeing angels, or a widow witnessing the torture and death of her only child.
I try to resist inventing my own character of Mary in my mind. I try instead to think of her, our mother, as I have come to know her through periods of prayer and particular pleas I have made for her aid. Such moments are more often anguished than placid, though often silent.
But in that silence I have had — according to the very real limits of my spiritual imagination — fleeting instances in which I have met she who loves me as she loved her son.
Seeing it phrased this way in today's issue of The Pillar hit me with a jolt: she and I have something very much in common, and that unfolds all kinds of feels.
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Update for Our Lady of Sorrows, from this reflection on Mary's Grief:
Simeon’s prophecy warned of the suffering Mary would endure throughout Jesus’ life and ministry, climaxing in witnessing his crucifixion, which symbolised deep, soul-wrenching grief. His words indicated that Mary herself would not be spared from the varied reactions to Jesus’ role in causing the fall of many and the rise of others in Israel, and that this would be a sign men would refuse to accept. However, the piercing sword would uncover the thoughts of many hearts. Mary’s sorrow over the rejection and murder of her only son reflects (both then and now) the feelings of many regarding Christ’s crucifixion: Jesus’ life and ministry are spoken against. His presence exposes people’s true hearts, forcing them to choose sides and causing a crisis where no one can remain neutral. Mary’s deep personal sorrow, caused by the sword is linked to this revelation of hearts, reflecting the effect of her son’s rejection. The prophecy highlights the ultimate victory and reward of salvation that come from following Christ, even through suffering.
Our Lady of Sorrows, pray for us!
Here is what Happy Catholic quoted on her blog:
Today's feast is an occasion for us to accept all the adversity we encounter as personal purification, and to co-redeem with Christ. Mary our Mother teaches us not to complain in the midst of trials as we know she never would. She encourages us to unite our sufferings to the sacrifice of her son and so offer them as spiritual gifts for the benefit of our family, the Church, and all humanity.
The suffering we have at hand to sanctify often consists in small daily reverses. Extended periods of waiting, sudden changes of plans, and projects that do not turn out as we expected are all common examples. At times setbacks come in the form of reduced circumstances. Perhaps at a given moment we even lack necessities such as a job to support our family. Practicing the virtue of detachment well during such moments will be a great means for us to imitate and unite ourselves to Christ
finally, this greatness, from the great Amy Welborn:
If this world of Passionately-Chasing-Your-Dreams-to-Set-the-World-on-Fire is not your life, if your life, in comparison, seems too quiet and humble and maybe even painful to boast about, if, on a daily basis, you put aside your own desires so you can serve others, and the current flow makes you wonder about that, prompts you to wonder sometimes if you’re actually living an “authentic” “vibrant” “fulfilling” “faith-filled” life? If you are, perhaps, putting your real, important, significant life “on hold?” If circumstances have challenged and upended your achievement-oriented goals and you’re having to spend time shifting gears, serving others and making sacrifices for them and the greater good instead of chasing your own dreams? And if this time of adjustment and sacrifice seems to be defined, most of all by words like confusion, grief, frustration and loss?
Well, hang on – and it’s not me saying this. It’s the Catholic spiritual tradition, from Jesus himself on. Be assured: "In your sacrifice and, when it comes, in your sorrow, you are close – very close – to the heart of Christ."
And so in that, peace.
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