Near the cross of Jesus stood his mother, his mother’s sister, Mary the wife of Clopas, and Mary Magdalene. When Jesus saw his mother there, and the disciple whom he loved standing nearby, he said to her, “Woman, here is your son,” and to the disciple, “Here is your mother.” From that time on, the disciple took her into his home.” John 19:25-27
“Would you like for me to just stay with you for a while?”
My friend Heather asked me this question after driving with me to put down my beloved dog of 13 years, Bo Diddley. She’d sat with me while I’d made the decision with the vet, and then she witnessed one of the saddest moments of my life. I was bewildered, nauseous, stuffed with the pounding pressure of tears and sorrow.
She stayed.
She spoke very little and left room for my grief.
I didn’t need her to say anything. I just didn’t want to be alone in the disorienting sadness. Her loving witness acknowledged my sorrow and gave weight to my loss. She didn’t turn away.
Heather’s presence was certainly a blessing, but how much more extraordinary is the example of Mary, the mother of Jesus. When her son is about to be executed, Mary shows up for Jesus and stays.
If ever there was someone whose absence at Jesus’ death would have been understandable, it was Mary. Witnessing a Roman execution was horrifying; watching your son endure such torment would break a mother’s heart. Jesus was the one who made Mary a mother. He grew inside her for nine months. She taught him to walk and speak. She gave him her loyalty from the beginning (Luke 1:38).
Even as Jesus’ disciples scattered, Mary didn’t allow her decision to be driven by whatever fear, numbness, horror, or grief she felt. Instead, in a powerful portrait of love-driven presence, Mary keeps her eyes fixed on her son, her savior. Having experienced Jesus’ wildly miraculous entrance into this world, Mary now witnesses his horrific exit.
Mary remains as soldiers spit on him and beat her beloved boy with a staff.
Mary remains as thorns are pressed into his scalp.
Mary remains as his breaths grow more and more ragged.
Mary remains as darkness comes upon the land, and Jesus cries out the words from Psalm 22: “My God, my God, why have you forsaken me?”
She allows her heart to be pulverized by the greatest act of love the universe has ever experienced. Somehow, she doesn’t turn away. That level of unrelenting love can only be attributed to the working of our great Creator-Sustainer, himself. Only the Father’s fortifying love could have kept her there.
In this moment, Mary embodies Jesus’ teaching in John 15; she abides. “As the Father has loved me, so have I loved you. Now remain in my love” (v. 9). She epitomizes the interplay between the Father (the gardener), the Son, and the believer, who is both held fast by and holding fast in the love of God. Considering that this was the woman who held Love Incarnate in her arms for the first couple years of his life, her posture at the end of his life is a wonder.
I try imagining what I would have done in Mary’s place. If I had been able to show up to my son’s murder at all, would I have been able to hold my tongue as onlookers taunted him? Would I have been able to control the urge to attack those who attacked him? Would I have closed my eyes and plugged my ears, knowing the images and sounds of my son’s suffering would haunt me the rest of my life?
How do we trust God with the great suffering of those we love?
If Mary’s presence at the cross offers us any wisdom, it is the invitation to the impossible – only made possible through God – to show up and to stay.
When we are tempted to look away – to ignore, deny, or minimize someone’s pain – we can turn back to the Father, whose love will enfold us no matter how avoidant we are. He is the only hope we have for facing the evil and darkness that the cross represents. God’s heart for his people brought forth not only Jesus’ sacrifice to pay for our sin, but also his resurrection, which assures that death will never be the end of our stories.
When we are tempted to protect ourselves by numbing our hearts to the distress of others, we can remember that the Son made himself perfectly vulnerable on the cross so that we might know the security of a relationship with him. He is our ability to endure the pain of witnessing someone’s suffering and bearing their burdens with them.
The impossible places – heartache in the lives of others, unresolved hurt in our families, unchanged sin patterns in ourselves – are all invitations for us to remember our God who abides with us and invites us to abide. These are the places where the Holy Spirit meets us. Like Mary showing up and staying, we are invited to let Love move us to face the impossible for the sake of loving the Lord our God and those around us (Matt. 22:37-38). He may just use it to redeem the whole world.
Liz Edrington is the associate director of care at McLean Presbyterian Church in McLean, Virginia.
Read the other articles in our Blessed Among Women series here:
Blessed Among Women: A New Series Celebrating the Witness of Mary