Mary’s prayer
Friday, March 29, 2013
Triduum, Good Friday (Friday of the Passion of the Lord)
http://www.usccb.org/bible/readings/032913.cfm
John 19:25
Standing by the cross of Jesus were his mother and his mother’s sister, Mary the wife of Clopas, and Mary of Magdala.
O, my God! You have left us, and we are left alone! All of us are dying now. Like sheep, we all have gone astray. Each of us has turned to our own way, and the Lord has laid on my son the iniquities of us all. I stand here with my friends – his friends too – and we are alone.
Only one disciple stands here with us. They are afraid and have run for their lives, all but John. But it doesn’t matter to me now. I only have eyes for Jesus. His blood is dripping on the ground. Oh, my God!
It’s raining. The ground is slick with clay and muddy with loam. No, that slickness is blood, the mud is tears. Oh, God, why have you forsaken my son? This is Jesus, the boy you blessed with your words, who took up our pain and bore our suffering. He was pierced for our transgressions and crushed for our iniquities. And now, by his wounds we are healed? I remember Gabriel’s words: this is how you treat your “son of the most high?”
You know this isn’t fair, Lord. This simple sweet boy a scapegoat? How can you do that to him? He grew up before you, like a tender shoot, like a root out of dry ground. He didn’t claim anything for himself, not beauty, not majesty, not magic. So often when he spoke, people hated hearing his words, and so they hated him.
Now he doesn’t open his mouth. His tears flow for Jerusalem, for your people, not for himself. He has steeled his face like flint, Lord, and you turn away? Maybe you too can’t stand to watch?
I’m his mother, Lord. What would you have me do except stand here and weep and scream at the empty sky? There is nothing for me now but that. I can’t fix him food, he can’t eat. I can’t straighten his blanket, he can’t sleep. I can’t wipe his wounds or even wash his broken, bleeding feet.
He is laid low, Lord. In the grave. I can’t follow him there. I fall in the dirt convulsed, and my spirit breaks with sadness. All I have now of my Jesus are memories and recollections. All I am now is tears.
Lord God, into your hands I commend my spirit. I take refuge only in you because you never shame me. Instead you redeem me, and your redemption never ends. So even when I feel like a dish that is broken and am forgotten by others like the unremembered dead, my trust is in you, Lord. And my destiny is in your hands. (Psalm 31)
http://www.christiancounselingservice.com/archived_devotions.php?article_id=1182
