Stabat Mater dolorosa /juxta Crucem lacrimosa/ dum pendebat
Filius. Cuius animam gementem/ contristatam et dolentem/ pertransivit gladius. (At the
Cross her station keeping, stood
the mournful Mother weeping, close to her Son to the last. Through her heart, His sorrow sharing, all His bitter anguish bearing, now at length the sword has passed.)
This famous thirteenth century hymn
grasps the heart of the divine drama which it describes. Here, at the
cross, is where the masterpiece of the cosmos reaches the height of divine
tension. That is, if we were to view salvation history as one “song” (with
many movements), the cross is that which everything has been moving toward from
the beginning, and that which everything flows forth from until the end of
time. Surely there were moments of crescendo and decrescendo, abrupt
moments of staccato, and long dramatic vibratos. However, all of them
fail in comparison to the immensity of this moment of profound darkness on the
hill of Golgotha, as this somber symphony decrescendos from pianissimo into
grand silence (three days of it too). Stabat mater dolorosa. Through all of this, one thing
remains constant: Mary is faithful. No matter how painful, difficult,
strenuous, desolate, or any other word which utterly fails to describe what our
Blessed Mother was feeling in those moments, she faithfully stood by her son.
The one who gave birth to the light of the world, now ironically watches as
that flame is extinguished. The crucifixion of our Lord was indeed a
great scandal. And if it was scandalous enough for his believers to leave
him to die alone, surely it was even more of a scandal to Our Lady, who was
full of grace. If anyone was let down in this moment, it was her. Even
though she was full of grace, she did not yet understand the divine plan, and
now more than ever she felt what Simeon had foretold over thirty years prior:
“Behold, this child is set for the fall and rising of many in Israel, and for a
sign that is spoken against, and a sword will pierce your own soul also, that
thoughts out of many hearts may be revealed.” Surely now many thoughts were
being revealed.
In this year of faith, we are called to reflect in a particular way on the
mysteries of what we believe, in a way that will hopefully bear fruit in
strengthening our faith. The more we reflect on faith, and the more our
faith grows, the more we notice that faith continues to surprise us. That
is, faith is not always what we think it will look like. I am challenged
every day to live my faith in new ways, many of which I could never have
foreseen. Faith always challenges us
to step outside of ourselves and follow that which is beyond. It calls us
to new places, and opens up for us new ways of understanding. I am sure
that Pope Emeritus Benedict XVI is experiencing faith in ways unimaginable to him
when he announced this year of faith. But that is how the Spirit works,
it is unpredictable, it is ever new. And yet, back at the cross, Mary
remained faithful to the end. Surely, this is not what she thought faith
would look like. Yet, this is where faith has taken her, and it is here
where she will ultimately discover faith’s meaning.
O quam tristis et afflicta/ fuit illa benedicta,/ mater
Unigeniti! Quae moerebat et dolebat,/ pia Mater, dum videbat/ nati poenas
inclyti. (O how sad and sore distressed was that Mother, highly
blest, of the sole-begotten One. Christ above in torment hangs, she beneath
beholds the pangs of her dying glorious Son.)
Try to imagine Mary’s disposition: the
stark irony of the moment while she stood there watching her son crucified and
tormented, and yet, at the same time knowing at a deeper level than anyone
else, that her son truly is the son of God, and that this was truly God’s plan.
Oh, what great contradiction she must have felt! It would have been enough to
drive any normal person insane (I know when I try to imagine it in this way
that I have to force myself to stop because the pain of contradiction just
begins to become too much to bear). And yet she faithfully stood by, trusting
in God’s plan, even though she did not quite yet understand. But hasn’t
that always been the test of faith? Trusting God no matter how absurd the
plan seems to be? Think back to Abraham. After many years of being
unable to have a child with his wife Sarah, he finally had a son, Isaac and
then was told to take him up the mountain and offer him as a sacrifice to
God. Of course we all know the story, and how at the last minute God
tells Abraham not to sacrifice his son. But, Abraham surely did not have
the foresight to see God’s plan in its entirety as he nervously climbed the
mountain with his son saying: “God will provide.” Now, atop this mountain, amidst the heights of Jerusalem, Mary stands there: hoping, praying, perhaps like Abraham “God
will provide.” But God did not provide (well, he does provide, but, he
does not come down and save his son), instead Mary hears her son cry out in
agony: “My God, my God, why have you forsaken me?”
Quis est homo qui non fleret,/ matrem Christi si videret/
in tanto supplicio? Quis non posset contristari/ Christi Matrem contemplari/
dolentem cum Filio? (Is there one who would not weep, whelmed in miseries so
deep, Christ's dear Mother to behold? Can the human heart refrain from
partaking in her pain, in that Mother's pain untold?)
After everything they had been through together, this is where it all ended.
How can we not be moved by this? Is this not the ultimate let down?
Surely the Blessed Mother deserved a better way to spend her final moments with
her son than this?
But this is precisely the point; this is where faith leads us; this is the alpha and the omega; this is the axis mundi; this is the ontos and the telos; this is the door of faith; this moment contains all meaning, it is the
final analysis. Through the eyes of our Blessed Mother, at the
cross, we can begin to understand: something has gone horribly wrong, and must
be set back to right. Faith does not always match up to what we think it
will. Yet, faith does not let us down. As Jesus drew his last
breath, and Mary received his body, she must have felt a desolation like no
other. And yet, she remained faithful. She did not curse God for
taking away her son. She did not become bitter and resentful.
Rather, she patiently waited for God’s plan to unfold in its entirety.
As we draw near to Holy Week, let us look to Mary for the strength of
perseverance. Let us learn from her patience in seeing God’s work through
to the end—no matter how painful it may become. Allow yourself to be
taken to places you would not have fathomed. Be open to God, and he will
not let you down. Things may not always look like the way we want them
to, but God has our best interests in mind. The full text of this hymn
can be found here: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Stabat_Mater#Text_and_translation I encourage you to look up the hymn
and spend some time with it in reflective prayer. I pray that you find it as
fruitful as I have. May our Lenten sacrifices continue to purify us and
prepare us for the joy of Easter. May they continue to transform us and bear
fruit in our daily lives, that we may be ready to propose the love of God to
every person that we meet. Pray for us O holy mother of God, that we may be
made worthy of the promises of Christ.
