What can a mother do? Reflections on Mary and the news.




I went to the Stations of the Cross yesterday on my way home from work, 3 pm. It was moving to be among so many fellow parishioners, there in church mid-day, honoring the steps that our faith tells us Jesus took on what it now known as Good Friday. Even though my knees don't let me genuflect well or kneel, I felt like I was part of something bigger than me, and that is the whole point, right? For centuries, Christians have enacted this last day on earth for Jesus, have recited prayers in unison, have spent time in memory and meditation. Yesterday's meditations focused a lot on what Mary experienced, and I appreciated that very much. It's been on my mind for a long time, what Mary --or any other mother-- felt in such a horrifying and momentous situation. Even though she was a woman of complete faith (as we are told), it can't have been easy at all to have witnessed the execution or receive the broken body of her son. Her heartbreak must have been total. 

Some years back, I had the experience of a poem just appearing out of thin air, and I wrote it down as fast as I could. When I revised it, I think I only changed two words. That is a rare occasion for any poet, and I accepted the gift (and it really felt like one) willingly. The poem got published, and then, more recently, it's been published as part of my chapbook, What to Keep. I can't stop thinking about what mothers have to go through, then and now as well, when the State decides that it will act in such brutal and final ways. How do they keep going? Somehow they do. 

I'm thinking about the mother in Florida who had to go to court with her son's birth certificate in hand to prove he is a US citizen. ICE detained him unlawfully, and she and another court official had to convince the judge to have him released. This is a scene playing out in so many places, and the fear is palpable. 

What's a mother to do? What can we do?

There's a lot of things to think about, and the holy Triduum of Easter is a good time to be reflecting on these things. 

Have a peaceful day,

C

Oh, and here's the poem:

That Friday

At that moment the curtain of the temple was torn in two from top to bottom. The earth shook, the rocks split and the tombs broke open. --Matthew 27: 51-52

 

And when the sky split, and rocks

spewed forth with the dead, did the woman

hauling water from the well push back her hair

and wonder? Or did she continue her work,

 

not quite sure what the omens told,

knowing only that there was dinner to get,

children to bathe, and a husband who was late

getting home from an execution across town.


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