At first, it seemed incongruent that my mother would die on the memorial of Our Lady of Sorrows. Mom was given to easy laughter and generous hospitality, which made her seem lighthearted and carefree. It’s only with time and reflection that I have come to recognize the sorrow she carried in private— and with extraordinary grace: the deaths of her husband, parents, siblings, and an infant granddaughter; erosion of her own and my father’s health; and the recognition of her powerlessness when it came to the travails of her children.
In today’s Gospel, it is worth noting that Jesus first assigns Mary the responsibility of caring for another son. While assuring her placement in a home where, as a widow, she would find safety and security, he also affirmed her role as a wisdom figure for the disciple he so loved. Luke gives us a powerful mix of images of this woman of faith and stamina. From her youthful experience of an angel’s surprising news to the alarming foretelling of an elderly prophet, she moves to a position at the site of her son’s execution and death. We last encounter her as a wisdom figure seated within the circle of those visited with fire and wind as the Spirit of God descends upon them. It is probable that, as the years passed, Mary continued to hold all these experiences deep within a heart ever-expanding in strength, faith, hope, and love. So it is with those who know sorrow that transcends into something deeper, richer, and ever-wise.
