‘Joseph of Arimathea, a prominent member of the Sanhedrin who was himself looking forward to the kingdom of God, came and boldly went in to Pilate and asked for Jesus’ body.’ Mark 15:43

Good mornin’ Beloved,
She watched them detach His body. She had watched his murder. Helpless. Numb. She stood. Watching.
Someone would have placed a shawl across her shoulders…offered to walk her home. She stayed. Frozen.
Her son.
Her baby.
She had given birth to Him alone.
She had been promised His Divinity.
The child with whom she and her husband had fled to avoid a slaughter of the innocents.
She held her son in that stable, radiant Child of promise to the world – now dead.
The divine dream, slaughtered with her Jesus.
She watched-
helpless,
her gentle healer,
her promised son of God Almighty,
her knowing child,
dragged through hell on earth.
DearOne, we do not witness the Passion with intellect … or even eyes, ears, or heart. We share in it all the way down into the cells of our grief, all the way down into all the courage our bones can muster.
We share the depth of grief as His mother.
She stayed.
She stared.
Broken.
Empty.
Eyes on the cross.