Easter

Before I begin this blog entry, let me add a clarifier - I am fully aware that Easter is about Jesus, not Mary. I know there is a large misconception that Catholics worship Mary. Catholics do not worship Mary, and I am not attempting to do so in this entry. I’m just simply relating to her as a mother, during a time which I think must have been incredibly difficult for her, a time which showed not only the extent of Jesus’ faith, but also the strength in Mary’s faith as well. I’m simply empathizing. That's all. That said, here goes:


Easter. The commemoration of Jesus’ resurrection and celebration of his reunion with God the Father. It‘s a story we all know well. “For our sake, he was crucified under Pontius Pilate, suffered died and was buried. On the third day he rose again in fulfillment of the Scriptures. He ascended into Heaven and is seated at the right hand of the Father.” Those are words I have said countless Sundays throughout my life. But still, as a child and even as a young adult, I never gave much thought to Easter. I always felt that Christmas was more important. It wasn’t until the birth of my first son, Jacob, that I truly began to appreciate this particular holiday.

Our focus on Easter is Jesus, His suffering for the souls of mankind and His resurrection. It is chilling and sobering to think of his torture, the agony he endured, and his faith not only in God, but in His people - us, yes, that‘s right, you and me. He loved us that much. It’s unimaginable and humbling, as it should be. However humbling these thoughts may be, I find them just beyond my complete intellectual grasp. Intangible. Incomprehensible. All I know is that I should be, and am, forever grateful for His sacrifice for me. But I don’t think I will ever be able to empathize with something so profound. It is too big for me, and so I simply bow my head in appreciation and respect.

Mary, on the other hand, is someone whose pain is more within my reach. I believe that mothers share a common bond. As mothers, we love all children, if not for the children themselves, then for the understanding we have of how strong any mother’s love for her child is. We cry for mothers who have lost their children, and during Holy Week, Good Friday and on Easter, my heart aches for Mary and how she must have felt, walking beside her son as he slowly and painfully died. Her heartache is what brings tears to my eyes as I think of Jesus carrying the cross and dying on Calvary. I feel her need to ease her son’s pain, heal his wounds, take him in her arms. Those are emotions any mother can understand.

A few days ago, the 18 year old boy who was killed at Subway in a local shooting was buried. I cry for his mother and her loss. I think often of my aunt Carmen who lost a baby at 6 weeks to SIDS and later his twin brother two years ago April 9th to another random illness. I think of the little 4 year old boy a few years back who died of meningitis, and the 8 year old who was killed by her Sunday school teacher. I suppose we take comfort in knowing that they are now with God, comforted by him, looking down on those who love them, as Mary took comfort and even rejoiced in knowing that her son had risen. Nonetheless, a mother still longs for her child, still cries. And while I rejoice with the world in Jesus’ love for us, his sacrifice and his resurrection, I still feel a pit in my stomach on Easter for Mary.