An imagined lament of Mary upon her seven sorrows
Simeon held my Child and blessed Him, then turned to me with words that never left my heart: a sword would pierce my soul.
One night Joseph woke me, his face filled with urgency. I gathered Jesus in my arms while we left everything behind. Soldiers were searching for Him, but we carried Him into the darkness, trusting God alone.
There was a time I could not find Him. Three days of searching, calling His name, my heart breaking with every hour. At last in the Temple He sat among the teachers, calm while I trembled with sorrow and relief.
Years passed. The boy I once searched for in the Temple became the man I saw bent beneath the Cross. His face bloodied, His body torn. The crowd shouted, soldiers struck Him, and our eyes met. I had nothing to give Him but my tears.
I stood beneath the Cross as the nails were struck, as the sky darkened, as His breathing slowed. My Son gave His last breath, and my soul broke with Him.
They placed His body in my arms. Once I held Him small and new, now I held Him cold and still.
And then the stone closed the tomb. The silence was heavier than death itself, yet my love for Him remains.
This reflection is only an imagined lament, written to draw hearts closer to the sorrow of Mary and the love of Christ. The memorial of Our Lady of Sorrows is kept on September 15.
ππ’ππππ πΎππ ππ πππ π±πππ β’ π½πΊππΎπ.πππππΌ.π»π
ππ
Our Lady of Sorrows
A motherβs quiet sorrow, recalling moments that pierced her heart and love that remains beyond death.
