The small tortures of motherhood was what I had thought Simeon had prophesied for me.
Now, I followed a constant sword, which lingered over Golgotha, where it waited for me. And you, yourself a sword will pierce.
Enough, Simeon. Enough.
My son had done no wrong, and he was murdered. He died before my eyes, ripped apart, jeered at, gambled over. And at that moment, the earth trembled in anguished sorrow, and the sword sliced into me, impaled my heart, although no one could see.
No one could see me bleed as I beheld my beloved son, all drained of blood, like a lamb at sacrifice.
His blood. My blood.
Both of us drained, in our ways.
I kissed his perforated brow, his pierced hands.
My tender babe, my whole reason for being.
My husband’s duty and delight.
My beloved son, so greatly wounded.
And then, there he was, in my room. A blaze of light, an outreached hand, onto which I laid my own, only for a moment, and it was enough.
My son, my God, in startling glory. My Meshiḥa! Returned to me, from his Father’s house, his Father’s right hand.
And from my breast, the sword was lifted, and I became once more the Mother—strong and ready to proclaim “I am here!” The Mother of Yeshua, the Christ. The Mother of the living.
--Elizabeth Scalia
To read more of Elizabeth Scalia’s remarkable meditation on the sword that pierced Mary’s heart, click here.
Image source: Hans Memling, Triptych of Jan Crabbe, center panel (1470), https://uploads2.wikiart.org/images/hans-memling/triptych-of-jan-crabbe-1470.jpg
Quotation source and complete meditation
Quotation source and complete meditation
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