Good Friday

Today I've been contemplating thoughts & feelings on good Friday. I listened to a meditation & read a good devotion. I went on a walk, and although all around me I saw life, there was a sharp bite from the wind. I almost expected to feel a stronger sense of death, but I didn't.

The day continued, a normal day. Then, Jeremiah fell asleep in my arms. As I held him I thought of Mary. I thought of her standing there, watching her baby being tortured to death. Although Jesus is God, he was also her baby. I'm sure she could recall some of those precious moments of him as a newborn. She watched him learn and grow. She experienced his love & smiles. She wiped his tears & took care of him…

I cannot even begin to fathom the stabbing pain she felt on this day. As I sit here with my own precious baby, I can't bear to think of something like that happening to him, and Jesus is the most precious of all. My baby, as much as I hate to say it, deserves that death on the cross. We all do. Part of me can hardly believe that is true and if it were to happen I'd do anything I could to prove my son's innocence.
As a mother of a child born into sin, deserving death, I can hardly imagine the pain of the mother of Jesus, who was perfect, blameless, and innocent, taking on the punishment of the world.


Edit: My attention was brought to the Stabat Mater, a 13th century hymn to Mother Mary. Here is it translated in English:

At the cross her station keeping,
Stood the mournful Mother weeping,
Close to Jesus to the last.

Through her heart, His sorrow sharing,
All His bitter anguish bearing,
Now at length the sword had pass'd.

Oh, how sad and sore distress'd
Was that Mother highly blest
Of the sole-begotten One!

Christ above in torment hangs;
She beneath beholds the pangs
Of her dying glorious Son.

Is there one who would not weep,
Whelm'd in miseries so deep
Christ's dear Mother to behold?

Can the human heart refrain
From partaking in her pain,
In that Mother's pain untold?

Bruis'd, derided, curs'd, defil'd,
She beheld her tender child
All with bloody scourges rent.

For the sins of His own nation,
Saw Him hang in desolation,
Till His spirit forth He sent.

O thou Mother! fount of love!
Touch my spirit from above;
Make my heart with thine accord.

Make me feel as thou hast felt;
Make my soul to glow and melt
With the love of Christ our Lord.

Holy Mother! pierce me through;
In my heart each wound renew
Of my Saviour crucified.

Let me share with thee His pain,
Who for all my sins was slain,
Who for me in torments died.

Let me mingle tears with thee,
Mourning Him who mourn'd for me,
All the days that I may live.

By the cross with thee to stay,
There with thee to weep and pray,
Is all I ask of thee to give.

Virgin of all virgins best,
Listen to my fond request
Let me share thy grief divine.

Let me, to my latest breath,
In my body bear the death
Of that dying Son of thine.

Wounded with His every wound,
Steep my soul till it hath swoon'd
In His very blood away.

Be to me, O Virgin, nigh,
Lest in flames I burn and die,
In His awful Judgment day.

Christ, when Thou shalt call me hence,
Be Thy Mother my defence,
Be Thy cross my victory.

While my body here decays,
May my soul Thy goodness praise,
Safe in Paradise with Thee.