I listened, but only because I had no choice. I heard, but only because I needed to.
I watched, but only because He was my son, and I winced and I crumbled inside, because of what they did to Him.
He was and is my son, He always will be. I held Him, cared for Him, and comforted Him when He cried.
Now, I could do nothing. Now I felt helpless and useless. I hid my eyes, but I could not hide my tears, as they flogged Him, mocked Him, and drove Him out of the city with a cross upon His back.
I followed, close enough, but not too close, in love and pain. As I did so, I began to remember his birth, the presents from the strangers, and the man in the temple. He told me my heart would break, and now it was breaking, with every step He took to His death.
I looked on in horror as they pushed Him to the ground, stripped Him of his clothes, and nailed Him to the wooden cross.
I could hardly breathe as they lifted it skyward, and jerked it into place.
I felt His pain, almost as if it were my own, and in some strange way it was.
The crowd was full of anger; they who only days before had hailed Him as their king now laughed and ridiculed Him.
The priests ordered Him to save himself. The Romans rolled dice for His clothes, and His friends – they had deserted Him long before.
Only I stood watching, near enough to hear Him cry:
“Father forgive them, they do not know what they are doing.”
I saw and felt His agony. The nails in His hands and feet, the crown of thorns upon his head, but more that that, the moment of separation from His Father’s side.
I watched the sky turn black, and heard the temple curtain rip, as He uttered: “It is finished!”
I cried every tear I had left to cry, a mother’s heart broken in two, and the hope of the nation dashed. They dragged me away; nothing left to see, just my son’s broken body, hanging on the tree.
(Deacon Becky Lovatt)
With many Profound blessings for this Eastertide,
God Bless each and every one of you