Last Christmas, a niece invited us to hear her singing carols with her church choir. Latin, Romanian and a few English carols, among which one I found very intriguing - ‘Mary Did You Know?’ The song goes through all the good things baby Jesus will bring to this world, how the child will rule the world and so on. Not a word about the price Mary will pay for all that. Yes, Jesus pays the ultimate price, but that’s his choice and he can take it up with his heavenly father. In this story, Mary doesn’t have a choice. Mothers in general don’t have much of a choice. Mary is the archetype of the mother who is bound to suffer for the infant she cradles in her arms. This struck me as odd, listening to those joyful carols. Christians have every reason to rejoice at the news of the divine child, but hardly anyone spares a thought for the poor mother.
My most vivid image of Mary comes not from the Bible, but from the lyrics of a local rock band we love, which talks about the Virgin at the foot of the cross watching her Son suffer. Just a few simple words aptly describe Mary's complete helplessness. All she can do is watch. The Son with his sacrifice will presumably save the world, but I don’t think that alleviates her pain in that awful moment. Her heart must be breaking just as any mother’s heart breaks a thousand times when their child encounters hardship. That is the fate of every mother. It’s not just about the unspeakable horror of burying a child. Like any other mother, Mary must have worried about her Son being hated, persecuted, maligned, and threatened. She must have feared for his life seeing that he was threatening the establishment. There is no question about that in any carol. No Mary did you know you will watch your Son die on the cross?
The first part of this text was written at Christmas and I’d almost forgotten about it. Until today. Easter is round the corner and Mary is about to bury her son and it’s a real flesh-and-blood Mary I’m writing about. Technically, we’re sisters in law, but we’ve barely met. A part of the family you just keep tabs on, but only see at weddings… and funerals. Like the one some 25 years ago, when she and my brother were burying their newborn daughter. Now they’re about to bury their second child, a 20 something beautiful and very talented boy, lost to drugs … and fate, I guess.
My heart breaks for my brother with whom I’ve only recently reconnected, but, as a woman, I feel the pain of the mother even more. As luck would have it, this evening we had tickets to see the band I was mentioning above, and, yes, again there was the terrible line about Mary watching her Son suffer on the Cross. You may wonder why we even went to a concert given the situation. The answer is easy. My children are in shock and they needed the distraction. A couple of hours of life instead of contemplating death. Death shouldn't happen to young people.
As humans, we manage to get along with our lives carefully avoiding the idea of our own death, which would drive us crazy. As parents, we strive to raise our children as best we can, carefully avoiding the idea that harm may come to them. Bad things happen to other people. Certainly not to the baby you’re holding proudly in your arms. Any mother identifies with Mary cradling baby Jesus in her arms, not with Mary at the foot of the Cross. No mother wants to be the latter. Ever.
Our species survived only because parents are blissfully unaware what they’re signing up for. A life of constant worry. A life of trying to do your best for your child with no guarantee they’ll have a good life.
On the other hand, suffering is part of living. A child who doesn’t confront hardship doesn’t have a life. A mother is in the impossible position of having to encourage her child to go out into the world, find his or her purpose in life and fight for it. Full knowing that the child will inevitably suffer and she will suffer with him.
Statistically speaking, there’s a fair chance your child will be one of the unlucky ones, those who don’t make it. And all there’s left for you to do is crumble at the foot of the cross.