The Pain of Motherhood

I will forever be grateful for the gift of motherhood, but Mother's Day also gives me painful pause. I cannot help but think of all the dear ones who courageously, yet painfully, endure this day. I can't help but ponder the pain of motherhood alongside the blessing. 

Today I read the account of Jesus' death and resurrection in the Gospel of John. I can no longer unsee Mary, the mother of Jesus, and the excruciating anguish the day his crucifixion uniquely held for her. John tells us she was present at the foot of the cross. Can you imagine the horror? This mother watched her firstborn child suffer unimaginable brutality. She experienced the trauma of watching her child die; she saw things the human mind cannot unsee this side of Heaven. Sadly, some of us can imagine this more vividly than we'd care to. 

I am convinced Jesus saw the pain of motherhood that day, and he didn't look away. When others were perhaps caught up in their own feelings or external circumstances while overlooking this heartbroken woman sinking beneath the weight of anguish at the foot of the cross, Jesus saw her. 

Aside from his words of hope to the thief on the cross beside him, Jesus is not recorded speaking to any of the crowd witnessing such horror. Except in John 19:26. 

When Jesus saw his mother and the disciple whom he loved standing nearby, he said to his mother, "Woman, behold, your son!" Then he said to the disciple, "Behold, your mother!" And from that hour the disciple took her to his own home. 

We know Jesus had numerous half brothers and sisters, yet he assigned (presumably) John, this beloved disciple, care of his mother upon his death. Here we have a bereaved mother and a faithful friend watching one so precious suffer such agony. The term "shared trauma" comes to mind. 

Jesus' eyes and voice found his mother amid an intense and gruesome scene. He didn't tell her to dry her tears; he didn't try to soften the blow of what she was experiencing with reassurance of his impending resurrection. He saw the pain of motherhood and ensured her care. On a day in our culture when the broken and battered hearts of many are often overlooked, we can be assured Jesus sees. He cares. 

The final sentence in the Gospel of John tells us "Now there are also many other things that Jesus did. Were every one of them to be written, I suppose that the world itself could not contain the books that would be written." Thus, while the following is purely speculation of another bereaved mother, I cannot help but think it plausible. 

Mary, being entrusted "from that hour" on in the care of John, could very well have been gifted moments with Jesus post resurrection. Did she glimpse his resurrected body, hold his now scarred hands, and wrap him tightly in the desperate embrace only a mother who has watched her child die can understand? 

Jesus consistently evidenced respect and care for his mother. She was gifted presence the moment he took his first fleshly cry in this broken world. She was present at the wedding we traditionally associate with the start of Jesus' public ministry. She was present for the moment he breathed his last breath, body broken and battered. Why could she not have been present the day he arose? 

There's no other relationship in this world where one holds a precious child for their first and last breath. It is a uniquely piercing sorrow no parent wishes to endure, yet some must. 

If Mary was then given the gift of his resurrected presence, how did this shape her trauma and painful memories? Did her son, being fully man and fully God, wipe her tears with those scarred but gentle hands? What was it like to see death undone in your child? 

Brilliant artists of old, such as Michaelangelo (in Pieta) and Bouguereau, depict Mary holding the body of Jesus. Scripture does not tell us whether or not Mary actually held the body of Jesus upon his death, but the pain of motherhood means some mothers know the pain of holding the cold, stiff, lifeless body of a precious child. A mother's body doesn't forget such horror.  

With my own gruesome memory, I cannot help but marvel at the gift of Mary potentially being able to not only see death undone but also feel death undone as she wrapped her arms around his resurrected body. Is this a memory to which she clung so tightly the remainder of her days on earth?  Oh, how I long for my memories to be replaced in such a way. Oh, how I ache, along with many others, to see death undone in the body of my precious child. 

I cannot say for certain whether any of my imaginings about Mary's potential encounters with Jesus post resurrection actually took place. But in the pain of motherhood, I am comforted knowing Jesus looked upon such pain with care, compassion, and intentionality. One day, I will see death undone in the body of my little Abigail. Jesus makes it so. 

Until that day...

You are seen, dear grieving heart. On Mother's Day and all the days between.