The Crucifixion Through The Eyes of a Mother

The Crucifixion Through the Eyes of a Mother- What I think Mary was Feeling

I knew that my son was special.

I carried him in my womb for nine months, gave birth to him, nursed him, comforted him, observed him, and I knew in my heart he was the Son of God.

I watched him play with his friends as a child. He was always kind. Always helping a friend up when they would fall, always patient, always forgiving.

He was different than any of the other children.

Serious. Calm. Smart. Knowledgeable.

I knew it was hard for his siblings. They knew that Jesus was perfect, as well, and would often bring it up.

I would hug them gently and tell them I understood it was difficult, but it was so special that our family had Jesus living with us.

Jesus loved me, oh how he loved me. He seemed to be able to see into the depths of my soul, and his eyes held such love and concern for me. He was a good son. A perfect son.

I observed him as he started his earthly ministry. I saw the miracles. I heard of the ones he raised from the dead. The deaf hearing again. The blind seeing again, the lame walking. The sick healed. Lepers, those with life long issues, people who medical doctors had given up on.

"Who is this carpenter's son, this Jesus?" I heard the whispers as I went about my daily chores in the village. And my heart warmed. Oh, how I loved him.

I watched as the multitudes followed him. I listened as he expounded on the words of God. Never had there been such a man.

But, I also worried. I sense the distrust in different communities who hated him. The Pharisees. The Sadducees. They hung back, listening to his every word- trying to find some kind of heresy or blasphemy that they could charge him with. They would talk to him, trying to trip him up in his words. He would look straight at them, almost like he knew what they were thinking, and he would calmly respond to any accusation that they would throw at him. He also told them exactly what he thought of their religious burdens and hypocrisy, and they seethed with anger, envy, and hate.

It was almost like Jesus knew how much I worried, and he would calm me by placing a hand on my arm and smiling gently at me.

Then came the day.

The day when my world crashed down around me.

The day when they brought my Jesus to trial.

I watched as he was mocked. I watched the false accusers. I wanted to yell at them- "Jesus is perfect! He has done nothing!"

But the trap was laid.

When asked if he was King of the Jews, he calmly replied, "Thou sayest it."

False witnesses testified.

Jesus didn't even try defending himself. He answered not a word to his accusers. I wanted to shake him and say, "Son! Please say something! You are not guilty of any of these crimes!"

Three times Pilate tried to tell the people that he didn't think Jesus was guilty. Every time, my heart leapt. Maybe there was a chance he would be released?

But the crowd was out for blood- the blood of my perfect son, and they would not be placated.

I covered my ears at the mob of angry people screaming- "Crucify him, crucify him!" The crowd seethed with hate. I could feel it-pulsating through sneers and taunts and mocking words. The strength of the hate took my breath away. Where was this coming from?

"Why?!" I screamed in my head, for I would not have been heard above the angry crowd. "He has never hurt any of you! In fact, he has only helped you! Some of you he healed, some of you, he made whole again! Why?"

But it was useless. The angry mob would have their way.

Pilate handed down the sentence the people wanted, and my beautiful, perfect son was led away to be crucified.

I followed the crowd. I knew I shouldn't watch him being beaten, tortured, and killed, but he was my son. I had to be there.

I can't remember much through my fog of pain. I didn't even know that he had realized I was there until I felt his gaze upon me, and when I looked at him, he said, talking of John, "Woman, behold thy son!" And then he looked at the disciple whom he loved and said, "Behold thy mother!"

Even right before his death, he was thinking of me. Making sure that I was taken care of, that I had a place to live. Putting others before himself.

As I gazed at my son, the King of the Jews, the perfect, spotless Lamb slain from the foundation of the world, every memory from birth until the moment of his death flashed before my eyes.

Never had there been such a man- the Redeemer for all who believe in Him. The final sacrifice to take away the sins of the world. The Messiah had come. Although I had borne him, and nursed him, and loved him, I knew he was more than my son- he was the Son of God.

As he cried, "It is Finished!" I wept with a loud cry.

But then as I gazed at my son, my heart leapt within me.

It was not over.

I knew what was to come, and death would not have victory.

I dried my tears, and as I put my arm in John's and we headed home, I took one more look behind me.

Death, for a short time, would claim victory.

But I knew in my heart it would not be the reining Victor.

I knew that Jesus was the Son of God, and that he would claim the final victory over death, hell, and the grave.

Death thought they had won, but as I walked away from Golgotha, I knew that Jesus would emerge the Victor.

Never had there been such a man, and never would there be such a man.

Truly, this man was the Son of God.

I Corinthians 15:54

So when this corruptible shall have put on incorruption, and this mortal shall have put on immortality, then shall be brought to pass the saying that is written, Death is swallowed up in victory. 55O death, where is thy sting? O grave, where is thy victory? 56The sting of death is sin; and the strength of sin is the law. 57But thanks be to God, which giveth us the victory through our Lord Jesus Christ.