MARY AT THE CROSS

And when the days of [Mary’s] purification according to the law of Moses were accomplished, they brought him to Jerusalem, to present him to the Lord . . . And to offer a sacrifice according to that which is said in the law of the Lord, A pair of turtledoves, or two young pigeons. (Luke 2:22-24)

But he was wounded for our transgressions . . . and the Lord hath laid on him the iniquity of us all . . . for the transgression of my people was he stricken. (Isaiah 53:4-8)

Now there stood by the cross of Jesus his mother. (John 19:25)

Mary at the Cross

As a baby we took

him to the temple, made

our presentation, offered

the young pigeons.

Sacrifice of praise.

As he grew we climbed

each year to the Passover, painted

the door with the young lamb’s blood and gave

thanks for deliverance.

In the woman’s court I stood

too far from the altar’s blood to see

it, but the knowledge

was a comfort then,

and not a curse.

Symbol of dissolution, the past swept

clean. A holy thing.

And now I try to hold

within my mind the symbol that I see

before me; try not to hear

the dear-loved voice

in such great pain.

My eyelids burn, the sky

is red with grief.

There has always been a goodness

in him that could not be matched.

My pure, sweet lamb.

My quiet one.

Blood oozes from the black mark

below his bare ribs.

One pure life for us all.

The scriptures speak it.

But the sacrifice here

is not only his.

I close my eyes

and all I can see

is the hair in his face

and no hand

to brush it away.