I think about Mary a lot, this week of the year.
Watching her son, be stripped of his garments.
Watching her son be beaten.
Watching the crown of thorns being placed on his head.
The blood…so much blood…precious blood.
The flesh that had once dwelt within her own womb was marred beyond recognition.
She watched him struggle up the place that everyone called “the Skull.”
The cross they had placed on his back was so heavy. Maybe she tried to run and help him.
Maybe John held her back.
You know she had to weep in agony.
You know she was physically sick, watching her son suffer beyond any human comprehension.
Maybe she thought that God would stop this.
Maybe she thought he would intervene.
But as they drove the nails into his hands, and she heard the sound his flesh made as the nails pinned him to the cross…she knew that there would be no rescue for Jesus.
He would die here.
She would watch the baby that she had carried, the baby that she had given birth to in a stable, the baby that the shepherds left their sheep to find…she would watch him die.
Did she realize that this was how salvation would become a gift for all mankind?
He looked down at her, from the cross, and told John to care for her. Even in agony, he was caring for her.
She heard him cry out, “Father, forgive them,” as those around her, mocked him.
She probably felt like she spent an eternity at the foot of that cross.
IT IS FINISHED.
And he was gone.
Maybe she felt numb. Maybe she wailed in agony. Maybe John carried her home. Maybe she helped Nicodemus place his body in the tomb.
Maybe she kissed his head one last time.
Maybe she was overcome with grief as they rolled the stone in front of the entrance to the tomb.
On the way home, did she hear the priests in a panic, because the veil had been torn?
Maybe she heard them say, “We’ve got to fix that! Anyone could get into the holy of holies now!”
Did it all make sense to her then? Did she realize that Jesus had just paid the price for all, so that they could be free? No more sacrifices? No more going through a priest?
Was she too overcome by grief to put the puzzle pieces together?
Sunday was coming.
Did she remember what he had said about the third day?
Not only had her son died, but also her Lord.
I can’t imagine her grief.
But Sunday was coming.
He would rise victorious.
Salvation for all, full and free, because of Calvary.
The demons cried as the King walked out.
It doesn’t matter how dark it is today, Sunday is coming.
Victory is coming.
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