Mary, Mother of Jesus

Have you ever experienced a dark night of the soul? Or perhaps a dark season of the soul? To be human is to suffer loss and to find the objects of our hope compromised or crushed. We lose opportunities and relationships. We lose physical strength or mental health. We lose loved ones. In grief, our minds and hearts feel unsteady and vulnerable. We cannot see our way ahead.

When Victorian poet Alfred Tennyson suffered the loss of a dear friend, he penned these lines in the Prologue of "In Memoriam A. H. H.":

"We have but faith: we cannot know;
    For knowledge is of things we see
    And yet we trust it comes from thee,
A beam in darkness, let it grow"

Tennyson searched for meaning in his sorrow, a way to settle his thinking upon an enduring truth that could somehow ameliorate his sense of loss. He wanted a "beam in darkness" to grow.

Grief is often accompanied by images of darkness, and those who grieve long for light. On this Saturday before Easter, we consider Mary and her dark night of the soul as she stood at the foot of the cross.

Imagine her there. Her day has been traumatic. Like us, her mind would have been racing, looking for ways to match these horrific experiences with what she had believed to be true. In one sense she would have resigned herself to this new reality.

Her son’s broken body was in agony, and he would soon die. In another sense she would have been hoping for a way out, for a "beam in darkness" to grow. Her eyes tell her all is lost.

But does Mary have more to believe than what her eyes tell her?

Then she hears Jesus speak to her from the cross, "Woman, behold your son!" and to John, "Behold, your mother!" (John 19:26-27).

Behold. Mary has heard this word before.

An angel had once said to her, "Behold, you will conceive in your womb and bear a son . . . and of his kingdom there will be no end" (Luke 1:31, 33). She had been overwhelmed at that moment as well. She had been trying to reconcile her experiences with what she believed to be true. But then the angel said, "Behold, your relative Elizabeth in her old age has conceived a son" (Luke 1:36). The angel had been right! Mary had visited Elizabeth and as the women greeted one another, Elizabeth had said, "Behold, when the sound of your greeting reached my ears, the baby in my womb leaped for joy."

Mary’s memory lands on the night of Jesus’s birth. Hadn’t the shepherds come to see her baby? And hadn’t they said angels had directed them with the words, "Behold, I bring you good news of great joy?" She pauses for a moment in her grief and remembers those miraculous days.

But then she remembers taking Jesus to the temple and old Simeon holding the baby in his arms and looking directly into her eyes and saying, "Behold, this child is appointed for the fall and rising of many in Israel, and for a sign that is opposed and a sword will pierce through your own soul also" (Luke 2:34-35).

She looks up at the cross. The sword is piercing her soul.

Mary thought that moment had come already. She remembers frantically searching Jerusalem for her son after losing him in the crowds. She had looked for days and finally found him. Mary had scolded Jesus. "Son, why have you treated us so? Behold, your father and I have been searching for you in great distress" (Luke 2:48). She also remembers a particular day when Jesus was drawing crowds and keeping so busy. She had asked to see him, making a special note to the messenger that his mother wanted to speak with him. Jesus had responded by gesturing at the crowd and saying, "Behold, my mother" (Matthew 12:46-49).

But this is the moment Simeon spoke of. Her heart is breaking, and she has lost hope.

Then she remembers another Behold. Had she not said,
My soul magnifies the Lord,
and my spirit rejoices in God my Savior,
for he has looked on the humble estate of his servant.
For behold, from now on all generations will call me blessed;
for he who is mighty has done great things for me,
and holy is his name.
And his mercy is for those who fear him
from generation to generation. (Luke 1:46-50)

Had she also not said, "Behold, I am the servant of the Lord; let it be to me according to your word" (Luke 1:38).

Let it be to me according to your word.

In that moment at the foot of the cross, Mary did not have the words of Hebrews 11:1 to tell her, "Now faith is the assurance of things hoped for, the conviction of things not seen." But she had her past. She had been in this place before–the trauma place where you are vulnerable. Circumstances before you are threatening and you aren’t sure how, or if, you will make it through. Could it be that Mary wrapped her vulnerable heart in an unseen conviction?

Could it be that we wrap our vulnerable hearts in the conviction that Sunday will come, and our dark night of the soul has a Savior making provision for us from the cross?

We are like Mary - and because of Jesus, we are brought into a vibrant faith that hopes for things unseen. What promises, what future joys, what command to "behold" do you need to set before you today so that you can endure?

Mary Flickner serves as the Coordinator of the Developing the Christian Mind Course and an Adjunct Professor at Dallas Baptist University.