A though triggered and heavily influenced by The Lord by Romano Guardini
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Mary, the mother of Jesus, is often revered as the ultimate symbol of motherhood—a figure whose love, faith, and devotion have inspired generations. Many see in her story a beautiful love story between mother and son, one marked by tenderness, sacrifice, and unwavering support. Yet, a closer look at the Gospel narratives reveals a more complex and evolving relationship, marked not only by deep connection but also by moments of growing distance and redefinition that left her to ponder things in her heart.
At the annunciation, her response was regal. Faced with an unprecedented situation she was called to place a profound trust in God, reaching into mysteries far beyond what any human ever had to face. She had no legacy or means, or even a foresight or understanding of the predicament she was in, but her Yes emerged from a place of unknown, in full confidence in the God she believed in. By tracing the arc from Bethlehem to Golgotha, we uncover a story that is as much about letting go as it is about holding on—a testament to the real cost and depth of love between a mother and her extraordinary Son.
Her “Yes” started the clock on a life fraught with difficulty, insecurity, discomfort and sorrow. She was not spared hardship; she endured danger and poverty, refugee status, and even the birth of the Son she was promised was what we would nowadays consider traumatic. The divine “otherness” of her Son, a Son she deeply loved, stands at the center of her maternal identity. There was always a facet of him that, even while under her care, she would never fully understand.
When loosing him in the Temple, Mary’s understandable emotive reproach is not met with reassurance, but an astonishing response: “Why were you searching for me?”. At the wedding feast, Jesus is the one who reproaches her, even though he follows through with her request. When she is fearful about his ministry, he does not reassure her, but says “Who are my mother and my brethren?” putting further distance between them. The quiet gaps speak volumes—of a woman who bore silent suffering in her heart, without the comfort of privileged insight or closeness.
As she watched her Son die, “thirsting for a word, her heart crucified with Him” he severs the bond of sonship and gives her to another.
Undoubtedly, as a human being, this was a sword that pierced Mary’s heart, just as Simeon had foretold—yet she chose to believe. Again and again, her trust was put to the test, and she was not always granted the comfort or certainty she longed for. She had to continually wrestle with confusion and doubt, emotions all too familiar to the human heart. Time after time, Jesus seemed to move beyond her reach, leaving her to feel the sharp edge of that prophetic sword. Yet each time, with renewed faith, she found the strength to follow after him. Not only was she called to accept this path, but to embrace it with joy, recognizing it as the fulfillment of God’s will.
In the end, Mary’s journey of faith and suffering is crowned with glory. She is exalted as Queen of heaven and earth—a title that places all her earthly trials and sorrows in the light of eternity. In her coronation, Mary’s steadfast trust and love are honored forever, reminding us that every trial borne with faith finds its fulfillment in the joy and victory of God’s eternal plan.
Blessed is she who believed.