Mater Dolorosa

New Zealand Tablet, Volume LI, Issue 15, 10 April 1924, Page 15

Mater Dolorosa

“She claims no crown from Him apart Who gave God life and limb,

She only claims a broken heart Because of Him.”

In the narrow and tortuous streets of Jerusalem, a multitude of people are assembled together in groups, gesticulating and talking wildly, and many show signs of impatience as though waiting for something to happen ; and ever, and anon glance anxiously towards the end. of the principal roadway, which is densely packed with masses of the populace.

Behold the poor, patient figure of the Divine Mother of Sorrows as she meekly stands on the outskirts of the noisy rabble: she is waiting for the coming of her own dear Child whom the people have sentenced and are taking to death. So long has she lingered there straining her eyes for the first sign of His familiar and beloved face, and now at last she is rewarded as a procession appears in sight. As the motley calvacade wends its slow and painful way along the hard and uneven road, the excitement of the waiting concourse waxes high, and ribald jests and coarse jokes fill one’s ears with shame and indignation. Oh, why do they not cease their foul chatter and fling themselves in humble pity and love at the sacred feet of Him who deigns to pass through their midst?

He comes, but oh so slowly, painfully, and yet so sublimelyone brave heart alclae in that cruel, merciless crowd notes with a tender throb of pity His lagging footsteps and lacerated Body His Mother.

She still remains on the extreme edge of that throng of careless spectators, and she hears all the profane oaths lettered against His adorable name —that dear name which she has called Him by since He was a tiny baby and which has always passed her lips with feelings of love and reverence. She feels the pain, of it all in her tender heart, all the cheap jesting, the vulgar remarks and the heartless in-

difference : ah! now He comes. . . He is passing, and as the ominous shadow of a Cross falls before her intent gaze upon the glistening white road, she hears, as in a dream, the prophetic words which Simeon spoke to her years ago and which she kept locked in her bosom. “And thy own soul a sword shall pierce.” In reverent and pitying awe, she turns her eyes full of her great overmastering love to her Divine Son who bears that dreadful cross uppn His torn and bleeding shoulder, and her heart contracts with pain as she looks upon that wearied figure.

The eyes of the Divine Sufferer, compelled by that ardent glance of love, seek and rest upon hers, and as He reads all the untold anguish of that gentle soul He staggers painfully—oh! that Fie must inflict this bitter sorrow upon her whom He loves best upop earth! Seeing that He falters, the soldiers roughly strike Him a cruel blow and then the mother heart outpours “My Jesus, my Jesus!” and flinging herself forward into the pathway, she stoops and" kisses that dear hand; roughly the men drag her away and push her staggering back to the hissing, jeering crowd, and stifling all the terrible agony of mind and soul, Mary shrinks back and quietly moves on with the frantic mob.

Oh Mary, Divine Mother of Sorrows, as you bravely walk the painful way of the cross, may I creep in spirit to your side and learn your great love for our dear Saviour, may I learn, too, your wonderful lesson of sorrowing' , patience and fortitude? I look into the, sweet face of my Mary and I see not only her love for her Jesus, but I see also her inexhaustible love for each one of us, and I gain hope and confidence anew and humbly try to take up my cross and follow in the unwavering footsteps of that Ideal Mother. f

"... * As a woman, with all a woman’s instincts, my heart goes out in waves of uncontrolled pity to thq frail and gentle figure of my Mary, as she calmly takes her stand at the foot of the Cross, that terrible instrument of her Son’s torture and death. No precious tears dim the sweet beauty of her eyes, no trembling of the lips betrays the pain of her bruised and bleeding heart, nay, even her lips part in a heavenly smile of ineffable love as she raises her pale, patient face to that of her suffering Son. Try how we can it is impossible for us to realise one iota of the deep; enduring anguish which filled and overflowed in that genife breast during ,2 these long hours of acute agony.

Proudly" now she stands- as near to her .Glorious Son as she can'until the Consumniatum Est. . . ; v ,

- The dying eyes look down into hers for the last time and mutely, plead that she .will take into her care all His ungrateful and erring .children, the brave eyes understand 'and signify her submissive obedience, and then as the Divine head drops lifeless upon the tired and aching breast, a low and almost imperceptible moan escapes her pallid lips and she breathes in a passion of sorrowing love Oh, my Son, my Jesus!”

'{M- ." Broken and torn as her poor human heart is by this crowning sorrow of her simple 'life,- she heeds that last , desire of her beloved one and takes : to ' herself all the | creatures of His pure hands to be for ever their spiritual ;'■ Mother. How well it would be for us if we always re- -; membered this when the world fails and hurts us, and with what an eye of love would He behold us as we crept to the side of His Virgin Mother and, invoking her by the poignantly beauteous title of Mater Dolorosa^ we told her • all our troubles and confided them to her loving care. Sec,' now the J)ivine Redeemer is. being., taken down from the Cross, and Mary watches with the keen eyes of .'/.':'a mother each movement and motion. Oh! how those arms long to embrace that all-sacred body, how she craves to : wipe that strangely beautiful face and smooth the tangled masses of His hair. Ah! her heart is throbbnig nigh to • suffocation as the Son is placed within His mother's arms —now at last they are together —He is hers, none other shall touch Him : she is back in imagination at her Nazareth home and ministering to Him as when He was a little baby and all dependent upon her. Behold the wrapt and lovely expression of her sweet face as she bends over Him and takes the lifeless form to her heart. Behold the perfect type of perfect motherhood as her adoring face bends in .7 agonising love to contemplate the calm, 1 God-like beauty -""of her • Son —see, it is the same divine expression which is reflected on the face of every mother as she gazes on the features of her cherished baby. Oh, glorious Motherhood, how blessed indeed are you now! Let us leave this Divine Mother alone in the" sacred presence of her Adorable Son—the one glorious woman and the one glorious Man who graced this poor earth of ours -with their all-sanctifying presence and love. ................ r Oh Mary, Mother of Sorrows, by the last bitter agonies .';. you suffered as you clasped your dead child in your arms, . I implore that vow will stand beside, me as you stood beside your Son on the Cross, until the hour when the Consummtum Est of my life is pronounced .. . . may you then stretch forth your arms to receive me'and with your own ■-•; dear hands lead me into the Holy Presence of the Glory and Love of my life—my Jesus! <•"•.._■ ■ -'Sorrowing Heart! shed o'er my life thy grace . v And welcome me in suffering's fond embrace." \ .--Roma E. -M. McAuliffe, in the Catholic Magazine for South Africa..