Behold Your Mother

It was a warm night in Galilee. The small common room was lit only by the soft light of the moon, and by the candles that had been lit just before dinner earlier that night. Mary sat in a chair by one of the low-placed windows, her arm propping up her chin by means of the thick ledge. 

My G'D, Mary prayed, how great you are, to create something so beautiful.

Mary could stare for hours at the moon. It was those little things - the mystery of the moon beyond their world, the angelic whispering of the grass, the cool lapping of seawater on her bare feet - that brought her so much joy. She marveled at how beautiful it was...marveled at the love G'D would have to have to create something so beautiful for a people who had betrayed Him so often. She had seen that love first hand, no more than one year ago. And she had held, for 33 years, the tiny hands that had once shaped that same moon. 

A familiar longing pulled at Mary's heart as she thought of her Son...of that first night in Bethlehem during which she had first gazed upon the sleeping figure of her infant G'D. She recalled looking at her Son the way she had always looked at the moon - with awe, with joy, with peace, marveling at the great works of G'D...

It had never been easy being so far from Jesus. She knew, from the hour he ascended to His Father, that it would not be long before she joined Him in the Kingdom, but it pained her that she didn't know when. It was like walking with the shaky legs of a toddler - there was no one there to steady her!

Mary laughed to herself at the thought. For 33 years she had been Jesus' mother, but she always knew she relied on Him in a way other parents didn't...He had always been so quick to help, so eager to take away her burdens..."Let me carry that, Mama!" He would exclaim, running over to take away whatever difficult thing she had been carrying at the time. 

Then one day, just a year ago, He had taken away everyone's heaviest burden - their sin - and now Mary was alone. Since He had gone, she wondered all the time why she was still there...hadn't her work been to raise the Son of G'D? Was the plan of G'D really to leave her here, after all the work was done, to wait for Him to call her home?

But I trust You, Lord, she murmured to herself, I know You have something wonderful for me here, still...

Just then, the front door opened and John strode in, a pail of water in his arms. Mary looked away from the window and smiled at her son. 

"You can set it down there, John," she announced, standing up. "I'll take care of it."

"Thank you, Mother," he said, respectfully. "But I can do it."

Mary sat back down in the rickety wooden chair, the one thing she had brought with her from Nazareth, and the one thing she still had from Joseph...

She watched carefully as John rinsed their supper plates in the lukewarm water and set them to dry on the table in the center of the room. Mary admired him greatly for his courage - John had done so much, already, for the Christians. Even through the constant persecution they faced for their faith in Jesus, John had remained strong. She was worried at first - the oppression began so quickly, after all! - but with men like John heading the effort to bring the Good News to others, she couldn't imagine it collapsing. And she knew it wouldn't - her Son had brought the truth to Galilee, and she was sure, soon, it would be shared with the whole world. 

"Well, I'm off to bed, Mother," John said with a smile. 

"Sleep well, John," Mary replied, smiling back. "Don't worry - I'll blow out the candles for you."

John nodded and headed through a door on the back wall, leaving Mary, again, to her thoughts. She continued her wondering about the will of G'D for her - He had not left her alone, He had left her with a task...but what?

Woman, behold your son...

The remembered words echoed softly in Mary's heart. She remembered that moment as clearly as she knew her own name. She recalled the brutal anguish of seeing her Son on the Cross, dying, the weight of the sins of millions on His strong, carpenter's shoulders. She recalled the horror of His final breath, the anger at seeing His body so disfigured, the heaviness in her heart as the stone tomb was closed by that large stone...but most of all, she remembered His words, which she kept hidden in her heart. 

My son? She remembered thinking. But You are my Son! And now I have nothing left!

They need a mother, the little voice whispered again. Someone to do for them as you did for Me. Someone to cry to, someone to bandage their wounds, someone to hold them in their desperation...

A mother? Mary breathed. Am I to be their mother too?

But the little voice did not respond. Mary thought deeply, turning from the moon and putting her head in her hands. Surely He meant the Christians...was she called to be a mother to His children? To guide them, encourage them...to teach them to love her Son?

Lord, she prayed. This must surely be Your plan for me. Help me to love them as You love them...

Standing up, Mary pushed the chair back to its place under the dish-covered table. Smiling to herself, she again recalled the memory of holding her Son in her arms for the very first time. Had He called her to do that again? 

Yes, He had...and there was so much work to be done!

And son...behold your mother!