Good Friday always finds me pondering the sorrow of Mary as she stands near the cross and watches her son in anguish. The weight of grief she carried as the life of her first born slips away. It is perhaps not so strange that during the holiest of weeks I hear the words of that modern Christmas song echoing in my head ~ Mary did you know that your baby boy will save our sons and daughters?

As a mother who has laid her son in the arms of God, I lament with Mary. I grieve for this mother who bore a son only to have his life cut short. I weep with this mother who longed to wrap her arms around him one.more.time and tell him how much he is loved.

And yet, I find my own grief overcome with joy because, unlike Mary, unlike those who stood near the cross that day when the sky darkened over Golgotha, I know with assurance what Sunday brings.

In the midst of my longing to fill the void left by the death of my own son, Scott, I find comfort in the words Jesus speaks to his mother from the cross. In his own anguish, he sees her tears and looks down from the cross ~ to meet her in the form of her need, to fill the deep void now created in this mother's heart. The account of the events of Good Friday found in John 19 tells us:

When Jesus saw his mother and the disciple whom he loved standing nearby, he said to his mother, "Woman, behold, your son!" Then he said to the disciple, "Behold, your mother!" And from that hour the disciple took her to his own home.

As I bend beneath the grief of Good Friday, the hope of Easter lifts me. I embrace the power of the resurrection that brings a glorious reunion with those who have gone before. I hold firm to the promise Jesus taught his disciples about his Kingdom, ushered in by his very death.

You have sorrow now, but I will see you again, and your hearts will rejoice, and no one will take your joy from you. In that day you will ask nothing of me. – John 16:22, 23

May I stand today in awe of the One who sees my sorrow, wipes away my tears, and saves our sons and daughters. May I bow as the Centurion beneath the cross and say ~

Truly this is the Son of God who redeems the future by his sacrificial death, even the death on a cross.

Photo: The Pietà (1498-1499) is a masterpiece of Renaissance sculpture by Michelangelo, housed in St. Peter's Basilica in Vatican City.

I was raised in a faith tradition which did not observe the season of Lent, a Christian tradition celebrated in the forty days leading up to Easter.

I find myself lamenting that many aspects of this tradition had been part of my upbringing ~ to make time in life's hectic pace to dwell on the passion of Christ and all that He established; to rejoice in the blessed hope of His resurrection.

To be honest, I often allow the circumstances of life to rob me of the peace and joy that was established through the death and resurrection of Christ. These temporary struggles seem to lay claim to much of my concentration. With the Lenten season beginning on Ash Wednesday this week, I savor this place of mindfulness. I look forward to entering this season; to rest in the reality that the redemption so freely given on the cross, continues to redeem the future.

I want to focus my thoughts, my desires, and even the events of each day upon the promise of Colossians 1:20, 21 ~

For in him all the fullness of God was pleased to dwell, and through him to reconcile to himself all things, whether on earth or in heaven, making peace by the blood of his cross.

I find that a verse in The Lorica of Saint Patrick truly expresses this place of rest for me during this season as I recognize the fullness of His being, the depth of His love, and the truth of His promise to redeem all things to Himself.

Christ with me,
Christ before me,
Christ behind me,
Christ in me,
Christ beneath me,
Christ above me,
Christ on my right,
Christ on my left,
Christ when I lie down,
Christ when I sit down,
Christ when I arise,
Christ in the heart of every man who thinks of me,
Christ in the mouth of every one who speaks of me,
Christ in the eye of every one who sees me,
Christ in every ear that hears me.

May the passion of Christ and the reality of the resurrection illuminate for each of us the hope of redeeming the future.

Art work entitled, Toward Calvary by Michael O'Brien