"I have offered my back to those
who struck me, my cheeks to those
who plucked my beard;
I have not turned my face away
from insult and spitting."  Isaiah 50:6

What of the woman, caught among movement,
what sense her eyes of the fallen image?
Does she weep for this collapsed penitent
of man’s injustice?  What proper usage
gives her heart when she sees her tortured Son?
Would it be not better to cease to beat
than to bare witness to His life undone?
Will sorrow’s crushing weight all hope defeat?
-Are there none to help in this pressing mob?
-Why does the guard grin?  -Why leaves he the beams
to rest upon the gasping frame?  A throb
of pain, a shattered heart, a mother’s dreams.
And old Simeon’s words to this day toll,
"and a sword will also pierce your own soul."
 
 

"He will be great and be called the Son of the
Most High.  The Lord God will give him the
throne of his ancestor David; he will rule over
the House of Jacob for ever and his reign will
have no end."  St. Luke, 1:32,33

Now where is Gabriel?  What meant his words?
What conveys he now by avoiding here?
The Chosen One lies where caravan herds
have tramped.  Digested grasses are his bier.
A mother weeps for her Son.  Where is he
who said, "be not afraid," who said, "his reign
will have no end?"  Must he a phantom be?
Alone stands the Woman in sorrow’s pain.
She who knew God’s love and the babe did bare,
who nursed Him and raised Him to be the king.
Yet Gabriel bends not to Him to spare.
Distress cries, "how can hope from this day spring?"
And through her heart the awareness does spread,
the babe she once nourished will soon be dead.
 
 
 
 

"Will not the Day of Yahweh be darkness,
not light, totally dark without a ray of
light?" Amos, 5:20
 

What can prepare one for a day as this?
The bright sun’s disk nears its augured zenith
above this throng extolling death’s abyss,
who proudly scorn the eternal as myth.
How black the day, oh Mother, how light strays.
To have born Truth and to see Him despised,
To see God refrain from this day of days,
can a more profound darkness be comprised?
The pressing crowd holds you back, yet you see
a movement from your Son.  Hope does prepare
to rend your soul as He raises the tree
and with a groping shattered heart you stare.
The Son lifts his pained, pure, and loving face.
Your eyes meet, hearts touch, Mary, full of Grace.

© E. David