Mary, Mother of the Man of Sorrows
weighing the difference between difficulties, sufferings, and sorrows
As some of you know, I’ve been working for a while now (in fits and starts) on a book about Mary, Jesus’ mother (working title: Mary, the First Disciple: Learning the Way of Jesus from His Mother). I’m looking at her story in light of the Beatitudes, because I think that her story embodies those blessings in a way that makes clear for us the life we are meant to live.
Here’s the working outline for the chapters:
Introduction: Mary and the Ladder of the Beatitudes
Disfigured
blessed are the persecutedUnruly
blessed are the peacemakers
Unholy
blessed are the pure in heart
Irresponsible
blessed are the merciful
Dissatisfied
blessed are those who hunger and thirst
Inadequate
blessed are the meek
Unsuccessful
blessed are those who mourn
Unhappy
blessed are the poor in spirit
Conclusion
I’ll share more in coming days about it, including some of the reasons I became convinced I needed to try to write such a strange book in the first place. But for now, here’s an excerpt from what will be the first chapter, a reflection on Mary’s sorrows.
DISFIGURED
blessed are those who are persecuted
Mary of Nazareth’s story, told in the Gospels, maps the way of discipleship, the way opened by her Son, the way outlined in the Beatitudes. If we begin at the end, if we tell her story in reverse, we can see that path clearly, at least clearly enough to join her on it.
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Even before the Annunciation, Mary had tasted heartache. Obviously, life being what it is, especially for the poor, her troubles did not begin only after the angel’s visit. Still, something surely shifted in that moment, something vital, something elemental. She is not known as the Mother of Sorrows, mater dolorosa, for nothing, after all.
Life is hard under any circumstances. But Mary’s unexpected, unasked for pregnancy, and the future it forced on her, made her life far more demanding, far more painful, than it otherwise would have been. She not only faced unusual difficulties from that moment, she suffered.
That difference, the one between difficulty and suffering, makes all the difference. And so does the difference between suffering and sorrows. (To say that there is a difference does not mean we can always tell the difference, of course. But the good news is that our ability to tell the difference is not what makes the difference, anyway.) Mary’s life teaches us all this, because she, like St Paul, carried around in her body the death of Christ.
Difficulty is good, a gift that was as it were “built into” creation from the beginning. Difficulty is good for us because the demands it forces on us awaken our latent potentials, drawing out of us a deeper, truer humanity. Difficulty challenges; it does not coerce or corrupt.
Suffering, however, is not good. It is not good because it is not God’s doing; it is a consequence of the Fall and the gonewrongness of the world; the fallout of our disobedience and unfaithfulness. So, in spite of what we sometimes suggest, God does not want us to suffer, and suffering, in and of itself, does not and cannot bring about anything good, not ever.
Sorrows are neither good nor bad; they are holy. Sorrows are sufferings borne in spirit, sufferings that have been taken to heart.
To suffer is to be acted upon, forced into pain, distress, misery. To sorrow is to act, to cooperate with Christ, making up what is lacking in his afflictions. To sorrow is to groan with the Spirit, laboring for the birth of the Kingdom of God. Difficulty is useful, and suffering is meaningless. But sorrowing is revelatory and transformative, a mystery that opens suffering up to the God revealed in the face of Jesus Christ, Mary’s beloved Son.
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St Paul speaks of being “hard pressed on every side, but not crushed; perplexed, but not in despair; persecuted, but not abandoned; struck down, but not destroyed” (2 Cor. 4:7-9). In this, he names the four sources of our suffering. Some suffering comes to us as the fallout of the gonewrongness of the world (that is what “presses” us). Other suffering comes as the upshot of our internal conflictedness (that is what “perplexes” us). Still more suffering comes as the result of others—our neighbors, our enemies, the principalities and powers, evil spirits—setting themselves against us (they are the ones who “persecute” us). Finally, decisively, there is the suffering that comes as the effect of the judgment of God (this is what “strikes us down”).
Jesus, of course, experienced all these troubles. And Mary, both as his mother and as his disciple, experienced them too. What is more, in the final week of Jesus’ life they both experienced them all, all-at-once. Yes, through it all, Mother and Son were kept. They were, ultimately, not crushed, not in despair, not abandoned, not destroyed. Still, the same Presence that kept them in the suffering, kept them in the suffering. Indeed, it was that Presence that sanctified the suffering, transfiguring their agonies into mysteries, guiding Jesus and his mother, as well as others who loved him, down into the abyss of death, sharing with them the cup of sorrows, the cup of the wine of the wrath of God, which they drank to the dregs.
Thanks to Jesus, Mary’s sorrows, even at the bitter end, were truly, mysteriously good. Although what happened to her and her child, what happened in her, in her co-suffering and shared sorrow, was our redemption.
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Mary’s suffering built and built over the course of her life, growing with the growth of her capacity for prayer, climaxing in the last hours before Jesus’ death and the first hours after it. Allowing the Beatitudes to light the journey, we can see that the pains of lack (“blessed are the poor in spirit”), which pressed her, and the pains of disappointment, self-control, and longing (“blessed are those who mourn, the meek, those who hunger and thirst for righteousness”), which left her perplexed, gave rise in Mary to the deeper, consecrating, purifying pains that come in conflict with others, the pains of compassion, clarity, intercession, and persecution (“blessed are the merciful, the pure in heart, peacemakers, and those who are persecuted for righteousness’ sake). Finally, she fell with her Son under the judgment of God—not as a vessel of wrath but as a vessel of mercy, a vessel made by the out-pouring of the Father’s mercy.
Like her Son, the Man of Sorrows, Mary did not simply suffer. She followed him as far as she could go into the depths of priestly and prophetic intercession. Indeed, it was precisely his sorrows, which included her share in them, that saved us. Certainly, there was nothing good or redemptive in the sufferings as such, evils which were forced on her as they were forced on Jesus. Those pains were indeed uncalled for, absurd. But she, following him, did not simply suffer; she took his sufferings to heart.
Mary, the first disciple, was the first to follow Jesus to the end. What she found at the end was exactly what he had said we shall all find: persecution, death. But because she stayed close to him, because she refused to let anything separate her from him, she also received the promised blessing, which transfigured that suffering into holy sorrow. And as a result, her wounds, which we touch every time we read her story, are, like her Son’s, sweet as honeysuckle, life-giving as the Spirit, luminous as the stars.
Loved this Chris! Especially drawing out the difference between difficulty, suffering and sorrow. I will return to these again and again. Our God is acquainted with sorrows as all lovers are till love is perfected, completed and matured. Sorrow, suffering embraced as somehow necessary, is holy.
Any idea when it will be ready to be purchased?