A MAN AT THE CROSS

I'm surprised he's still alive poor sod, the one in the middle I mean, Jesus, the one they call the King of the Jews. I saw him earlier and he was so beaten, even by the Romans’ barbaric standards,  that they had to get someone to carry his cross; he was all in.

I heard it was a mockery of a trial but he'd upset one too many of the officials and they are the ones with all the power. If they're out to get you, they'll get you one way or another.

There's a woman with him, I assume it's his mother. Poor love, there surely can't be anything worse than that, watching your son die in such a way. And there's a young man with her, a relative perhaps. He is doing his best to comfort her but she only has eyes for her son.

Then I see that Jesus has mustered his strength and is speaking to her. “Woman,” he says, “this is your son,” and then he turns to the young man and says, “This is your mother.”

He's stronger than I ever imagined. Even though he is suffering he's thinking of others. I would be too caught up in my own misery to think of anyone but myself.

His words, “This is your mother,” went straight to my heart. He was putting her first. That's exactly how I should be treating my mum. Whereas I have been so caught up in my own life and my own interests that I've neglected her badly. I stopped inviting her round months ago, it all seemed too much hassle, a bit inconvenient, didn't quite fit into my routine (how could I?) and it's at least four weeks since I called in, in honesty it's  probably nearer twelve.

Those words have brought me to my senses. Things need to change.

I'll call in on mum today on my way home. Bless her, I'll get a warm welcome like I always do. And I'll invite her round to us again. Family are too important to neglect.

Thank heavens I realised before it was too late.