MARY

My God, how can you expect me to bear this? I can hardly stand under the weight of it.

When Simeon said a sword would pierce my side I tried to brush it off, but in my darkest moments, in my sleepless nights, I tried to imagine what it could mean. But even my darkest imaginings could not prepare me for this. My son is dying in agony before my eyes. I don't want to watch, yet I can't tear my eyes away. I have to be strong for his sake.

My God, “Why?”

You could have saved him. He was guilty of no crime - other than opposing a few puffed up, pompous Pharisees who were making the lives of the poor and needy intolerable. You could have stopped this before it began. When you asked me to bear your son you never told me it would end like this.

I'd trade places with him if I could. I've lived my life, it feels as if he's only just begun his. If only my Joseph was still alive we could have borne this together, I so miss his wisdom and his strength. I don't know if I can make it through, Father.

John's done his very best to help, he’s here with me now, by my side, the two of us suffering alongside Jesus, but he has his own life to live, he can't be responsible for me.

Then Jesus rallies for a moment and looks straight at us with such love in his eyes despite all he's suffering. “Woman,” he says, “this is your son,” and to John,” this is your mother”.

And we turn to each other and in John's eyes I see just a tiny glimmer of hope for the future.