Am I Not Here, I Who Am Your Mother?

“Mother” is one of the sweetest words in our vocabulary. How much must a mother be worth if even God found his delight and happiness in one? He found refuge in her arms; her lullabies replaced those of the angels, and her purity was as great as that of heaven.  To contain the uncontainable – Perfection – to be a vessel to Love, Mary was indeed “full of grace.”

“Mater Dei!” Mother of God! Oh, how enormously sweet must have been her spirit so that she could be the perfect lover of Him who is everything! Mary was the beloved daughter, the precious bride, the sweet Mother of God. It was she who taught Jesus his first words, her hand which guided his eyes as they read the sacred scriptures, Her smile was what Love Incarnate woke up to every day.

And as we climb the steep path of life we have the joy and grace of calling her ours. Our Mother. Our sweetness, our safe haven. We’ve got her to be our advocate and light.

Our light, yes. Our Lord invited us to “be perfect … as your heavenly Father is perfect.” ( Matthew 5:48)  But we, sinful creatures, cannot obtain that level of sanctity by ourselves. That’s why our gaze can be directed towards Mary because she, just as the Moon reflects the light of the sun so that man can contemplate it without being blinded, reflects the light of God from her pure heart so that we can imitate her virtues and contemplate her graces.

In Mary we find the Heart of Christ.  In her, every virtue and perfection that her son possessed is already imprinted for she was and always will be the “Ark of the New Covenant”. Only she, who lived and who loved Christ more than any being, who was perfect from the moment of her birth, could become the delicate flower that absorbed every one of his virtues and let them, as a sweet fragrance, perfume the softest of breezes.

Mary “treasured up all these things and pondered them in her heart” (Luke 2:19) and gazed upon her son with both the love of a mother and the reverence of a creature before her God. Her sole purpose in life was to be his and to love him with a love only her could provide, a love that was not stained by sin but that was pure and sincere, a love that could correspond to God’s and that could begin to fill his ardent Heart.

How much she understands, then, the love of God for his creatures! She who dwells and knows the heart of her Son as if it was hers, she who probably watched as Jesus’ eyes lit up with love for his exiled sons and daughters…

“Woman, behold, your son!”

Those words struck her heart, in the midst of the horror and the pain of seeing her son dying. He was, with his last breaths, giving her those whom he’d lived for, the whole reason for his incarnation. He was proclaiming her the Mother of humanity.

She knew and understood the unfathomable love her son possessed for each and every human being that walked on earth, for the men who, around her, were mocking him with bitter laughs, for those who had placed a crown of thorns in his head, that head that she’d sheltered and protected since his birth. She was now an active part of that love, for all the love that resided in the heart of her son reflected upon hers, and her heart expanded with unmeasurable love for every single being that walked, walks or will ever walk on earth.

So let’s be done with formality and call her “Mother“. Mother, a word that opens up everything she is. A mother is a confidant, arms you can run into, love you can call upon, presence that never leaves you, voice that always steers you right, heart that always keeps you…

The Almighty allowed himself to become a helpless infant, completely dependent on this mother. It never ceases to amaze me. And if he, who is God and who is all, abandoned himself in the arms of the sweetest of woman, how much more must we, poor sinners, depend on her?

And to the cry of our soul, the “Mother!” it must emit in its darkest hours there are words that reflect the tenderness of her love.

“Am I not here, I who am your Mother? Are you not under my shadow and protection? Am I not the source of your joy? Are you not in the hollow of my mantle, in the crossing of my arms? Do you need anything more?”

No, Mother. In you I find your Son. I do not need anything more.

 

 

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