Near the cross of Jesus stood his mother… John 19:25
Pieta
A year ago you came
Early into the light.
You lived a day and night,
Then died; no-one to blame.
Once only, with one hand,
Your mother in farewell
Touched you. I cannot tell,
I cannot understand.
A thing so dark and deep,
So physical a loss:
One touch, and that was all
She had of you to keep.
Clean wounds, but terrible,
Are those made with the Cross.
∼ James McAuley: Anthology of Australian Religious Poetry p.154
Let us pray:
May we know the slow mystery
in which mourning becomes solace,
turning us towards the kindness
that wants to meet us in our grief.
May comfort come to enfold us,
not to take away all sorrow
but to infuse it with tenderness,
with rest,
with every grace it has.
∼ Cf Jan Richardson: The Cure for Sorrow p.168
