Poem: “Woman, behold your son!” “Son, behold your mother!” By Elizabeth-Anne Stewart

Battered, bruised, torn and blistered,
bloodied by vicious thorns, the sting of the whip,
and by the terrible weight of wood,
our Saviour was finally “straightened out,”
stripped of comfort,
un-bent of any illusions
upon the rack of the scandalous cross.
Looking down, arms outstretched,
contorted like a question mark
between heaven and earth,
he beheld his mother and his beloved disciple.
“Woman,” he said, “this is your son.”
Then to the disciple he said, “This is your mother.”
And his mother, beholding him,
the one she had cradled,
felt the thrust of Simeon’s sword
pierce her womb
like bitter labor pangs
and, as her time drew near –
the time of death, not birth –
the disciple clung to her,
his mother, the mother of sorrows,
the mother of us all …