Memorial of Our Lady of Sorrows

Lectionary: 442/639


Standing by the cross of Jesus were his mother
and his mother's sister, Mary the wife of Clopas,
and Mary Magdalene.
When Jesus saw his mother and the disciple there whom he loved
he said to his mother, "Woman, behold, your son."
Then he said to the disciple,
"Behold, your mother."
And from that hour the disciple took her into his home.


Not many of us are good at sorrow. I usually prefer mad. Something happens I don't like, I get mad, and then resentful, and perhaps depressed. Some people think sorrow is depression and vice versa, but depression is more often an illness with innumerable causes, including success and achievement.
Sadness is probably not helplessness. We can suppose Mary felt helpless as she watched Jesus die but in fact she was right where she was supposed to be, doing precisely the right thing. If she felt helpless she responded well to it. First she had compassion for her Son; then she offered her only begotten Son to the Father even as God was offering His Only Begotten Son for the salvation of the world. She certainly didn't endure the "tragedy" with stoic fortitude. Finally she adopted Jesus' beloved disciple -- that is, you and me -- as her child. I have to agree with Saint Augustine that we are sorry replacements for her Jesus but Mary in the Fullness of the Holy Spirit with all the readiness of inspired obedience embraces us. 
But of course she was overwhelmed with sorrow, as any mother would be. As were the women of Jerusalem who stood at a distance, weeping and beating their breasts. As were the absent apostles and disciples, and perhaps Judas if he was still alive. Who would not grieve when a defenseless man is barbarically executed, especially when he has committed no crime and offended no one who should not be offended?
This memorial following the feast of the Exaltation of the Cross, reminds us of the virtue of sadness. There are many sad things we cannot prevent and many sad things we should not prevent. Parents watch their children make mistakes and know they must stand aside and let them fail. Children watch their aging parents fade into senescence and wonder if they should let them make those mistakes or risk embarrassing them with unwanted help.
The poet Elizabeth Bishop has a wonderful villanelle poem -- One Art -- about sadness and grief. (The villanelle is an especially appropriate form to celebrate sadness.) I understand it took her thirty-five years to write. I get teary-eyed just thinking about it.
As a youth my thinking was influenced by Kahlil Gibran's book The Prophet and his reflections on sadness. To the effect, the measure of your sadness is the measure of your joy. Your life experience and emotional range will be quite flat without an ample measure of both. Some observers think the public is suffering compassion fatigue. We're overwhelmed with sad stories from every part of the globe; but that's because we're entertained by them. They're like an instant Greek tragedy with all the catharsis. Watching needy people suffer might make a difference except for the commercial break which reminds us of the desperate needs of television sponsors.  
Those who, like Mary, are animated by the Holy Spirit engage more than their voyeuristic sympathies. They open their hearts to others as Mary does to us. Their sadness heals.