O Mother Mary,
as Pilate tried your son,
were you in the courtyard
to hear those hateful voices
tear at your heart -
Kill Him!
Crucify Him!
This was your child
they were focusing all their hate on,
your child,
the child of promise
who you had watched grow,
saw bloom into the gift of God
to an undeserving mankind,
the healer,
the teacher,
the sign to be contradicted.
O Mother Mary,
did you see what they had done to him
as they led him out,
beaten and bloody,
crowned with a mockery of a crown,
almost unrecognisable
from the blood and from the bruising.
This was your child,
the child angels announced,
the child who loved his Father so much
he tarried behind at the temple
and almost broke your heart in fear,
the child who healed the wounded
now wounded in so many ways.
O Mother Mary,
did you at that moment pray,
like your son had, the night before,
"O my God, not my will, but yours?"
The Nailing
Did those who stood by you that awful day
tell you not to look,
O Lady of Sorrows,
As he was thrown to the ground,
naked, battered, bloody,
stretched out upon that dreadful crossbeam?
Did you cling to the Magdalene, O Sorrowful Mother,
as the Roman guards,
methodical and professional,
put those large square nails against his wrists,
hit hammer against nail?
Could anything prepare you
for the cries
ripped from his throat
as they finished their task?
The Nailing
Did those who stood by you that awful day
tell you not to look,
O Lady of Sorrows,
As he was thrown to the ground,
naked, battered, bloody,
stretched out upon that dreadful crossbeam?
Did you cling to the Magdalene, O Sorrowful Mother,
as the Roman guards,
methodical and professional,
put those large square nails against his wrists,
hit hammer against nail?
Could anything prepare you
for the cries
ripped from his throat
as they finished their task?