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Woman Behold Thy Son
By Jason Goldtrap 06.12.07
In John 19:26, Jesus is on the cross. He is writhing in agony and pain. Blood is pouring from his broken body; sinews are wilting on his back as it slides across the splintered cross. In the midst of all of this insufferable pain, he takes a moment to consider his earthly mother, Mary. He looks to her and says, “Woman, behold thy Son!†I have heard that passage read so many times without feeling, without voice inflection. This is not a little footnote in history; this is an account of the most horrific day in human history when an innocent man, the Son of God, was put to death for ignoble reasons by vile men. Feel that.
His mother is wailing for her son. See her memories. The tiny babe of promise born, honored by foreigners and lower class field hands who was brought into the world under suspicious circumstances. The baby cradled and blessed in the Temple by two old strangers. The little toddler with a runny nose who cries all night because of a toothache. Joseph holding up his hands and teaching him to walk. The big brother to James. The young apprentice who can’t go out to play because he needs to finish building a table. The lost adolescent in Jerusalem who amazed the scholars. The faithful son who promises to support his family when work is scarce. Think of the disappointments he suffered. The women he could not woo. The children he could not have himself. He was an uncle. The nieces and the nephews asked, “Uncle Jesus, when are you going to have a family?â€Â
The hours in prayer when his frustrated mortal mind surely felt like no one was listening. The man who could turn stones into bread is hungry and all alone in a wasteland. On those hot days the ebon vultures flew high above him. Their talons anticipate the moment when they could swoop down and pick apart his flesh. “Perhaps this man will die soon and we can fill our stomachs.†At night the wolves howled and salivated as they watched him sleep. What was that noise? A leopard?
The Great Physician had to sit back and watch people he loved get sick and die and not help them because his time was not yet at hand. The opportunities for business he had to turn down. The chance to be a rabbi, maybe have his own synagogue, he had to say, “no.†On how many occasions was he mistreated by Roman soldiers? How much money did he lose via the schemes of his own countrymen? How many chances did he have to take revenge? He is welcomed as a triumphant king but the same wishy-washy masses that lay their cloaks on the dusty road will soon grow tired of the eccentric prophet and his magic tricks. “He did not meet our expectations; be gone with him.â€Â
He could have sent lightning bolts down every day of his life and be completely justified, but, he didn’t. He kept his mouth closed, like a lamb to the slaughter, so he could make that trip up Calvary’s mountain to face an obscenity of justice which he clearly did not deserve. And in that moment, he thought of his mother.
Stretch out your arms. Do it. Don’t just listen to these words and so deceive yourself, do what it says. Stretch out your arms.
Now lift them up about half way and leave them there a minute. Notice the tingle? Does it feel uncomfortable? Good. It should.
Take three deep breaths. Swallow. Close your eyes and whisper, “Woman,…(take a deep breath)… behold thy son.â€Â
Now that is the power of imagination. That is the splendor of knowledge. That is the serenity of Divine Love. That is a reordering of the human experience. That is the Way, the Truth and the Life. And if such an act does not leave you vulnerable, trembling, breathless and drained, then I sincerely pity you.
By Jason Goldtrap 06.12.07
In John 19:26, Jesus is on the cross. He is writhing in agony and pain. Blood is pouring from his broken body; sinews are wilting on his back as it slides across the splintered cross. In the midst of all of this insufferable pain, he takes a moment to consider his earthly mother, Mary. He looks to her and says, “Woman, behold thy Son!†I have heard that passage read so many times without feeling, without voice inflection. This is not a little footnote in history; this is an account of the most horrific day in human history when an innocent man, the Son of God, was put to death for ignoble reasons by vile men. Feel that.
His mother is wailing for her son. See her memories. The tiny babe of promise born, honored by foreigners and lower class field hands who was brought into the world under suspicious circumstances. The baby cradled and blessed in the Temple by two old strangers. The little toddler with a runny nose who cries all night because of a toothache. Joseph holding up his hands and teaching him to walk. The big brother to James. The young apprentice who can’t go out to play because he needs to finish building a table. The lost adolescent in Jerusalem who amazed the scholars. The faithful son who promises to support his family when work is scarce. Think of the disappointments he suffered. The women he could not woo. The children he could not have himself. He was an uncle. The nieces and the nephews asked, “Uncle Jesus, when are you going to have a family?â€Â
The hours in prayer when his frustrated mortal mind surely felt like no one was listening. The man who could turn stones into bread is hungry and all alone in a wasteland. On those hot days the ebon vultures flew high above him. Their talons anticipate the moment when they could swoop down and pick apart his flesh. “Perhaps this man will die soon and we can fill our stomachs.†At night the wolves howled and salivated as they watched him sleep. What was that noise? A leopard?
The Great Physician had to sit back and watch people he loved get sick and die and not help them because his time was not yet at hand. The opportunities for business he had to turn down. The chance to be a rabbi, maybe have his own synagogue, he had to say, “no.†On how many occasions was he mistreated by Roman soldiers? How much money did he lose via the schemes of his own countrymen? How many chances did he have to take revenge? He is welcomed as a triumphant king but the same wishy-washy masses that lay their cloaks on the dusty road will soon grow tired of the eccentric prophet and his magic tricks. “He did not meet our expectations; be gone with him.â€Â
He could have sent lightning bolts down every day of his life and be completely justified, but, he didn’t. He kept his mouth closed, like a lamb to the slaughter, so he could make that trip up Calvary’s mountain to face an obscenity of justice which he clearly did not deserve. And in that moment, he thought of his mother.
Stretch out your arms. Do it. Don’t just listen to these words and so deceive yourself, do what it says. Stretch out your arms.
Now lift them up about half way and leave them there a minute. Notice the tingle? Does it feel uncomfortable? Good. It should.
Take three deep breaths. Swallow. Close your eyes and whisper, “Woman,…(take a deep breath)… behold thy son.â€Â
Now that is the power of imagination. That is the splendor of knowledge. That is the serenity of Divine Love. That is a reordering of the human experience. That is the Way, the Truth and the Life. And if such an act does not leave you vulnerable, trembling, breathless and drained, then I sincerely pity you.