And many of the women who followed Jesus from Galilee, ministering to him, were there looking on from afar, among whom were Mary Magdalene, Mary the mother of James and Joses, and the mother of Zebedee’s sons.
Glory to Jesus Christ! Glory forever!
Forgive me, the sinner. God forgives, and I forgive.
In the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit. Amen.
In the composite Gospel for the Unnailing Vespers we read that there were faithful observers of our Lord’s Passion and crucifixion. Of course, there are the crowds and the centurions. Specifically, there are disciples of our Lord who bore witness to these events, but sadly, not many. For indeed, as the Prophet Zechariah foretold, “I will strike the shepherd, and the sheep will be scattered” (Zech 13:7). Peter—gone. James—gone. Andrew—gone. Christ once fed five thousand souls (cf. Matt 14:13-21); the multitudes once thronged about Christ so tightly that he had to get into a boat, and shove off a distance from shore, so as not to be pushed into the water (cf. Luke 5:1-3). In the good times, Christ was sought out, chased after; his garments were yanked on by stray hands from a crowd (cf. Mark 5:21-34). Now, at the height of our Lord’s suffering, he is utterly, utterly abandoned, save but by a few disciples.
“But one of the soldiers pierced His side with a spear, and immediately blood and water came out. … [T]hese things were done that the Scripture should be fulfilled, … “They shall look on Him whom they pierced.” And many women who followed Jesus from Galilee, ministering to Him, were there looking on from afar, among whom were Mary Magdalene, Mary the mother of James and Joses, and the mother of Zebedee’s sons” (Jn 19:34, 37; Matt 27:55-56).
The parallel to this passage from St. John’s Gospel reads,
“Near the cross of Jesus stood his mother, his mother’s sister, Mary the wife of Clopas, and Mary Magdalene, [and] … Jesus saw his mother there, and the disciple whom he loved standing nearby…” (Jn 19:25-26a).
“Near the cross of Jesus stood his mother.”
Last week was Western Holy Week. I saw many videos and Facebook reels and YouTube shorts, all showing similar things: clips from Mel Gibson’s The Passion of the Christ, specifically, those scenes when Christ is going to his voluntary Passion, and the shot would cut to Mary, the Holy Virgin, his mother, and she would have these vivid flashbacks of his childhood. In one scene, he is bearing the cross and he stumbles, and she has a recollection of when he was a child, and he tripped, and she runs to pick him up and comfort him. In the scene from The Passion she moves to do the same—to aid him—but of course, she cannot help her son. She knows his fate. She knows that he is the Messiah, that he must “suffer and die [as it is written of him] and rise from the dead on the third day” (Luke 24:26).
We watch these clips, and in our modern sensibilities, we think, “It’s a bit sensational, isn’t it? That’s not in the Scriptures. That’s drama, not gospel.” And it’s true: these recollections of the Theotokos, these pains that she feels, have certainly been dramatized in works like The Passion of the Christ. That whole movie is sensational in the extreme—so much blood, so many deep wounds. The Passion of the Christ can be criticized on so many theological fronts. But I don’t think it can be criticized for over-sensationalizing the Passion of Our Lord. (pause). The Passion of Our Lord ought to be immensely evocative, intensely emotive in our reflection. (pause). There is no greater tragedy; there is no greater crime than this: the Creator of the universe has been crucified by lawless men. We heard these words last night in the 15th Antiphon:
“Today He who hung the earth upon the waters is hung upon the Cross. He who is King of the angels is arrayed in a crown of thorns. He who wraps the heavens in clouds is wrapped in the purple of mockery. He who in Jordan set Adam free receives blows upon His face. The Bridegroom of the Church is transfixed with nails. The Son of the Virgin is pierced with a spear. We venerate Thy Passion, O Christ.”
This image, this icon of our Lord being nailed to the cross—this preposterous, offensive image—should bring us to tears. This image is not a theological data point. It is flesh and blood. It is a God “merciful and gracious, long-suffering” (Exod 34:6) crucified. It is a son condemned to death. It is a teacher, a friend, a brother betrayed, abandoned.
“[But] Near the cross of Jesus stood his mother.”
At the crucial moment (quite literally, the crux of human history), the Twelve lose it. They panic. They flee. But “near the cross of Jesus stood his mother.” And what did she feel? Again, we heard last night these verses at the Aposticha:
“She groaned in agony from the depth of her soul. Exhausted from tearing her hair and cheeks and beating her breast, She cried out lamenting: ‘Woe is me, O my divine child! Woe is me, O Light of the world! Why have You departed from my eyes, O Lamb of God?’”
Tonight, brethren, we have an opportunity to also stand near the cross of Christ, alongside his mother, and the other women, and St. John. Tomorrow, as our Lord harrows Hades, we are called to keep vigil, if not at the tomb itself, then in our hearts and minds. Even more acutely, we are called to enter into the Passion of Our Lord. At the foot of the Cross, we are called to repent, to renew our baptismal vows, and in the words of the Bridegroom service:
“[To] be crucified with him and die for him to the pleasures of this life… and [as he as promised, he] shall raise [us] up.”
Through the prayers of our holy fathers, O Lord, Jesus Christ, our God, have mercy on us and save us. Amen.
Glory to Jesus Christ! Glory forever!