Overview:

The Memorial of Our Lady of Sorrows

A Reflection for the Memorial of Our Lady of Sorrows

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. (Jn 19:25-27)

Find today’s readings here.

In Ignatian circles, it’s common to hear about how God speaks to us through our feelings and our desires. It’s a beautiful, powerful insight about how personally God relates to us and how human traits lead human souls toward the divine. But do you ever feel the temptation to reduce this wisdom to something simpler and more palatable than what it actually is?

Sometimes I do. I’ve spent a lot of time focusing on my positive feelings and desires and how they’re making God’s presence clear to me. When I feel a sense of peace and calm, I recognize God making Godself known to me. I slow down and quiet down enough to listen and hear God’s voice. When I hit my stride and enjoy honing my talents and skills, I believe God is telling me a bit more about where I vocationally fit. When I’m in the company of people I love and connect with, it’s easy to comprehend a piece of what God’s love is like.

What about when my emotions are a bit darker? What about when I desire something I can’t have? What about when I can’t connect with a sense of peace or joy because sorrow and confusion rule the day?

It’s tempting to equate these kinds of experiences with a feeling of being far from God. But what if that understanding is missing something?

On today’s Memorial of Our Lady of Sorrows, we are encouraged to meditate on a grieving mother who understands those times of darkness. In the Gospel reading from John, Mary stands at the foot of the Cross as Christ suffers before his death. She is joined by two other women—in fact, two others Marys! Mary Magdalene and Mary the mother of Clopas are with her when Jesus looks upon her and entrusts her to “the disciple there whom he loved.” After her son’s death, Mary lives with and is looked after by the beloved disciple.

In the greatest moment of pain, what matters most is crystal clear. Before Christ loses his life, his mother and his friends are at the front of his mind. Their ongoing wellbeing and care is of concern for him until the end. And for Mary, a sense of family can therefore continue, even after she loses the child that meant everything to her, the one she worried about and doted on until the very moment of his death.

Sorrow can be generative, illuminating. It can cause superfluous concerns to fade completely out of view in favor of the most essential. In this way, God is still speaking to us in our desires, through our emotions. Though it’s painful, if we take it seriously, it can still bring us closer to God.

When we lose a loved one, as Mary did before her own eyes, we are crushed by the desire to continue to be with them in the ways we once could, a desire we now can’t fulfill. Where now do we put all the love and care that we want to channel directly to them?

Perhaps being unflinchingly present to the sorrow and suffering can guide that love somewhere. Perhaps that love now finds a home in the things we loved to do with that person, the causes they cared about most, the family and friends who also knew them and appreciated how special they were. Perhaps in prayer there is still a way we can connect with them. I imagine the ways in which Mary picked up the pieces of her broken heart, slowly, and found new ways and things to love. God is still present in the sorrow. As long as we are still feeling the desires of our hearts, God is still asking us to respond.

Molly Cahill is Associate Director of Digital Strategy at America. She was a 2020-2021 O'Hare Fellow.