Thursday, April 7, 2011

The Meeting of the Eyes


Dear Parishioners,
Back in 1982, when I was reflecting on the Stations of the Cross during Lent, I wrote the following poem when thinking about the 4th Station:  Jesus Meets His Mother.  I pray that it may lead you to a deeper insight and appreciation of a Mother’s love for her Son and a Son’s love for his Mother.
The Meeting of the Eyes (The Fourth Station)
                On Via Crucis the time arrived
                         When they should meet each other.
                        He bore the timber:  the saving cross;
                        --Redemption out of Adam’s loss—
                        Slowly he neared his Mother.

She stood and watched her only Son
                        And shared the pain he knew.
                                                A feeling so helpless and ever-intense;
                                                An ache in the womb:  her motherly sense
                        That longed to do more than view.

His face was covered with dirt and blood;
                        His body all scarred from beating.
                                                A crown of thorns upon his head
                                                Pressed cruelly down until he bled.
                        --Yet his eyes awaited the meeting.

He knew his Mother to be close by;
                        She carried him in his youth.
                                                Upward he sought and she was there;
                                                Her aid by presence and inner prayer.
                        She cried to the Father for truth.

And now their eyes had pierced each other;
                        All hurt and sorrow laid bare.
                                                Her eyes peered into eternity—
                                                His eyes beheld her purity—
                        The words unspoken spoke care.

Flowed down his brow this Victim’s blood,
                        Co-mingled with a tear.
                                                His sight more blind as each drop fell
                                                Into those eyes she knew so well.
                        --Hers filled with pain and fear.

From distance still she kept her watch
                        As soldiers forced him on.
                                                Her will unceasing in its trust
                                                Of God, all-loving and all-just.
                        Life’s victory shall be won.

Internal pangs:  a sword so sharp;
                        She tended upon the death-spot.
                                                Though in her heart she yearned to be
                                                Fastened also upon the tree,
                        --Her silence continued the fiat.
                                                                                                                                                © 1982 Edward F. Namiotka

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