How great were your sins, Mary?
You, born fresh, free, your DNA wiped clean of fault and fury,
pristine, pure enough for God.
Raising your special Child, was He the perfect Son?
Did you love Him with every fiber of your being, that beautiful baby sucking at your breast,
looking adoringly into His mama’s eyes?
Is a mother’s love righteous?
Righteously, singularly driven,
overwhelmingly, ferociously protective—sinless?
But what sins would we lovingly, selflessly commit to save our children?
Did you see your Son’s future, the betrayals, wrongful arrest, false trial, torture, murder?
Did you wake anxiety-drenched at 3 a.m. begging God to protect Him, begging the Almighty,
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The Chosen One, your Son.
Did you meekly, sinlessly offer Him up, “Not my will, but Thine be done”?
My mother’s heart cannot fathom seeing the crucified, broken flesh of your flesh, sending blessings to His murderers and mockers.
Curses, plagues, slow agonizing deaths, yes!
Would you have stabbed their hollow chests if you held a knife?
“Mary smote the murderers in her heart.”
We, the forever-brokenhearted, live out our days with unanswered questions (certainly, it wasn’t God’s will), sadness, anger, despair, rage, resentment, hatred. All sins in someone’s book.
Does the mother bear sin?
How long will we spend in Purgatory, Mary? We’ve already lived through Hell.
Will we someday know mercy?
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