Pieta

since I conceived you not by flesh but through the Holy Spirit you really are the Son of God, the Almighty: however, for you came to the world through my womb you also, surely, are the son of this humble woman because you are the only one who is able to and has to carry the whole world’s anguish that from the beginning of the day, you came into the world in the dark and chilling morning with a single blinking candle light in the barn for you were raised by this poor woman, you never had an arrogance of a child of noble birth, nor had experience in the material abundance of a child of a wealthy family as you grow older you became an apprentice to a carpenter and worked hard to support this poor family, and then, when time has ripened to leave the home for fulfillment of the God’s will you held my hands in your hands with the tears and poured the most dutiful son’s tender caring affection that you have within the heart of hearts in you the Son of the Almighty God in heaven, the only Lord and my proud son; you are such a wonderful person that when I asked at Cana you paid me back with the six jars of fine wine for the neighbor’s wedding reception though your time has not yet come, you honored this woman only because it was your mother’s request, only because you wanted not to hurt this woman's pride on the cross, though you were suffering, without regard to your own pain, you turned your face away from the mother to ease her moment of desperation, to alleviate the troubled heart of this sorrowful woman and you closed your eyes because you know the anguish that of the mother who has to witness the brutal and pitiless execution of her own son can only know O my Lord, when the blood from your forehead hit in my eyes it turned into the bitter tears that would never be dried, when the blood clotted spikes in your hands and feet pierced through this woman’s troubled heart it became an indelible grudge that never be forgotten O my Lord, after you have gone through all these agonies that no one ever endured, you are in this poor woman’s weakened and therefore trembling arms at last, O my dear son, you are in your mother’s tender bosom that you have always longed for; however, you have not yet spoken a word please my Lord, for the sake of her bitter tears, say a comforting word to the woman who is burdened with great sorrow; please my beloved son, for the sake of her broken heart, but once, say ‘mother’ to this helpless woman