"Now by that cross thou tak'st thy final station,
And shar'st the last dark trial of thy Son;
Not with weak tears or woman's lamentation,
But with high, silent anguish, like His own."
—H.B. Stowe.
As she stands there we seem to read her thoughts: "Can that be He, my babe of Bethlehem, my beautiful boy of Nazareth, in manhood my joy and my hope! Are those hands the same that have been so lovingly held in mine; those arms, outstretched and motionless, the same that have so often been clasped around me! Oh! that I might staunch His wounds, and moisten His parched lips, and gently lift that thorny crown from His bleeding brow."
But this cannot be. There is being fulfilled Simeon's prophecy, uttered as he held her infant in his arms,—a foreboding which has cast a mysterious shadow on the joys of her life.
"Beside the cross in tears
The woeful mother stood,
Bent 'neath the weight of years,
And viewed His flowing blood;
Her mind with grief was torn,
Her strength was ebbing fast,
And through her heart forlorn,
The sword of Anguish passed."
She can only draw yet nearer to His cross and give the comfort of a mother's look, and perhaps receive the comfort of a look from Him, and—oh, if it can be—a word of comfort from His lips for the mother-heart. Perhaps for a moment her thoughts are on the future,—her lonely life, without the sympathy of her other sons who believed not on their brother. Oh! that they were like John, to her already more of a son than they.
In childhood Jesus had been "subject" to her: in youth and manhood He had been faithful to her. In the Temple He had thought of her as His mother, and of God as His Father. But no exalted relation, no greatness to which He had attained on earth, had made Him disloyal to her. While claiming to be the Son of God, He was still the loving son of Mary. Such He would show Himself to be on the cross. We thank John for the record of that moment when "Jesus ... saw His mother." "The people stood beholding" Him, but His eyes were not on them; nor on those passing by His cross wagging their heads, nor the malefactor at His side reviling Him; nor on the chief priest and scribes, the elders and soldiers mocking Him; nor the rulers deriding Him. His thought was not on them, nor even on Himself in His agonies, as His eyes rested keenly on His mother. It was a deep, tender, earnest gaze.
John tells that Jesus also "saw" "the disciples standing by, whom He loved." The Lord turned His head from His mother to His disciple. This could be His only gesture pointing them one to the other.
The prayer for His murderers had apparently been uttered when His hands were pierced, before the cross was raised. He may have spoken once after it was elevated, before He saw the two special objects of His love. His eyes met His mother's. She saw Him try to speak. The utterance of His parched lips, with gasping breath, was brief, full of meaning and tenderness—"Woman! behold, thy son!" Then turning toward John He said, "Behold! thy mother!"
In these words Jesus committed His mother to John without asking whether he would accept the charge.
"From that hour the disciple took her unto his own home." It is a question whether or not the phrase, "from that hour," is to be taken literally. It may be that the blessed words, "mother" and "son," were as a final benediction, after which John led her away, and then returned to the cross. Or, it may be that the mother-heart compelled her to witness the closing scenes.