Catholic Meditations: Pieta

Pieta

No day like this, ever.

Did you sit there, Mother,
When they laid Him in your lap
And remember the angel with his words of promise,
And remember the words of Simeon with his words of warning,
And remember your Son nestled in your lap,
Small and warm and new,
Smiling in the sun?

As you brushed the blood soaked hair off His forehead,
And washed his face, one last time,
Counting every bruise, mark, wound,
Did you think of all the times of danger,
Fleeing with Him next to your breast
On the road to Egypt?
Or how the villagers in Nazareth
Tried to cast Him off a cliff,
All those other moments where his very presence
Showed that He was, indeed,
A sign of contention,
A sign of contradiction?

One last kiss,
One last giving of your yes to the Father
As you embraced fully the sword buried in your heart
As they buried your Heart in the tomb
For the long midnight ahead.

When Jesus was dead, He was taken down from the Cross. Mary received Him with outstretched arms; she then pressed Him to her heart, and examined that head wounded by the thorns, those hands pierced with nails, and that body all lacerated and torn. "Ah, Son," she said, "to what has Your love for men reduced You!" But the disciples, fearing that with her Son clasped in her arms she would die of grief, out of compassion approached her, and with reverential determination, removed her Son from her arms, wrapped Him in the winding sheet, and carried Him away to bury Him. The other holy women accompanied Him, and with them the sorrowful Mother followed her Son to the tomb; where, having herself deposited Him with her own hands, she bade Him a last farewell and retired.

St. Louis de Monfort

Please join me in meditating on the death of our Lord and the sorrows of his most Blessed Mother.

In your tears, O grieving Mother,
What a world of sorrow shimmers,
While the rot of hate now simmers
As they vie with one another
To add shame to the weight he bears.

In your tears, O grieving Mother,
Echoes all the weight of sin
Pain and anguish entered in
Since Eva listened to another
And the world grew rife with tares.

In your tears, O grieving Mother,
Witness to a great God's gift
Of how he chose to heal the rift
Sacrificing for all others
Lamb of God, the cross now bears.

In your tears, O grieving Mother
I see the sorrow veil your face
As you penetrate that place
Your greatest yes to give the Father,
The pain of your son's death you bear.

Let me grieve with you, my Mother,
As you sit in sorrow deep,
God pierce my heart that I might weep
For the sins of self and brother
That lead you to such pain and care.

At the Cross Her station keeping
Stood the mournful Mother weeping,
Close to Jesus to the last.

Through Her Heart, His sorrow sharing,
All His bitter anguish bearing,
Lo! the piercing sword had passed.

O how sad and sore distressed
Was that Mother, highly blessed,
Of the Sole-Begotten One.

Mournful, with Heart's prostration,
Mother meek, the bitter Passion
Saw She of Her glorious Son.

Who on Christ's dear Mother gazing,
In Her trouble so amazing,
Born of woman, would not weep?

Who on Christ's dear Mother thinking,
Such a cup of sorrow drinking,
Would not share Her sorrow deep?

For His people's sins rejected,
Saw Her Jesus unprotected.
Saw with thorns, with scourges rent.

Saw Her Son from judgement taken,
Her Beloved in death forsaken,
Till His Spirit forth He sent.

Fount of love and holy sorrow,
Mother, may my spirit borrow
Somewhat of Your woe profound.

Unto Christ with pure emotion,
Raise my contrite heart's devotion,
To read love in every wound.

Those Five Wounds on Jesus smitten,
Mother! in my heart be written,
Deep as in Your own they be.

You, Your Savior's Cross did bare,
You, Your Son's rebuke did share.
Let me share them both with Thee.

In the Passion of my Maker,
Be my sinful soul partaker,
Weep 'til death and weep with You.

Mine with You be that sad station,
There to watch the great salvation,
Wrought upon the atoning Tree.

Virgin, you of virgins fairest,
May the bitter woe Thou bearest
Make on me impression deep.

Thus Christ's dying may I carry,
With Him in His Passion tarry,
And His Wounds in memory keep.

May His Wound both wound and heal me,
He enkindle, cleanse, strengthen me,
By His Cross my hope and stay.

May He, when the mountains quiver,
From that flame which burns forever,
Shield me on the Judgement Day.

Jesus, may Your Cross defend me,
And Your Mother's prayer befriend me;
Let me die in Your embrace.

When to dust my dust returns,
Grant a soul, that to You yearns,
In Your paradise a place. Amen.

Stabat Mater dolorósa
Juxta Crucem lacrimósa,
Dum pendébat Filius.

Cujus ánimam geméntem,
Contristátam et doléntem,
Pertransivit gladius.

O quam tristis et afflicta
Fuit illa benedicta
Mater Unigéniti!

Quae maerébat, et dolébat,
Pia Mater, dum vidébat
Nati poenas inclyti.

Quis est homo, qui non fleret,
Matrem Christi si vidéret
In tanto supplicio?

Quis non posset contristári,
Christi Matrem contemplári
Doléntem cum Filio?

Pro peccátis suae gentis
Vidit Jesum in torméntis,
Et flagéllis súbditum.

Vidit suum dulcem natum
Moriéndo desolátum,
Dum emisit spíritum.

Eja mater, fons amóris,
Me sentíre vim dolóris
Fac, ut tecum lúgeam.

Fac, ut árdeat cor meum
In amándo Christum Deum,
Ut sibi compláceam.

Sancta Mater, istud agas
Crucifixi fige plagas
Cordi meo válide.

Tui nati vulneráti,
Tam dignáti pro me pati,
Poenas mecum dívide.

Fac me tecum pie flere,
Crucifixo condolére,
Donec ego víxero.

Juxta Crucem tecum stare,
Et me tibi sociáre
In planctu desídero.

Virgo vírginum praeclára,
Mihi jam non sis amára:
Fac me tecum plángere.

Fac, ut portem Christi mortem,
Passiónis fac consórtem,
Et plagas recólere.

Fac me plagis vulnerári,
Fac me Cruce inebriári,
Et cruó re Fílii.

Flammis ne urar succénsus,
Per te, Virgo, sim defénsus
In die judícii.

Christe, cum sit hinc exíre
Da per Matrem me veníre
Ad palmam victóriae.

Quando corpus moriétur,
Fac, ut ánimae donétur
Paradísi glória. Amen. Allelúja.

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