This
is not the feast of the maid who gave Gabriel her fiat, but of the woman who
lived out the pain of its consequences and gained hard-won wisdom from the
things she stored in her heart. This is
the woman whose heart was pierced, who sat with the apostles in the upper room
following the crucifixion, who leaned on St. John for comfort in her old age.
It
is always pleasant to remember the young girl at the Annunciation, but this is
the feast that counts the cost of her yes.
This is the Virgin who understands any sorrow, who has life’s wisdom to
give, and whose own wounds intercede before God on behalf of her children.
By
the Cross her station keeping,
Stood
the mournful Mother weeping,
Where
He hung, her dying Lord.
For
her soul, of joy bereaved,
Torn
with anguish, deeply grieved,
Felt
the sharp and piercing Sword.
O
How sad and sore distressed,
Was
that Mother, highly blessed,
Of
the Sole- begotten One.
Deep
the woe of her affliction,
When
she saw the Crucifixion,
Of
her ever glorious Son.
Who,
on Christ’s dear Mother gazing,
Torn
by anguish 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 chastised,
She
her Jesus saw despised, torn with nails,
With
thorns entwined.
Saw
her Son from judgment taken,
And
in death by all forsaken,
Till
His spirit He resigned.
Mother,
fount of all devotion,
Stir
in me thy grief’s emotion,
Let
my tears be joined with thine.
Let
my heart be always burning,
Still
for love of Jesus yearning,
Let
his will be found in mine. Amen.
Stabat Mater Dolorosa
Hymn of Vigils
