At the Cross Her Station Keeping

"And Jesus uttered a loud cry, and breathed His last"(Mk 15:37). This is the last utterance of our Lord recorded in the Gospels before He enters death. Perhaps it is not surprising that the Evangelists enshroud this last cry of the God-Man in mystery for- despite its loud volume- it may not have reached the ears of many.

To the majority of us, it seems the inclusion of this element in the passion narrative is but one detail among many others, an added description of an already descriptive narration of Christ's death. Yet, it is telling that Matthew and Mark thought it necessary to include this momentous detail at the pivotal moment of Christ's death. Was this cry "with a loud voice" (Mt 27:50) a sort of groan that any animal might make while suffering? Was it a sort of cry that even the strongest of men might utter while undergoing the process of dying?

The Divine Word- having once brought order and understanding to the void of nothingness at creation- now finds that the last sound He makes on Mt. Calvary is unintelligent to the ears that surround Him. Unintelligible is the One who once called forth light out of darkness; incomprehensible is the One who once delineated the sky above from the earth below; undiscernible is the One who once ordered life and meaning to imbue the cosmos. The earth is silent at the inarticulate cry of the criminal on the cross. Truly, what are we to make of this loud cry before the Lord breathed His last?

In the poem The Man-God, the visionary Maria Valtorta ascribes to this last cry of the Lord a final attempt at a vocalized and intelligible call for help, a cry that was directed to a specific someone. In both Gospel accounts where this cry is mentioned, it follows immediately after that anguished question: "My God, my God, why have you forsaken Me?" (c.f. Mk 15:34 and Mt 28:46). Experiencing the seeming abandonment of His Father, is it too big of a stretch to imagine, as Valtorta does, that Christ was now calling out to His mother?

Amid the chaos of death, as the repercussions of Adam's sin was engulfing Him from all sides, could Jesus have been attempting to ask Mary: "My mother, my mother, have you too abandoned me? My hour has come and is indeed here! That hour of which I spoke to you of at Cana is here! Are you here with me?"

Our Lord's vision was obstructed by the swelling of His eyes and the blood and sweat dripping from His eyebrows. In this time of confusion and torment could Christ not have been searching for audible comfort from the one who had consoled Him so much during His childhood? "If I cannot have my Father, the source of my divinity at this time," He seems to say, "could I not at least have you, my mother, the source of my humanity?"

And could anyone doubt that she who was continuously by her Son's side during His life, and, furthermore, positioned as a stalwart rock of support next to Him during His passion, would respond with anything other than: "Of course I am here, my Son. Of course I am here with You in Your hour."

How difficult it is to watch someone you love suffer. How much easier would it be, if one could, to swap places and take on that suffering oneself rather than stand by and helplessly spectate. Yet, is that not all one can do in such a situation? To each a specific suffering, a specific death, is given, and only the one to whom it is ordained can endure it.

However, can we not by our presence alleviate another's suffering somehow? By letting someone know we are there with them in their turmoil, can that not mollify the harshness of the event?

If she who is called the “Mother of Consolation” responds to our Lord's last cry by the immovability of her presence next to the cross, do we not consider that she is also there for us in our distress? Did our Lord not hand her over to His beloved disciple (c.f. Jn 19:26-27) moments before His cry for that very purpose: to be our comforting mother as she was to Him. And if she was deemed good enough for Him then by all means she ought to be recognized as good enough for us!

Regardless of the sorrows she bears in her heart as she watches us suffer amid the fragility of life, she will remain with us and say yet again: "Of course I am here my son, my daughter. Of course I am here for you in your hour." We need only cry out to her “with a loud cry” and she will be there. And perhaps if those were the words of reassurance our Lord was searching for with His last cry before He entered death, these comforting words will suffice for us as we follow Him there- from this moment forward, now and until the hour of our own death. Amen.