Meditation on a Crucifix

I see the tree cradling Your Body as You are delivered from its wood.  Oh, Blessed Tree to be blessed to hold Our Savior's body!  Shreds of flesh and blood absorbed in its fibers; deep, thunderous stains of heaven in the wood.  Iron nails, hardened and tempered in the fire, by the metal smith who pounded them, not knowing the nails would  be blessed to hold You prisoner on the Cross.  Blood stained, the nails are cast off to the side.  The crown, the crown You wore on the cross, the crown saturated with the storm of blood, hair, and flesh ripped from Your skull lays next to the nails.  King of the Jews!  King of All!

Your Mother holds Your body and weeps in silence.   Her tears clean your face.  The storm is silent and past.  Your Mother gently wipes Your Sacred Contenance with her veil.  She carries Your Blood in her heart and on her hands.  Angels surround You both.  They worship and adore their Lord.  They give strength to Your Mother, the first Tabernacle of Your Body.  Her faith is tested as she holds You,  her divine Son, in her arms. Cold flesh. Blue flesh. No breath in Your Body.  Eyes that no longer see.  Hands that no longer heal.  Feet that no longer walk.  Lips that no long sing the blessings of the Father.  A heart that is still and a heart that is shattered.  The sorrow cannot be contained.  The world weeps with Your Mother.

She is supported by those around her, or she could not stand.  Her arms reach out to You, but time demands that she let You go so that you may rest in Your tomb before sunset, as stated in the law.  John holds her close as they walk behind those carrying Your Body.  The angels weep and surround the small group as they follow the road to the Tomb.  The Tomb is cold.  There is an altar, a shelf, for Your Body.  Your are wrapped in burial cloths and covered with Aloes.  The angels guard your body at Your Head, at Your Feet, and at Your sides.  The candles flicker, and then are silently blown out.  The light is gone.

The soldiers wait at  the mouth of the open tomb.  They have been given orders to seal Your tomb with a rock that will not easily move into place, even with so many men working.  Their heads hang in shame as Your Sorrowing Mother walks past.  She reaches out to them with arms of love.  One of them catches her eye and touches her hand.  Beautiful Mother, you bring souls to Jesus!  John pulls her closer.  She weeps.  Her hands touch the soldier before he puts his arms to the rock.  Their eyes meet and she prays.  His eyes fill with tears as he sees this sorrowful mother.

She hears the stone being rolled into place.  How they will finish the burial, she does not know, but she only knows that God will take care of His Son.  The angels walk with them as John takes her home.  His Mother now, our Mother, too.  Sadness beyond knowing.  Tears of sorrow. 

Blessed Mother of God,
Pray for us!  May we join you in bringing souls to your Son.
Praised be Jesus!
Amen.