Everybody is still in shock. The brutal events that transpired yesterday remain heavy on everyone’s mind. We just cannot believe it. How could that happen? The sleep that came so easily in the Garden of Gethsemane the night before is nowhere to be found. As a disciple, I ran from those events frightened and confused. And now I’m ashamed. Had I stayed, could I have prevented it? Why didn’t he want us to protect him? Mary cannot speak, but John has reluctantly shared the details with us, seeing those nails go into Jesus’ hands and feet. We’ve seen crucifixion and scourges. Little has been hidden from our imaginations.
What caused that sharp intake of breath when the nails pierced him? Was it the crowd’s discomfort at watching Jesus’ treatment in light of his crimes? Was it the centurion who exclaimed, “surely this is the Son of God!”? Was it Mary’s reaction to the violence done to her son? Was it her realization that Simeon’s words “a sword will pierce your heart too” was in the process of fulfillment? Or at how literally the piercing was playing out in her son’s body? Perhaps it was the Father’s righteous anger at the treatment of his only son? Or was it simply the Savior under extreme distress, in that near-silent moment of shock before the screams? Perhaps it was more than one of these things. Or perhaps it was the Great Breath, in wind and storm, taken in and held in pregnant anticipation of something hidden?
One thing is certain. We are overcome with confusion and shame, what ifs, sights we cannot unsee, and sounds we cannot unhear. Our hearts are broken. We have no comfort for Mary. We are all wrenching our garments and holding our heads. We are all of us silently holding our breath.