Log onto my YouTube Lenten series
where I talk in greater detail about the third of the Lord's last seven
statements on the cross. You can find it
here:
To
His Last Breaths
By
Richard Maffeo
The
last seven words (statements, actually) of Jesus as He hung on Golgotha's cross
are among the most encouraging of all Scripture. Here is the third of the
seven:
When Jesus saw his mother and the
disciple whom he loved standing beside her, he said to his mother, “Woman, here is your son.” Then he said
to the disciple, “Here is your mother.”
And from that hour the disciple took her into his own home. (John 19:26-27)
Most
representations of the crucified Jesus are remarkably sanitized. Rarely have I
seen more than a few streaks of red paint around the wounds in His hands,
forehead, feet, and side. But that is not at all what Jesus looked like when He
died.
It
started with flogging. Soldiers tied Jesus’ hands to the whipping post and
stripped off his robe. Then one of them swung rock and bone- embedded whips
against Jesus’ back, buttocks, and legs, slicing into His flesh until strips of
skin hung from his body. Small veins and arteries oozed and spurted blood with
each heartbeat and dripped down His back, His thighs, His legs. The pavement at
His feet was moist with dirt and congealed blood.
After
the vicious beating, Jesus dragged his cross to the execution site where
soldiers tossed it to the ground and threw Him onto it. The spikes they hammered
through His wrists and feet tore through exquisitely sensitive nerves. Electrifying
pain exploded along His limbs.
As He hung between heaven and earth, breathing became an all-consuming struggle. Gravity pulled relentlessly on His diaphragm, forcing Him to repeatedly push against His feet and flex His arms to breathe. Yet, every movement intensified the strain on His ravaged nerves, and each breath forced His bleeding back against the splintered wood, reopening the raw wounds. Every breath, every movement, every moment on the cross inflamed His torture.
As He hung between heaven and earth, breathing became an all-consuming struggle. Gravity pulled relentlessly on His diaphragm, forcing Him to repeatedly push against His feet and flex His arms to breathe. Yet, every movement intensified the strain on His ravaged nerves, and each breath forced His bleeding back against the splintered wood, reopening the raw wounds. Every breath, every movement, every moment on the cross inflamed His torture.
It is
that picture in my mind of His horrific and bloody death that makes His Third
Word – this one to His mother and His disciple – so poignant. And it is there
that I so often miss the significance of the moment.
Jesus –
his eyes alternately glazing over from dehydration, exhaustion, and throbbing
pain, and then focusing on the soldiers gambling for his clothing, and the mob
cursing and jeering – at one point His eyes locked with His mother’s.
I have
sometimes wondered what she was thinking as she watched her only Son suffer. It
must be a parent’s worst nightmare to bury a child, and Mary was living that
nightmare. Surely Simeon’s prophecy bit at her memory, “A
sword will pierce through your own soul” (Luke 2:35).
Jesus gathered
His rapidly waning strength and, in the language and culture of the day, fixed
His eyes on hers and spoke tenderly, “Woman, here is your son.” And to John, He
said, “Here is your mother.” In 21st
century language, He said, “My dear mother, My work is nearly done. John will now
take care of you.” And to His beloved disciple He said, “John, I am counting on
you to take care of My mom. Treat her as your own mother.”
St.
Paul would say decades later, “Whoever does not provide for relatives,
and especially for family members, has denied the faith and is worse than an unbeliever” (1 Timothy
5:8). St. James would write, “Religion that is pure and undefiled
before God, the Father, is this: to care for orphans and widows in their
distress . . . (James 1:27). And speaking to those
who thought themselves religious, Jesus responded, “Moses
said, ‘Honor your father and your mother’; and, ‘Whoever speaks evil of father
or mother must surely die.’ But you say that if anyone tells father or mother,
‘Whatever support you might have had from me is Corban’ (that is, an offering
to God) — then you no longer permit doing anything for a
father or mother, thus making void the word of God” (Mark 7:10-13).
Despite
his nearly incomprehensible agony, Jesus continued to do what was right and
necessary. In one of His last acts in life, He made certain His parent would be taken care of after
His death.
True
religion is not simply attending Mass, receiving the Sacraments, devoting
ourselves to prayer and the study of the Scriptures. True faith requires we
take care of others – and especially our parents, if they are still alive.
Are we tender
toward them? Patient? Do we treat them with dignity and respect? Do they need
financial help? Do we often call or visit? Do we model the Christian lifestyle
they taught us and lived before us during our years in their home? St. John, in his third epistle wrote: I have no greater joy than to hear of my
children walking in the truth (3 John 4). Oh, how great a joy it is for
aging parents to know their children walk in Truth.
To His
last breaths, Jesus took care to take care of His mother. How ought we who
follow in Christ’s footsteps behave toward our parents?
2 comments:
One of the things that disturbs me the most about the push for assisted suicide and euthanasia is that weak and elderly parents will be bullied to die by their children just to get them out of the way and so the kids can get their hands on Mom and Dad's money. Parents are becoming a means to an end. I am very grateful that we took the best care of our parents as possible and that they knew we loved them before they died. To be able to say I have no regrets is huge, and to say that I wish I could have done more for them says a lot about our relationship.
I think we are living in an era that will soon mirror Nazi Europe. That frightens me. I am glad to remember that God is still on the throne and that He gives us the privilege to still share with those who will listen to the truth of salvation.
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