The Mother Who Watched and Waited
Category : Blogpost
The Mother Who Watched and Waited
Read John 19:25
Mary stood at the foot of the cross, her son’s blood pooling in the dust. She had held him as a baby, fled with him to Egypt, watched him grow in wisdom and favor. Now she watched him die, nailed to a tree between thieves, mocked by soldiers, stripped of his garments. She heard the crowd jeer. She saw the soldiers gamble for his seamless tunic. She smelled the iron tang of blood and the acrid dust of Golgotha.
What was she thinking? Perhaps she remembered the angel Gabriel’s words: “He will be great… the Son of the Most High.” That promise must have felt like a cruel joke in the shadow of the cross. Yet she stayed. She did not run. She stood with John and the other women, bearing witness to the agony of her son.
Mary was only human. She wept. She waited through the long, silent Saturday, a day of grief, of friends bringing food she could not eat, of trying to reconcile prophecy with horror. She probably cried herself to sleep in the midnight hour, because that is what grieving mothers do.
But Sunday came. A woman at the door, breathless with joy: “He is risen! He is not dead!” In an instant, mourning turned to dancing. The promise that had seemed dead was alive again.
Mary teaches us something profound: faith does not require understanding. It requires staying, even when the promise looks like a corpse. It requires waiting through Saturday for the Sunday that God has already ordained. She held onto hope in the deep recesses of her soul, trusting that what God had promised, he would deliver. And he did.