During the pilgrimage to Lourdes (1991), Father Brian Lowery spoke to Italian parents about Mary on Holy Saturday. What follows are the most significant passages from his reflection.
Today is Holy Saturday. Liturgically, it has always been an odd sort of day—suspended between the raw tragedy of Christ's passion on Good Friday and the Easter Vigil tonight. Yet in certain parts of Spain, not far from here, Holy Saturday is deeply felt. There, they remember Mary under the title of the Virgin of Solitude—Maria in solitude. The venerated image shows Mary alone, without the company of Jesus, already buried behind stone. For her, Holy Saturday was a day utterly empty, stripped of consolation.
I imagine Mary on that day thinking to herself: What has happened? How could God allow his plan of love—the one the angel announced to me thirty years ago—to end like this? Why was my son's life cut short by that horrible torture, that humiliation, the abandonment by his friends, death like a criminal?
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Mary had been troubled for days. She felt the fury rising against Jesus in the air around her. Then came word of his arrest. A formal trial, with him before the crowd, already torn open by whips and blows from the guards. He would die. On a cross. She had watched him carry that cross toward Calvary. She stood beneath it through the slow, inhuman hours of his death. For a time she held his broken body and wept over it. And then: nothing. She would never see Jesus again. She would never hear his voice—that voice she loved, his tender voice, the voice that had prayed with her since he was a child, the voice that spoke of God to the crowds, that gave strength and hope through the word of God's kingdom. His smile would never appear in the familiar places, showing her his love as a son.* * *
Is it possible Mary did not understand? Had she not heard with faith the angel's message: "He will be great, and will be called the Son of the Most High; and the Lord God will give to him the throne of his father David, and he will reign over the house of Jacob for ever; and of his kingdom there will be no end"? (Lk 1:32-33) Yes—but the angel said nothing of this final tragedy. Had she not heard Simeon in the temple on the day of presentation, when he said: "and a sword will pierce your own soul too"? (Lk 2:35) Yes, she had a premonition, but vague and undefined. And it was long ago. Had she not been told what Jesus said three times to his disciples: "The Son of Man is to be delivered into the hands of men, and they will kill him; and when he is killed, after three days he will rise"? (Mk 9:31) Probably. But Jesus's prediction was understood by no one and taken seriously by none. Now Mary remains in confusion. She questions. She questions.* * *
Mary spoke her yes to the angel when he asked her to conceive in her womb the one God wished to send into the world. It was a very human yes—like our own yeses, spoken in faith, yet without clear sight of the future: trust in God, in his goodness and his faithfulness. But such trust is always mixed and surrounded by the shadows of human limitation. Only gradually do we come to understand the strange ways God is truly good and faithful, and recognize the wisdom of his plan for us. So faith is something heroic. We speak our yes without knowing how it will involve us or how the project will unfold. The little madonnas with their babies that adorn churches and streets often give us the impression that Mary, as she looks at her son or looks at us, knows everything, is fully informed of the salvation plan God was about to unfold through her son. But that reading is not certain. Mary was one of us. Only later did she come to know the whole mystery—Jesus's death, his resurrection, the coming of the Holy Spirit. Most likely, the look we see in those Madonnas is the look of one who trusts God without fully understanding. I am convinced that God asked Mary to cooperate in his plan of salvation without her grasping its content or its consequences. She was asked only for trust and a generous, open heart. I believe Mary did not know that Jesus was the Son of God, much less God incarnate. She had to arrive at that faith as all other Christians do—in time, through the experience of her life. She clearly did not understand when Jesus, at twelve years old, separated himself from her and Joseph, staying behind in Jerusalem in the temple with the teachers of the law. She could not explain why Jesus left his trade at thirty and began wandering Galilee, preaching God's kingdom. She was startled when he spoke of God with the intimacy of a son that amazed everyone, when he spoke publicly with such authority about God's love for us. She did not expect his miracles and could not understand how they came from her son's hand. After a while, she saw dark clouds gathering on the horizon—the envy of certain powerful people, their indignation, their fear for their own power. As Jesus spoke, it became clear his words would stir up opposition from the authorities, and that these people were very dangerous. She trembled for him.* * *
So what did Mary do when she spoke her yes without knowing everything? The least we can say is that Mary opened herself to many unexpected surprises in her future. Being invited to cooperate with God for the good of humanity was the furthest thing from her mind. And it seems the God of surprises always acts this way. Implicitly, Mary accepted every event in her future history, happy or sad, as part of an actual, mysterious plan. She had trust in God—confidence that he loves us totally and that his ways of love are often not our ways. That trust was the content of the psalms of Israel that Mary prayed as a faithful Jewish woman. But more than that: her stance included a strong desire to serve. Mary wanted to give what she could, great or small; to cooperate with God, come what may. It is love that counts. In secret, love has more effect for humanity's good than any other power. Mary loved.* * *
Here is an image of Mary for Faith and Light: Mary of Holy Saturday, Mary of Solitude, who in loneliness, anguished and bewildered, strains with all her strength to cling to the rock of her trust in God. Did God ask so much suffering of Mary? I do not think suffering for its own sake is what God willed for her. He had an important mission for her. Mary, like you parents of Faith and Light, had to give the world a special person. What God willed was the great heart of one who believes and loves. Like us Christians, Mary also had to learn to believe in Christ through a hard process and the concrete stages of wonder, inability to understand, and yes, even a kind of doubt. We too in Faith and Light often find ourselves in the Holy Saturday of life, and like Mary, we stand before important personal decisions. In faith we try to transcend our situations.* * *
For Faith and Light, there is also the image of Mary when she knew the risen Jesus. The sources do not tell us whether she actually saw her son as others did after his resurrection, or whether she had to believe, like us, on the word of witnesses. It is written nowhere. But we are certain she felt an indescribable joy at knowing, in one way or another through faith, that God had raised him up and that life had triumphed over death. - Brian Lowery, 1991