In that dark night
Away from the crowd
Mary is silent
Wounded by sadness
Eyes longing for answers
But silence provides none
The Mother’s heart in tears
Her face calm
Silent
In the silence of her heart
The Spirit sings praises
To the One who
Even though Redeemer
Was a baby
Helpless
While she breast-fed him
Now her breasts feed
Him only with sighs of
The Mother’s presence
Poignant
In silence
Mary’s silence
Loud as a cry
Her pain like a feather of
A bird who knows
She’s about to die
Her heart treasures mysteries
Of that sacred night
Her silence louder than
A cry
Oh my Son,
When will your painful night
Be gone
Till when will my mother’s heart
See you die
And finally tears
Her holy face
Overwhelmed in heart rains
Her silence springs the holy water
As she is made holy through the
Passion of her Son
In pain
In silence
Holy Mother carries the deep pain
Her holy face mirrors
The crucified agony
As the world’s pain is nailed
On the Cross through the
Wounds of her Son
The sad Mother’s face
Present near the Cross
Offers silent love of her breasts
To her dying Son
Holy face
Cries
In the silence of the night
As her Son
Closed his eyes
In the sleep of the death
Her arms empty
Waiting to be filled
With the presence of the sleeping Lamb
Mary’s silence more painful
Than tears
Repeating humble “yes” in the
Lonely night
Not knowing how
To hold the wounded body of
Her holy Son
© Iva Beranek (Taizé, March 2007)
Image from “The Passion of Christ”
ivaberanek 