a mother's wounded soul
Early in Luke's Gospel, blessed Mary, the mother of God, receives a shocking prophecy from Simeon in the Temple: "...a sword will pierce your own soul, too." (Luke 2:35) The Greek word for soul is where we get the English word psyche. Simeon foretells that Mary's psyche/soul will be pierced by the death of her child, Jesus. This past Mothers' Day, as we celebrated mothers, I was deeply aware of all the mothers and all parents who have lost children. The pain from the death of a child can drive a person insane: a wounded psyche, a wounded soul. Simeon shares an ancient wisdom that too many mothers have faced; to experience the death of a child is soul piercing. It overturns the expected order of life, and it takes intentional soul work to take the steps toward healing.
In my 8 short years of being a priest, I feel like I have already known too many mothers who have lost their babies. The first time was while I was still in seminary, and that already seemed like more than enough. Most recently was a mother who's son drown in the surf here on our beach. Although he was a grown man, he was still her baby. I knew enough from experience not to try to offer platitudes, but to get right to the matter: her soul was pierced, and she needed comfort and healing. There were no words to bring her son back. Only to offer the presence of my own wounded soul, and to invite others to lift her and her family up in prayer. We prayed for an awareness that her son's soul was with God, and we prayed for the healing to begin for her own soul.
The other amazing thing I have experienced from a mother who lost a child, was that her slow healing came from mothering others. Sometimes it was another soul-pierced mother, sometimes it was someone who just needed to be shown love. The source of that love was the wound in her soul. She used that wound to heal others just like our own wounded Savior. The vulnerability of the trauma of losing a child made her the perfect mother of another's wounded soul.
We all carry these wounds inside of us whether from death or other heartache. The wounds can be crippling, and even debilitating. In the worst case, they can be hidden to fester and grow worse. They can also be the unlikely source of life. A dear friend of mine recently wrote, reflecting on her own journey of healing from her father's death, "like Mary and her companions [standing at Jesus' tomb], I simply couldn't see a life outside the walls of my own loss. It sometimes takes an angel (or a really smart therapist) to remind us that death never wins--that our greatest hope and brightest lights are shining bright waiting for us to remember Jesus' words and share the joy of Easter." Each one of us, at some point in our lives, needs those angels, and sometimes we need to be the angel for someone else.
During Sunday worship, where I sit in our church, I can see out a side window into a garden with a statue of blessed Mary. She stands with her arms open in a motherly gesture of welcome. She reminds me that mother church, at her best, always has open arms to welcome in all of us wounded souls. She stands ready to teach others how to transform those wounds into sources of healing. In John's Gospel, Jesus looks down from the cross at his mother and the beloved disciple, and says, "Woman, here is your son.," and to the disciple, he says, "Here is your mother." He unites them in their sorrow to be the source of strength for one another. Jesus makes them family; responsible for one another.
A mother's pierced soul may never heal completely, but it can become a life-giving source of healing in the world. It can lead to a level of vulnerability needed to lead others to life, back to life from the grave of grief. We all carry these hidden pierced souls, and perhaps my wounds can be a source of healing for yours. Perhaps your pierced soul can be the source of loving healing for another. We are directed by Jesus to turn to one another. We are invited to transform the death-dealt wounds of our souls into fountains of life.
Originally published in the South Jetty
In my 8 short years of being a priest, I feel like I have already known too many mothers who have lost their babies. The first time was while I was still in seminary, and that already seemed like more than enough. Most recently was a mother who's son drown in the surf here on our beach. Although he was a grown man, he was still her baby. I knew enough from experience not to try to offer platitudes, but to get right to the matter: her soul was pierced, and she needed comfort and healing. There were no words to bring her son back. Only to offer the presence of my own wounded soul, and to invite others to lift her and her family up in prayer. We prayed for an awareness that her son's soul was with God, and we prayed for the healing to begin for her own soul.
The other amazing thing I have experienced from a mother who lost a child, was that her slow healing came from mothering others. Sometimes it was another soul-pierced mother, sometimes it was someone who just needed to be shown love. The source of that love was the wound in her soul. She used that wound to heal others just like our own wounded Savior. The vulnerability of the trauma of losing a child made her the perfect mother of another's wounded soul.
We all carry these wounds inside of us whether from death or other heartache. The wounds can be crippling, and even debilitating. In the worst case, they can be hidden to fester and grow worse. They can also be the unlikely source of life. A dear friend of mine recently wrote, reflecting on her own journey of healing from her father's death, "like Mary and her companions [standing at Jesus' tomb], I simply couldn't see a life outside the walls of my own loss. It sometimes takes an angel (or a really smart therapist) to remind us that death never wins--that our greatest hope and brightest lights are shining bright waiting for us to remember Jesus' words and share the joy of Easter." Each one of us, at some point in our lives, needs those angels, and sometimes we need to be the angel for someone else.
During Sunday worship, where I sit in our church, I can see out a side window into a garden with a statue of blessed Mary. She stands with her arms open in a motherly gesture of welcome. She reminds me that mother church, at her best, always has open arms to welcome in all of us wounded souls. She stands ready to teach others how to transform those wounds into sources of healing. In John's Gospel, Jesus looks down from the cross at his mother and the beloved disciple, and says, "Woman, here is your son.," and to the disciple, he says, "Here is your mother." He unites them in their sorrow to be the source of strength for one another. Jesus makes them family; responsible for one another.A mother's pierced soul may never heal completely, but it can become a life-giving source of healing in the world. It can lead to a level of vulnerability needed to lead others to life, back to life from the grave of grief. We all carry these hidden pierced souls, and perhaps my wounds can be a source of healing for yours. Perhaps your pierced soul can be the source of loving healing for another. We are directed by Jesus to turn to one another. We are invited to transform the death-dealt wounds of our souls into fountains of life.
Originally published in the South Jetty
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