It’s a marble sculpture of Jesus and his mother Mary after he died on the cross.  Michelangelo created this masterpiece at the age of 24.  It resides in St. Peter’s Basilica in Rome.

Fifty years ago, I took a Philosophy of Education course where the only assignment was to submit something in writing each week about teaching.  I spent part of one afternoon in the University of Lethbridge Library, gazing at a photo of La Pietà ([The Lady of] Pity) … and writing.

Fifty years later, I’m doing it again …

***

What a wonder in the downturned eyes and the soft fingers of the left hand.  Mary’s grief flows to her son, and out into the world.  To outlive your child.  To see him rejected and spat upon.  Knowing that the man you gave birth to was speaking something brand new: Love your neighbour.  And that so few heard.

The body in your lap is still warm.  It still shines with Divinity.  And yet the lips will open no more.  At least the pain of nails in the hands and feet is gone … but the pain of humanity remains.

My son spoke of “something else”

Who will have ears to hear?

The moments can be so quiet, and yet so full.  Seeing mother and son can reawaken us to the bigness of life, the grandness of true human connection.

The sculpture shows an aura of goodness, inviting us to give in to the majesty of life and death.  We are brought to silence when in the presence of love.

1499 … 2026.  All the same.

***

May St. Peter’s Basilica grace my path before I die

I have an old friend to see