I've always wondered who it was that laid our beloved Jesus into the arms of our Holy Mother Mary after He was taken down from the cross. Was it the soldier who pierced His Holy side and took out the nails that were hammered into His precious hands or was it Joseph of Arimethea? Was it an onlooker who stayed from a short distance from Mary watching Hum take his last breath? Was it Saint John, beloved disciple whom Jesus loved and was given to Mary his mother?
Whoever it was, what a blessed yet tragically sad moment laying our sweet Jesus, all bruised and bloody, wearing the wicked crowd of thorns, into the arms of our Holy sorrowful Mother, who's agony would not be completed until He was once again in Her arms.
A sword of sorrow WAS piercing her heart just like Simeon had predicted that day in the temple. She knew this day would Surely come. But to this extent? This Sorrow? Unmeasurable beyond all belief.
How alone she must have felt that moment. Weeping at this once vibrant and Holy Son of Hers. Her sorrow and pain will never be equaled. His sufferings for our sins and the sins of the whole world will never be equaled. Only united by our surrender to join our suffererings with theirs. Oh! How the Heavens must have cried and yet rejoiced that it was now complete. Salvation to all of us because of 1 act of love from our merciful God. God, who He Himself was willing to do, all of this, just for us, unworthy as we are.
Contemplating this, 1 of Mary's 7 sorrows, helps keep me grounded and is an incentive to always try to do better in avoiding their occasions of sin. When my struggles of the day, or "my sorrows" over different things get to be too much, I think of how Mary suffered that day. Ultimately holding Jesus, in Her arms after His death.