The Compassion and Promise of Our Lady of Sorrows
William-Adolphe Bouguereau’s Pietà (1876), Public domain, via Wikimedia Commons
“Let me mingle tears with thee, Mourning Him who mourned for me, all the days that I may live.”
The image of the Pieta (1876) by William-Adolphe Bouguereau was an image I had glanced at a few times over the years, but I believe the Lord had a specific time for me to be moved by that image, so that I could be led to love Him and His mother more deeply, and to be loved by them both in a new and profound way. I do not remember the context of how I came across this image in the fall of 2020, but the eyes of Our Lady caught me. Her eyes, puffy from her tears, revealed an immense sorrow, mourning, loneliness, and a kind of tiredness from experiencing such pain. In her eyes I saw the pains I had experienced over and over since my parents separated sixteen years ago. I saw my own hurt, tears, loneliness, and tiredness, but somehow knew that Mary’s sorrow was exponentially more than I had experienced. Even though her eyes seemed to show she was tired of the immense sorrow she experienced, I then noticed how she clung ever so tightly to the lifeless body of our Lord. Though the angels surrounded them, her eyes seemed to say to me, “Will you leave me in my sorrow?” I was confounded by this experience because it was so real, but seemed so unexpected.
Previously I had come across the Rosary of Seven Sorrows because it was always the next suggestion after my audio rosary. So I began to pray the Rosary of the Seven Sorrows more and more, and I began to study this devotion that was foreign to me. I would also continue to revisit that painting of the Pieta, slowly allowing her to enter the painful corners of my heart.
Around this time, I providentially also found Life-Giving Wounds through an old friend of mine. I had always been yearning for something where I could find some help with the struggles I had from my parents’ divorce. But although I was eager, I was also very afraid. I joined the fall online retreat in 2020, and we were encouraged to journal our story and take the time to grieve our losses. These wounds, which I had suppressed for sixteen years, were terrifying. Because of this, I was always afraid of the interior life, of meditation, and of reflection, because what if I dig up these old wounds and I am left alone with them? For years I thought I had to be completely self-reliant, because of being told “Why can’t you let your parents be happy?”, or I would fear one parent thinking I prefer the other, or causing some sort of conflict.
For a long time, I thought I had to suffer alone, but when I saw that Our Lady was welcoming me to mourn with her, to join my sufferings to hers and the Lord’s, how could I refuse? As she beckoned ever so gently as the perfect mother that she is, and as I would return to her holding the body of our Lord, my fears of those wounds began to dissipate. Because of the deep wounds I held, I was able to be united with her and our Lord in this special way. She cried with me over the effects of sin, not just from others’ but also from my own acting out because of being wounded by others.
So as my unhealthy fear of my wounds began to retreat, it was being replaced by something so much healthier, fear of the Lord. Not fear of being punished by Him, but fear of offending Him. Fear of adding to His and Our Lady’s pain by separating, or dare I say it, divorcing myself from them. In conjunction with counseling and confession, my focus became less on me and more on Him. My focus became how I could be united with Him ever more closely, and to please Him. So Mary began to teach me to suffer well.
Meditating on Mary’s seven sorrows has been a profound prayer experience for me. As many children of divorce know, the wounds of divorce can resurface over and over, especially at the holidays or major life events. And Mary, too, knew long-lasting sorrow, from the moment of St. Simeon’s prophecy that “a sword shall pierce through your own soul” (Luke 2:34-35) when Jesus was only a baby (the first sorrow) through laying Jesus in the tomb (the seventh sorrow). In the second sorrow, the flight into Egypt with St. Joseph and the Child Jesus, I finally felt understood. The years I spent going back and forth between my parents’ different homes, my essential belongings in a bag, and at times not knowing where I was going to sleep was a lonely experience most of my friends and extended family couldn’t relate to. But Our Lady knew the sorrow of having to leave your home all of sudden, hoping you brought everything needed, but she had complete confidence in God’s providence. Because of what Our Lady showed me at the foot of the cross, the steadfast love she had for Jesus, I slowly began to stop habitually acting out sinfully in reaction to my pain, and started to turn to Our Lord and Our Lady. I began experiencing more freedom to choose Christ, and offer up my pain in union with His pain.
In a private revelation to St. Bridget of Sweden, Our Lady made seven promises to those who meditate on her Tears and “Dolors” or sorrows. The first was, “I will grant peace to their families”, and the third, “I will console them in their pains, and I will accompany them in their work.” I am still growing in all of this, as I am very much a slow mover and rather stubborn, but I believe the progress is very real. I have seen so much fruit from the intercession of our Sorrowful Mother, that I have complete trust in her promises. Our Mother, who knows our pain, is waiting for us to run to her.
About the Author:
Gregory’s parents separated and divorced during his early adolescent years. He attended the Life-Giving Wounds retreat in 2020, finding a place where he was understood and heard. Gregory lives in Texas, and enjoys sports, the outdoors, and learning about the Catholic faith.
Reflection Questions for Small Groups or Individuals:
Take some time to revisit the painting of the Pieta, slowly allowing Mary to enter the painful corners of your heart. What thoughts come to mind? What speaks to you?
Like the author, in the past have you been fearful of the “interior life, of meditation, and of reflection, because what if I dig up these old wounds and I am left alone with them?”
Is there a piece of art where you have felt you “could be led to love [Jesus] and His mother more deeply, and to be loved by them both in a new and profound way?” What was it and why?