I stand at the foot of the cross, the weight of my sonās suffering pressing down on me until I can scarcely breathe. His naked body, broken and bleeding, hangs before meālife draining from him with every ragged breath. The Roman soldiers cast lots for his garments. The chief priests mock him. The crowd jeers.
I carried him in my womb. Nursed him. Watched him take his first steps. Held him when he cried. And now, I stand by, powerless, as he suffers the most brutal death. What mother allows this for her child? What mother stands and watches as her son is wrongly convicted, tortured, humiliated, and left to die?
If Joseph were his father, I would speak up. No, I would shout, “He’s not the Messiah! He was conceived naturally like all children. Have mercy on us! Please, let him go!”
If Joseph were his father, Yeshua would be just a man. A good man, perhaps. A kind man. But nothing more.
If Joseph were his father, then yes, my son is a liar, a blasphemer, and he deserves this death. But before it came to this, I would beg the religious rulers to spare his life.
If Joseph were his father, then I have spent thirty-three years watching my son deceive the world. And worseāI have aided him in the deception.
Was it a lie when the angel came to me? Was it a lie when I felt the child stir in my womb before I had known a man? Was it a lie when shepherds came to worship him at his birth, when wise men traveled from the East to lay gifts at his feet? Was it a lie when, at twelve years old, he astonished the teachers in the temple? Was it a lie when the blind received sight, the lame walked, and the dead were raised? Were those not the works of God?
If Joseph were his father, then my sonās power is not from God. And if not from God, then from the devil. If Joseph were his father, then my son dies a condemned man, lost to the depths of hell.
But if he is the Son of Godāif he is who he claims to beāthen this suffering is not in vain and his death is not the end. If he is the Son of God, this agony, this unbearable grief has a purpose beyond what I can see.
I press my hand to my chest, aching from the weight of it all.
If my son is not from God and the Son of God, what do I gain from this but a broken heart? If I am living a lie, what sort of mother am I to allow this for my son? I tell you it is true. Before I had relations with Joseph or any man, Yeshua came from my womb.
You who judge me, I ask:
- What sort of parentāhearing that Yeshua is the Son of God who takes away the sin of the world and gives eternal lifeāallows their own child to die without at least reading the accounts of his life?
- What sort of father or mother turns away from the only one who can save their child from death and endless torment?
- What love lets a son or daughter be eternally separated from those they love?
If I, in my grief as his mother, face the truth of who ×ֵש××Ö¼×¢Ö· (Yeshua) is, can you bear knowing that in death you will never see your child again?
I can not, and for this reason, I live a truth, not a lie, and watch my firstborn die a horrible death that I might live.
A sword pierces his side. Blood and water gush out. And now a sword has pierced my soul.
Because I know the truth, I am a mother with a broken heart.
Who will heal your broken heart when you learn the truth on the other side of the grave?
As a parent and grandparent, I cannot stand to see my boys or grandchildren hurt.
Even on my worse day, I cannot imagine what Jesus’ mother went through seeing him on the cross.
Powerful! Thank you.
Eddie, that was anointed. I’m thankful for your faith and faithfulness to follow the call on your life as a scribe and evangelist. I pray He will use this post in other places and been read by millions.
YES!!
I weep with Mary, that she stood by and watched with bleeding heart as my savior- for me and the joy set before him, went through such torture and pain, all to glorify His Father and so we might be saved! What a sacrifice, what a savior. Oh that I would gladly bear my cross for His glory, instead of whining and complaining. That I would mount up as wings of eagles and not faint. May God get His glory from my life as I lean into His finished work and boldly share the good news of the gospel with the world.