Pietà

Once inside St Peter’s Basilica, just to the right in a very small chapel shielded with a Perspex-like window, is Michelangelo’s Pietà. It is so much smaller than what I had imagined. It was in 1972 that it was attacked with a hammer, and despite my tender age then, I remember as if it were yesterday.

Michelangelo’s depiction of Mary with her crucified son shows a youthful mother cradling the body of her son. Mary is not distressed and broken-hearted. She appears serene and other-worldly. If words could fall from these stone lips, they would utter, ‘This is my son; my beloved’ echoing the words of the Father at Jesus’ baptism.

As much as our tradition invites us into the suffering and death of Jesus, we are equally invited into the mystery of that suffering and death. It is not pointless. It is not an end in itself. In the mystery is the revelation of God’s supreme love poured out through his son’s selfless and gracious act. Then from this death the potential of every human being is realised. Jesus becomes but the first of us all to remade anew.

Little wonder, then, that Michelango’s image provides us with a vision of hope, of anticipation and expectation. His mother gathers a broken body and she offers him, her beloved, to all. This mother, this Mary knows what awaits.

May your Easter be holy. Accept this gift.