Following Mary’s path of sorrows

Dave Canovas

This day has brought me to when Joseph and Mary brought the infant Jesus to the temple—“as every firstborn male must be consecrated to the Lord” (Luke 2:23). It should have been a moment wrapped in joy. Yet, that sacred moment was veiled by a shadow, as Simeon, filled with the Spirit, lifted his gaze and uttered a prophecy that would leave a mother’s mind perplexed and her heart, broken:

“…And a sword will pierce your own soul, too.”

What an agonising weight those words must have brought – unseen yet cutting deep within Mary’s heart – a premonition of a sorrow yet to come. In that singular moment of irony, present joy and foreboding sorrow; stood side by side. It is quite difficult to fathom, I suppose.

With bated breath, years passed. From the hurried flight to Egypt, to the quiet ponderings in her heart, I could only imagine that Mary had borne it all. In those years, the torment of that prophecy must have followed Mary like a very dark dream until that harrowing day on Golgotha, when Mary stood beneath the outstretched arms of her crucified Son. No prophecy could have shielded her for the agony that washed over her. The sword found its mark on her beloved Son and tore into her very soul, just as Simeon had spoken.

Our own sufferings at times, arrive like thieves in the night – unforeseen, uninvited—like the death of one we hold dear. No heart is ever truly prepared for such sorrow; it pierces deep, where words of comfort cannot reach. And yet, not all suffering is sudden. Some burdens linger quietly, like a mental or physical sickness we battle – an unseen torment that refuses to let go. It weaves through flesh and thought, present in every waking moment.

Yet in this, we are not alone.

Our Lady of Sorrows has walked this path before us—her heart pierced by grief, yet unwavering in love. She shows us that even in the deepest ache of anguish, there remains a quiet hope. Her silent contemplation beneath the Cross, her steadfast endurance in the face of unspeakable sorrow, calls us not to flee from suffering but to meet it with faith. For within every sorrow, the mystery of Christ’s redeeming love is already at work.