Franciscan Sister of Christian Charity Sister Kathleen Murphy focuses on Pope Francis’ prayer intention for parents who mourn the loss of a son or daughter while reflecting on the Pieta. Photo: Michelangelo, CC BY-SA 3.0 <http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/3.0/>, via Wikimedia Commons
We begin November in the company of All Saints and All Souls. Pope Francis puts before us an intention that may encompass both groups. He calls us to pray that all parents who mourn the loss of a son or daughter find support in their community and receive peace and consolation from the Holy Spirit.
Perhaps this focus on those who mourn leaves us feeling rather disconnected from the virtue of hope which we are to keep before us this year. Yet it is this hope in new life after death that is the very fabric of our experience of Jesus. It is this hope that waits to be discovered somewhere along the pilgrim path of parents who mourn. At some point in the healing of their hearts hope is promised to return to them. We are challenged to be that merciful and patient voice echoing hope throughout their pain.
In order to be that voice of hope and empathy we need to open our hearts to the pain experienced by grieving parents. Toward that end perhaps a reflection on Michaelangelo’s Pieta and Madeleine L’Engle’s poem The Ordering of Love will be of help.
Surely we have frequently seen pictures and reproductions of the Pieta. Its message of pain, loss, sorrow, and grief are spoken against a backdrop of silence as read in the still body of Jesus and the calm face of Mary. Art experts point out other elements worthy of our reflection. In an article entitled “Michelangelo’s Pieta” found at ItalianRenaissance.org we read: In her utter sadness and devastation, she (Mary) seems resigned to what has happened, and becomes enveloped in graceful acceptance. This is, of course, the moment when the Virgin is confronted with the reality of the death of her son. Christ is depicted almost as if he is in a peaceful slumber, and not one who has been bloodied and bruised after hours of torture and suffering. In supporting Christ, the Virgin’s right hand does not come into direct contact with his flesh, but instead it is covered with a cloth which then touches Christ’s side. This signifies the sacredness of Christ’s body. Overall, these two figures are beautiful and idealized, despite their suffering. This reflects the High Renaissance belief that beauty on earth reflected God’s beauty, so these beautiful figures were echoing the beauty of the divine.
Debra Brehmer comments as follows in her article, The Pieta: A Story in Five Parts. The reason Michelangelo’s Mary is calm is because she is still mothering. She is still with her son, holding him, caring for him. Jesus’s fingers on his right hand tell us the whole story: He is still holding on, metaphorically. Directly above this is the deepest and most dramatic carving of the entire sculpture. Michelangelo sculpts a cavern within a gaping fold of Mary’s gown. It leads us to the focal point of where Christ is held and supported by Mary’s right knee. The cavern between folds provides a dark abyss, like an empty womb. It is Christ’s birth and his death, the beginning and the end, quoted by Michelangelo as a black, permanent vacancy.
The rhythm of the Pieta begins with Mary’s face, titled downward, calm and radiant. There is a downward momentum that moves from her shoulders to the very large horizontal Christ figure on her lap. His right arm falls limp. Everything falls with a heavy, yet graceful momentum downward to the ground. It’s the weight of our human temporal condition that we must bear, the weight of emotion and the very physical and real weight of the dead body itself. It’s this immense, formal downward pull that draws us into the pain, in subtle contrast to the sense of peace and repose on the surface. A perfect, profound paradox.
Only one moment of the sculpture counteracts this cascading, weighty momentum. It is Mary’s left hand. It is open and turned upward. This subtle, simple gesture counterbalances the rest of the piece and symbolizes the resurrection of Christ, or more generally, the continuum of hope.
Placing ourselves before this masterpiece in marble should inspire some sense of sharing in the grief of mourning parents. In the artistic arena of literature, Madeleine L’Engle offers her perspective on the grief of Mary in her poem Pieta. Let us consider an excerpt of her powerful verse.
I understood, more, perhaps, than the others
when he said that he could not stay with us—
that it was better if he went away,
was one again with God, his Father.
And when the Spirit came
I once again could love my son
and know my Lord. If Easter came later for me than
for the others,
its brilliance was as poignant and bright.
What hope we can share with grieving parents knowing that we are a Resurrection People! With this same hope born of our faith we continue to ponder the wonder of the Stigmata of St. Francis. Though he suffered with the Crucified Beloved, he also rejoiced with all of Creation and sang his canticle with an eye toward the resurrected glory of one united to all that God brought into being. Let us pray that all parents who bear the loss of their child may be reminded of the hope that is ours as we follow a Lord that died, but is risen!