when you saw your son walking down that crowed holiday
flanked by the Romans and marked by blood and blows and
the hatred of men,
And you saw with your own eyes
the lengths to which he would go down the road to reach
out to sinful man,
the pain he was willing to suffer,
the weight he was willing to bear
to make all things anew,
how hard was it to let him go,
to let him do the task he came to do,
to drink the bitter, bitter chalice
that was yours alone to taste.
Thank you for agreeing with your son
O Lady of Sorrows,
that the father's will be done.
O Queen of martyrs,
in that living martyrdom of witnessing
the pain and torture and death
of your perfect son,
you who plumbed the depths of sorrow
deeper than I can fathom,
O Consoler of Afflictions
for loving enough to ease all our hurts.