And at times Mary followed Him to listen to His words and to hear the sound of her own heart. But when He and those who loved Him went down to Jerusalem she would not go.
For we at the North Country are often mocked in the streets of Jerusalem, even when we go carrying our offerings to the temple.
And Mary was too proud to yield to the South Country.
And Jesus visited other lands in the east and in the west. We knew not what lands He visited, yet our hearts followed Him.
But Mary awaited Him upon her threshold and every eventide her eyes sought the road for His homecoming.
Yet upon His return she would say to us: “He is too vast to be my Son, too eloquent for my silent heart. How shall I claim Him?”
It seemed to us that Mary could not believe that the plain had given birth to the mountain; in the whiteness of her heart she did not see that the ridge is a pathway to the summit.
She knew the man, but because He was her Son she dared not know Him.
And on a day when Jesus went to the lake to be with the fishermen she said to me: “What is man but this restless being that would rise from the earth, and who is man but a longing that desires the stars?
“My son is a longing. He is all of us longing for the stars.
“Did I say my son? May God forgive me. Yet in my heart I would be His mother.”
Now, it is hard to tell more of Mary and her Son, but though there shall be husks in my throat, and my words shall reach you like cripples on crutches, I must needs relate what I have seen and heard.
It was in the youth of the year when the red anemones were upon the hills that Jesus called His disciples saying to them: “Come with me to Jerusalem and witness the slaying of the lamb for the Passover.”
Upon the selfsame day Mary came to my door and said: “He is seeking the Holy City. Will you come and follow Him with me and the other women?”
And we walked the long road behind Mary and her son till we reached Jerusalem. And there a company of men and women hailed us at the gate, for His coming had been heralded to those who loved Him.
But upon that very night Jesus left the city with His men.
We were told that He had gone to Bethany.
And Mary stayed with us in the inn, awaiting His return.
Upon the eve of the following Thursday He was caught without the walls, and was held prisoner.
And when we heard He was a prisoner, Mary uttered not a word, but there appeared in her eyes the fulfilment of that promised pain and joy which we had beheld when she was but a bride in Nazareth.
She did not weep. She only moved among us like the ghost of a mother who would not bewail the ghost of her son.
We sat low upon the floor but she was erect, walking up and down the room.
She would stand beside the window and gaze eastward, and then with the fingers of her two hands brush back her hair.
At dawn she was still standing among us, like a lone banner in the wilderness wherein there are no hosts.
We wept because we knew the morrow of her son; but she did not weep for she knew also what would befall Him.
Her bones were of bronze and her sinews of the ancient elms, and her eyes were like the sky, wide and daring.
Have you heard a thrush sing while its nest burns in the wind?
Have you seen a woman whose sorrow is too much for tears, or a wounded heart that would rise beyond its own pain?
You have not seen such a woman, for you have not stood in the presence of Mary; and you have not been enfolded by the Mother Invisible.
In that still moment when the muffled hoofs of silence beat upon the breasts of the sleepless, John the young son of Zebedee, came and said: “Mary Mother, Jesus is going forth. Come, let us follow Him.”
And Mary laid her hand upon John’s shoulder and they went out, and we followed them.
When we came to the Tower of David we saw Jesus carrying His cross. And there was a great crowd about Him.
And two other men were also carrying their crosses.
And Mary’s head was held high, and she walked with us after her son. And her step was firm.
And behind her walked Zion and Rome, ay, the whole world, to revenge itself upon one free Man.
When we reached the hill, He was raised high upon the cross.
And I looked at Mary. And her face was not the face of a woman bereaved. It was the countenance of the fertile earth, forever giving birth, forever burying her children.
Then to her eyes came the remembrance of His childhood, and she said aloud: “My son, who is not my son; man who once visited my womb, I glory in your power. I know that every drop of blood that runs down from your hands shall be the well-stream of a nation.
“You die in this tempest even as my heart once died in the sunset, and I shall now sorrow.”
At that moment I desired to cover my face with my cloak and run away to the North Country. But of a sudden I heard Mary say: “My son, who is not my son, what have you said to the man at your right hand that has made him happy in his agony? The shadow of death is light upon his face, and he cannot turn his eyes from you.
“Now you smile upon me, and because you smile I know you have conquered.”
And Jesus looked upon His mother and said: “Mary, from this hour be you the mother of John.”
And to John He said:
