In a World Obsessed With Happiness, Get To Know Our Lady of Sorrows

Her Feast as Our Lady of Sorrows is on Tuesday. The reason September is dedicated to Her under this title is that the Feast occurs this month.

From Aleteia

By Sarah Robsdottir

Her feast day is September 15th, and she'll never smack you with a canned cliche to explain away your pain. She'll just sit at the foot of the cross with you and cry.

This  summer, my teenage son almost drowned while trying to save a 12-year-old boy who got stuck in the branches of a fallen tree in a river. After my son fought with the tree for 20 minutes, trying to untangle the poor child, he telephoned me from the water's edge, weeping as he waited for paramedics. 

"A little boy just died," he groaned in agony.

In the months that followed, I've gotten to know Our Lady of Sorrows. 

The first few nights after the tragedy, I cried my eyes out, reliving my son's experience as if I had been there myself.

I know exactly how you feel, I sensed Our Lady of Sorrows praying for me as she dried my tears and covered me with her robe. 

So many people with good intentions hit me with canned cliches to explain away my pain. They stung worse than ever.  

"Everything happens for a reason," I'd hear someone chime, and silently, I'd reply, "Tell that to a tsunami victim." Because in this beautiful but broken world where there are famines and terrorist attacks and cancer and assassinations and mudslides -- horrible things happen all the time, (and in my opinion) very often for no reason at all. 

Of course, my faith assures me, and I've seen it come to pass that "God works all things together for good for those who love him and are called according to his purpose" (Romans 8:28). Actually, I think that's what people are trying to say when they regurgitate the "everything happens for a reason" cliche. So, lately I've been swapping out the cliche for the Bible verse. I learned this from hanging out with Our Lady of Sorrows. At least I like to think I did. After all, she always leads us to her Son. "Do whatever he tells you" (John 2:5).

Traditionally, the Church dedicates the month of September to Our Lady of Sorrows because her feast day falls on September 15, the day after The Exaltation of the Holy Cross. The editors at ChurchPop explain how the placement of these feast days is no accident. 

"On September 14, the Church lifts up the Cross of Jesus Christ: the instrument of His Passion, but also the sign of His victory over sin and death. The next day, Catholics turn their eyes to Mary, who stood faithfully at the foot of that Cross. As the Gospel of John tells us: “Standing by the cross of Jesus [was] his mother…” (John 19:25) The Holy Mother did not run away. She remained with her son in His suffering." 

The autumnal placement of Our Lady of Sorrows feels especially fitting in my heavily wooded hometown. Did you know that green leaves turn the brightest shades of ginger, crimson, and gold specifically because they are dying? These bright colors hide beneath the green and are only revealed in the leaf's slow death. 

The author Allen Levy reflects on the necessity of sadness in his latest novel Theo of Golden: "Sadness might be many things, but it is rarely stupid. The good sadness, I think, is always trying to tell us something very important." 

These were my thoughts this crisp, cool morning as I meditated on the Seven Sorrows of Mary, which are as follows:

1. The prophecy of Simeon, who told Mary that a sword would pierce her soul.

2. The flight of the Holy Family into Egypt.

3. The loss of the Child Jesus in the Temple for three days.

4. Mary meeting Jesus on the way to Calvary.

5. Mary standing at the foot of the Cross during Jesus’ Crucifixion.

6. Mary receiving Jesus’ body after He was taken down from the Cross.

7. The burial of Jesus.                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                  

Very often, after I've prayed the Chaplet of the Seven Sorrows of Mary, I'll feel led to do something concrete that helps me deal with my grief, like writing a letter to the mother of the child who drowned to console her; or I'll spend some time meditating on the poor child's photo and seeking his intercession.                                                                                                                                  

Again, I'm grateful for ChurchPop's insight: "Mary's sorrow was never hopeless despair. She suffered as a mother who loved her Son completely — and who trusted God even in the darkest moment imaginable."

Above all, I think my biggest take-away from getting to know Our Lady of Sorrows has been that it's okay to be sad. Our culture has an unhealthy obsession with happiness that denies the unavoidable yet important experiences of sorrow, grief, and mourning. 

After spending time with Our Lady of Sorrows over the past few months, I've also come to the conclusion that it's also okay to feel sorry for yourself (within reason) when you're going through something awful, and to treat yourself more gently in times of distress. Here's why: You'd feel sorry for someone else if they had suffered as you have. Why shouldn't you extend this same courtesy to yourself? By doing so, you'll probably prevent yourself from becoming even more distressed, which will only preserve your own peace and the peace of those around you. 

I once visited a young mom on a cancer ward. She was emaciated, had lost all her hair, and was unable to breastfeed her baby. Actually, she was unable to care for any of her children. Yet on the wall beside her bed, there was an illustrated painting that read: "Surrounding every storm cloud, there is a silver-lining. Find a reason to smile today." 

I was really irked by the painting, but didn't know why. Besides, artwork like that is commonplace in hospitals. In hindsight, however, I'd say that the painting was a testament to the fact that our culture doesn't know how to embrace a healthy sense of sadness. Because if there is ever a time and place to be sad, it's when a young mom is dying of cancer.  

If I could go back in time, I'd respectfully ask to take down that painting and replace it with one that says, "Storm clouds are dark and sad. It's okay to be sad. Actually, it is right and good to be sad." Blessed are those who mourn for they shall be comforted. -- Matthew 5:4 

Or better yet, I'd replace the trite hospital art with a painting of the Holy Mother at the foot of the Cross: Our Lady of Sorrows, pray for us!