Mary’s Unconditional Love

“Jesus was the Son of God, but he was Mary’s son first.” 

I read this single, haunting line in a poem about the sacred relationship between Mary and Jesus. 

It dawned on me that Mary was just a child when she gave birth to Jesus. She carried the weight of salvation inside her womb. Despite her doubts and fears, she persevered and gave Jesus her all.

She was there when Jesus first came out to the world, wailing into the void of the night.

She was there when Jesus took His first steps and uttered His very first words.

She memorized the shape of His small fingers. She engraved in her memory how they curled tightly into her own.

Jesus was the Eternal Son of God, yet in darkness He clung to Mary, a child reaching for His mother’s voice. 

And Mary loved Him with a devotion that consumed her entire being.

Two pure, immaculate hearts intertwined; no mortal mind could ever comprehend—The Creator held by the created. 

Jesus was Mary’s son, but He was also the prophesied Messiah. 

Did Mary ever look into her child’s eyes and see not only her son, but also her savior?

A mouth that once babbled, “Mama.” Now grew to speak words that calmed the raging seas, pardoned sinners, and sowed seeds across lands to save the condemned. 

The same hands that once covered and clothed her now bore the heavy weight of jagged lines, splinters, and the world’s sins.

But even amidst the miracles in the growing crowds—

She still looks at Him,

Not as a King crowned in glory,

Not as a Savior fulfilling a prophecy,

Not as a Sacrifice laid upon an altar,

But as her son. 

He who possessed humanity from His mother, and divinity from His Father. 

How can a mother ever compete with divinity?

And I wonder if Mary’s heart tore into two opposing directions—

One half grieving the little boy she raised, the other worshipping the God He is.

As Mary wept beneath the darkened sky of Golgotha, she collapsed into the dust at the foot of the cross, her tears falling endlessly onto the ground once covered in His blood. 

She looked up through a veil of grief, begging the Heavens to save Him. 

“Please… Spare Him.”

She begged the Divine Father not to take her child away from her, not to rob a mother’s arms from her innocent boy. 

She wept in absolute agony, her chest heaving, the shadows of the cross hiding her. She whispered sorrowfully and begged the heavens to take her instead of her own sweet son. 

But—

Mary was not divine; she was a mother. 

What kind of mother watches her child bleed and calls it Holy?

What kind of love allows suffering to open a door and still doesn’t turn away? 

But Mary didn’t turn away. 

She stayed. 

Through the searing pain,

Through the mystery of divine fate,

Through the deafening silence of Heaven. 

She stayed because she loved her son. 

And from the cross, looking down through the blood and sweat, Jesus loved her back.

On the same day, a Heavenly Father claimed His ultimate sacrifice—

And an earthly mother lost a piece of her heart.

Maybe a mother’s unconditional love is far greater than any divine being.