"My mother sees me whipped.
She sees me kicked
and driven like a beast.
She counts my every wound.
But though her soul cries out in agony,
no protest or complaint escapes her lips
or even enters her thoughts.

She shares in my martyrdom--and I share in hers
We hide no pain,
no sorrow from each other's eyes.
This is my Father's will.

O Lord, for me, and those who follow you, to carry our crosses after you, we must stand and watch the sufferings of those we hold dear. Their heartaches, their sickness, their grief we cannot bear for them.

Help me to always recognise those around me who love me and faithfully stand by me. Help me to open to their caring and to understand that I need them as others may need me.

O God, who willed that in the passion of your Son a sword of grief should pierce the soul of the Blessed Virgin Mary his mother: Mercifully grant that your Church, having shared with her in his passion, may be made worthy to share in the joys of his resurrection; who lives and reigns for ever and ever. Amen

As they move forward Jesus's mother and some other women are making their way towards the procession. She had held him to her, nurtured, loved and raised him. Now she knew she had to face the end of his time with her.

He stood before her, trembling under the weight of the cross, his face disfigured, his body bleeding from the lashes. His mother tried to move closer, to speak with her one and only begotten son. He tries to move towards her but in an instant the soldiers pushed him away, they have a job to do, no time for stupid soft talk.

They could stop them from speaking but they could not break the communication in love that passed between their eyes and their hearts.