What Did Mary Do Standing Under the Cross?

Mary’s life can be captured in a single phrase: “she pondered” (Luke 2:19). The Greek word translated as ponder means to think something through deeply—to reflect intensely and consider all its angles. That’s the common understanding in Greek and in English. This would have described Mary well if the Gospels had been written in the philosophical tone of someone like Aristotle.

But while the Gospels were written in Greek, they carried a deeply Hebrew way of thinking. According to Ron Rolheiser, the Hebrew sense of ponder means “to hold, carry, and transform tension so as not to give it back in kind—knowing that whatever energies we do not transform, we will transmit.”

This understanding of pondering is deeply connected to the moment Mary stands under the cross (John 19:25). What was she doing there? Her presence is often seen as an image of piety or sympathy. On the surface, she appears passive—she doesn’t speak, protest the crucifixion, or plead for Jesus’ innocence. She is silent.

But her silence is not weakness. Mary is standing, not collapsed or kneeling—postures that might suggest helplessness or resignation. She is grounded, strong.

Rolheiser captures this beautifully:

“Today, I can’t stop the crucifixion; nobody can. Sometimes darkness will have its hour. But I can stop some of the hatred, bitterness, jealousy, and heartlessness that caused it—by refusing to give it back in kind, by transforming negativity rather than retransmitting it, by swallowing hard, in silence, and eating the bitterness rather than giving it back in kind.”

Mary did not give back in kind. She held the pain, swallowed the bitterness, and transformed it—into grace, forgiveness, peace, and strength.

In my book Brokenness to Wholeness, I reflected:

“Human suffering need not be an obstacle to the joy and peace we so desire, but can become, instead, the means to it.”

This becomes possible when, like Mary, we recognize God’s presence even in our pain. When we resist the urge to return pain for pain—rejection for rejection, humiliation for humiliation—and instead hold the suffering long enough for it to be transformed into something life-giving.

Mary, standing under the cross, invites us to do the same:
To stand with courage in our pain.
To refuse to give back in kind.

And to transform suffering into healing, bitterness into grace, and brokenness into wholeness.

 

Notes

Rolheiser, R. (2014). Sacre fire: A vision for a deeper human and Christian maturity (pp. 147-149). Image.

Baptist, J. (2021). Brokenness to Wholeness. Media House.

Wrestling with God

In Report to Greco, renowned writer Nikos Kazantzakis recounts a profound conversation with Father Makarios, an old monk. 

Kazantzakis asked, “Do you still wrestle with the devil, Father Makarios?” 

After a moment of reflection, the monk replied, “Not any longer, my child. I have grown old, and he has grown old with me. He no longer has the strength… I wrestle with God.” 

Surprised, the young writer asked, “With God! And you hope to win?” 

The monk answered, “I hope to lose, my child. My bones still resist, but I hope to lose.”

This exchange sheds light on the evolving nature of human and spiritual challenges. In youth, struggles often center around temptations like pride, ambition, wealth, and sensuality—in essence, wrestling with the devil. However, as people age, these battles shift inward. Life’s later stages prompt reflection on deeper questions—about meaning, relationships, and one’s relationship with God. The struggle moves from external temptations to an internal wrestling with the resistance to surrender control and allow God to lead.

In later life, the real challenge becomes the willingness to let go and trust fully in God’s path. It is not about fighting external forces but overcoming the inner urge to cling to self-protective instincts and rationality. This struggle is about deciding whether to resist or relinquish control—and in doing so, to experience true spiritual growth and transformation.

Approaching this inner wrestling with humility, openness, and deep reflection leads to greater spiritual maturity, allowing individuals to forge a deeper connection with the divine, others, and the universe.

 

Notes

Kazantzakis, N. (1965). Reports to Greco (P. A. Bien, Trans.). Touchstone Book.

 

Human Domestication: The Silent Chains of Approval and Fear

Human domestication begins early in life, shaping how we see ourselves and interact with the world. The younger generation is molded by the older—especially by parents, schools, society, and religion. While these influences are often well-intentioned, they can create an invisible system of control. Just as animals are domesticated through a cycle of punishment and reward, often humans too are conditioned in the same way. From an early age, children learn to seek approval through praise like “good boy” or “good girl” and to fear disapproval or punishment. Over time, this conditioning extends into adulthood, influencing our choices, behaviors, and sense of worth.

Wisdom writer Don Miguel Ruiz, in The Four Agreements, describes this process:
"Reward feels good, and we keep doing what others want us to do in order to get the reward. With the fear of being punished and the fear of not getting the reward, we start pretending to be what we are not, just to please others, just to be good enough for someone else…. We pretend to be what we are not because we are afraid of being rejected. The fear of being rejected becomes the fear of not being good enough. Eventually, we become someone that we are not."

The domestication of humans through reward and punishment fosters fear, people-pleasing, and inauthenticity. To break free from these silent chains, we must unlearn the habit of seeking external validation and instead make choices rooted in values, meaning, and authenticity. Though challenging, escaping this cycle is possible through intentional, value-driven living.

 

Notes

Ruiz, D. M. (1997). The four agreements: A practical guide to personal freedom (pp. 6-8). Amber-Allen Publishing.

Turning Loss into a Symbol of Hope

There is suffering in the world, and it can affect us and our loved ones, especially through incurable diseases, relationship breakups, accidents, and natural disasters. Naturally, we seek to understand who or what causes this suffering.

Dorothee Soelle, a German social theologian, asked an important question: “Does our suffering serve God or the devil? Does it lead to becoming more alive or morally paralyzed?” She urged us to focus not on where tragedy originates but on where it leads. Soelle suggested that death can testify either to God or the devil, to hope or despair.

Our perception of suffering and death shapes where it leads us. Soelle highlighted that it is not the circumstances of death that make someone a witness for or against God, but how we react to their passing. Rabbi Harold Kushner adds, “If the death and suffering of someone we love make us bitter, jealous, against all religion, and incapable of happiness, we turn them into one of the 'devil’s martyrs.'” However, if their suffering and death push us to expand our strength, love, and cheerfulness, we make them witnesses for life and hope.

The death of our loved ones hurts deeply, and their absence can never be filled. Though we may not have been able to save them or ease their pain, we can still do something crucial after their death: ensure they become witnesses for God and life. By resisting despair and maintaining faith, we prevent their legacy from becoming tied to darkness and despair. Though challenging, it is the right path to allow their suffering and death to be symbols of hope, cheerfulness, and life.

Notes

Kushner H. S. (1981). When bad things happen to good people (pp. 150-152). Anchor Books.

Soelle, D. in Kushner H. S. (1981). When bad things happen to good people (pp. 150-152). Anchor Books.

Turning Pain Into Purpose: The Inspiring Journey of Martin Gray

In November 1940, 380,000 Jews were forcibly confined within the Warsaw Ghetto, where over 80,000 perished from starvation and overcrowding (Vashem, 2024). According to the National WWII Museum in New Orleans, more than six million Jews were systematically murdered during the Holocaust, carried out by Nazi Germany between 1941 and 1945, primarily through mass shootings and extermination camps.

Martin Gray, at 14, was trapped in the Warsaw Ghetto during World War II. He survived both the ghetto's horrors and the Holocaust. At 35, Gray rebuilt his life, achieved success, and started a family. However, tragedy struck again when a forest fire in southern France claimed the lives of his wife and children. While many urged Gray to seek an inquiry into the cause of the fire, he resisted, explaining that finding a villain wouldn’t heal his wounds. Instead, he chose to dedicate his resources to protecting nature from future fires.

Gray believed that blaming others for one’s misfortunes only deepens misery and loneliness: “Accusing other people of being responsible for your misery only makes a lonely person lonelier. Life,” he concluded, “has to be lived for something, not just against something” (Kushner, 1981). His life shows us the importance of living with purpose and focusing on constructive action.

Fixating on questions like "Why did this happen?" or "Who is to blame?" can keep people trapped in the past. While these questions may seem important, they can create a cycle of misery and prevent personal growth.

Gray survived unimaginable horrors yet still found joy and fulfillment. Embracing a purpose greater than ourselves allows us to rise above suffering. Purpose is key to achieving contentment and flourishing, enabling joy even in the face of adversity.

 

Notes

Kushner H. S. (1981). When bad things happen to good people (p. 149). Anchor Books.

The national World War II Museum, New Orleans ((2024, September 18). The Holocaust.

Yad Vashem (2024, September 18). Warsaw Ghetto.

Narratives of Healing: How Stories Sustain Us

“All sorrows can be borne if you can put them in a story,” says Hannah Arendt, a German American historian and philosopher. Storytelling is not merely a means of entertainment or knowledge-sharing; it is how we make sense of our individual and collective lives.

We often tell stories of success and triumph, yet it is just as vital to share stories of failure, shame, and vulnerability. If we do not weave these difficult experiences into a meaningful whole, we may struggle to hold ourselves and our relationships in a healthy and nurturing way. Stories help us process adversity and transform suffering into meaning. Moments of failure, shame, and violations of human dignity call for deep meaning-making. Joan Didion boldly states, “We tell ourselves stories in order to live.” In the face of profound failures, paralyzing shame, or a shattered sense of dignity, we are compelled to construct narratives that sustain us. Without meaning in our stories, we risk losing meaning in ourselves, others, and even God. This loss makes it difficult not only to survive but to truly flourish. However, when we create meaningful narratives and become part of greater stories, we empower ourselves with purpose and direction, enriching our lives and leaving behind a legacy.

As individuals, families, and cultural or religious groups, we may experience ruptures in our sense of self-worth and dignity. These ruptures can stem from personal failures—whether in education, career, or relationships—or from harm inflicted by others, intentional or not, that damages our integrity. For instance, failing to complete a graduate degree, going through a painful separation, or experiencing physical, emotional, or sexual abuse can deeply wound our sense of self.

We live to make meaning—to shape the stories of our lives—and, in turn, the meaning we create shapes us. Catherine Riessman explains, “Telling stories about difficult times in our lives creates order and contains emotions, allowing a search for meaning and enabling connection with others.” Stories not only help us endure suffering but also open pathways to healing, transformation, and a deeper connection with those around us.

 

Notes

Arendt, H. (1958). The human condition (p. 175). University of Chicago Press.

Didion, J. (1990). The white album. Noonday.

Riessman, C. K. (2008). Narrative methods for the human sciences (p. 24). Sage Publications. 

“You Are Dust”: Two Lessons for a Meaningful Life

Christians around the world begin the sacred season of Lent on Ash Wednesday with fasting, prayer, and almsgiving, preparing their hearts for Easter. This season is also a meaningful time for deep inner reflection, fostering personal growth and strengthening relationships.

One of the most poignant moments of the Ash Wednesday liturgy is the blessing and imposition of ashes. As the priest marks a cross on the forehead, he solemnly proclaims, “Remember that you are dust, and to dust you shall return” (Genesis 3:19). This ritual serves as a profound reminder of our earthly origins and ultimate return, inviting us to embrace humility and renewal.

The words earth, soil, and ground trace their roots to the Latin word humus. In soil science, humus refers to the rich organic matter formed by the decomposition of plants and animals—essential for fertility, water retention, and plant growth. Interestingly, humus also gives rise to the word humility, and even the word human is believed to derive from it. Recognizing our connection to humus offers profound insight into how we should live our lives.

At least two key lessons emerge from this understanding. First, to be human is to be rooted in humility, acknowledging our limitations, mortality, and dependence on God. Second, just as humus enriches the soil and sustains life, we are called to support and nurture those around us.

An authentic human life embraces both humility and the responsibility to uplift others. The further we stray from these values, the more we risk losing our true essence. Lent, and the life we live beyond it, is an opportunity to cultivate humility and use our gifts to nourish, support, and help others flourish.