I imagine Mary standing at the foot of the cross eyes swollen with tears, her heart breaking, her lungs gasping for air as she watches her son dying for the suffering of the world. Her grief, our grief, the world’s grief are held in the arms of the crucified one this night and every night. Our suffering and sorrow, our doubts and despair, our agony and anguish are joined not only to Christ’s but to the brokenness of all creation. And yet, in John’s gospel what looks like defeat, is victory. What seems like an ending is new birth. Maybe all we can hope is that God will be here now, in our flesh. And that somehow, the cross will be to us healing and resurrection.