This piece was submitted to the Stations of the Cross art show at St. Cross in Hermosa Beach as part of an interactive exhibit to experience the story of Jesus’s last days.
Station: Jesus’s Body is Held by His Mother (the Pieta)
Medium: Needle felted tapestry finished with embroidery. I sketched this piece first inspired by folk art, as folk art has long been the realm of women and mothers. I was also inspired by the stained glass scenes in the Sanctuary and wanted to finish with embroidery that could resemble pewter. The tapestry is mounted on torn linen to resemble both the baby’s swaddling clothes and Jesus’s final ripped garments.
A reflection on my experience:
My daughter was teased at the park last week. She did not mention it for hours, then it came out as wailing sobs. What I wanted to say was, “Tell that child to come say it to me next time, and I will set the record straight on just how perfect and precious you are.”
But, in that moment, I realized it’s not my job; because, though I carried this child and birthed her and fed her from my body, though I am responsible for her care and keeping for the next 11 years and beyond, she is not my creation.
If anyone takes issue with my child, they will need to bring it to the Creator Herself.
And they will. They will bring it in the harshest ways. They will fail to see my children’s beauty, their gifts, their purpose and power. They will fail to believe when my children share their convictions and their missions. They will tease, belittle, mock, and weave their own crown of thorns for my little ones to wear.
How painful it is for a mother to watch this slaughtering of the dearest parts of our darling children.
As I stitched, I pondered how Mary must have lamented when they crucified her son. How her womb must have swelled with the memories of their once-shared body. How powerless she must have felt with only her broken, human love to offer in the end.
And then I wondered: did she also feel guilty? Did she have moments where she herself had failed to see His beauty, His gifts and His power? Did she ever give in to the base desire to control Him, to make Him her own, to allow Him to serve her ego? Did she wonder what part of His life was really a pity – death or those moments she failed to honor His life?
As I finished this piece I wondered: is motherhood ultimately a journey of the pain forgetting our children belong to God followed by the pain of remembering they do?