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| Adriaen Isenbrant - Mater Dolorosa |
The liturgical feast of
Our Lady of Sorrows is celebrated a day after the feast of the Cross, and even
though we are far from the Lenten season, the church asks us to reflect on the
7 sorrows that Mary experienced, as beautifully depicted in this image by
Adriaen Isenbrant from the 16th century, a panel visible in Bruges, Belgium.
The 7 sorrows that Mary
had to face were these, as described in each of the panels surrounding the
image of the Sorrowful Mother:
1. Jesus’ circumcision
and presentation, hearing the words of Simeon.
2. The escape into Egypt.
3. Jesus lost and found
in the temple.
4. Seeing Jesus carrying
the cross and meeting him on the way to Calvary.
5. The crucifixion of
Jesus.
6. The Pieta, as the dead
body of Jesus is laid on her lap.
7. The burial of Jesus.
The beautiful hymn Stabat
Mater Dolorosa is sung frequently during Lent, especially during the Stations
of the Cross. The first three words mean "Stood the mournful Mother weeping,”
and the poem was written by Jacopone de Todi in the 13th century, and was set
to music by various composers including
Palestrina, Pergolesi, Scarlatti, Vivaldi, Haydn, Rossini, and Dvorák.
Here are the first 2 verses:
At the Cross her station
keeping,
stood the mournful Mother
weeping,
close to her Son to the
last.
Through her heart, His
sorrow sharing,
all His bitter anguish
bearing,
now at length the sword
has passed.
"Oh bow down,
ReplyDeleteSorrowful one,
Your kind face, to my affliction!
A sword in your heart,
Where a thousand pains start,
You look up, at your dead Son.
You look up to the Father,
You send Him your sighs, there,
For His, and for your, affliction.
Who then can feel,
How like steel,
Is the pain inside my bones?
What my poor heart fears for,
What it quakes for, and longs for
You know, and you alone!
Wherever I go now,
How sore, sore, sore now
How sore my heart must be!
Ah, when I’m alone here,
I moan, moan, moan here:
My heart it breaks in me.
The pots before my window!
My tears bedewed them so,
In the early dawn, when
I picked the flowers below.
The sun it shone so brightly,
And early, in my room,
Where I sat already,
On my bed, in deepest gloom.
Help me! Oh, save me, from shame and destruction!
Oh, bow down,
Sorrowful one,
Your kind face, to my affliction!"