Two Mothers

There's a beautiful picture I've seen posted on social media several times over the last few days. In between the screenshots from the video of George Floyd's horrific death and the photos of rioters interrupting otherwise peaceful protests is this snapshot of a toddler George, fast asleep, and snuggled up against his mother. 

It's an image I'm very much familiar with, especially these days as I spend most of my time feeding my one-month-old. So often she falls asleep while eating and I get the joy of gazing down on her peaceful face, perhaps with a big smile similar to Larcenia Floyd's. It's also an image that I see time again in the myriad of depictions of the Virgin Mary and Christ child. In my home, in my church, in my son's school, I see it everywhere. Statues, paintings, refrigerator magnets, artwork from my nieces and nephews. Sometimes Mary is smiling, a small, gentle smile; other times she is gazing wistfully at her son, who is often sleeping in the same totally-relaxed way young George was when that photograph was taken.

Whenever a tragedy like this most recent one occurs, when the life of a black child or adult is taken so suddenly and violently, I am reminded of Our Mother. I think of her at the foot of the cross watching her son die a slow, horrific death. And this after she had already seen him climb Calvary, stumbling and falling along the way while the crowds jeered at him. Bloody, crowned with thorns, his body covered in wounds from the scourging he suffered. Did she hear him cry out to his Father, asking why he had abandoned? Did she feel the earth move beneath her feet when her beloved son finally gave up the ghost? 

I've not watched the video of George Floyd's murder. Seeing screenshots is enough for me. And when I read that he called out for his deceased mother in his final moments my heart shattered. So quickly that heartbreak can turn to hopelessness. 

But then I look at that picture of George & his mother, & I look at the painting of the Virgin Mary & baby Jesus I have in my bedroom. And, despite the heartbreak & sadness, I can't help but smile. Hope remains. There's work to be done - policy changes, education, lots of listening, humbling ourselves. Not all of us can attend protests or donate thousands of dollars, but many of us, mothers & fathers, can enact change just be loving our children the way Mary loved Jesus. The way she loves us. It's a start.