On the way in Lent. Stabat Mater

Reflections by Luigi Testa* On the third Friday of Lent

(In Jerusalem in the Holy Sepulcher) it is the smallest altar in the whole Basilica. Crushed between that of the crucifixion and that of the Golgotha. Silent, discreet; leaning against a pillar. Almost you don't want to take too much space, while the pain for that affected son, offended, nailed, killed you crushes you, squeezes you, as in a press.

Yet, he is not in the way you are there, Maria. Wherever he could have done without you, but not on that spur of bare rock. And we too, if you weren't here, would have been lost, confused, disoriented. We would not know who to look for, we would not know who to pray.

We would not know who to ask that the wounds of the Lord are impressed in my heart. I once saw an oriental woman who started cleaning on the ground, with a fabric that seemed precious, in front of this tiny altar of yours. Maybe he had come more for you than for him; To confuse his tears with yours, woman to woman, mother to mother.

This is the hour, Mother, in which Jesus makes fun of my promises of in love. I told him "I would lead you, I would introduce you to my mother's house; You would start to the art of love»(CT 8,2); And instead it is he, now, who leads me to his mother's house; And here, while that sword cuts your soul, begins to the art of love.

* Luigi Testa is the author of legal texts and writes in some national newspapers. "Via crucis of a gay boy"(Castelvecchi, 2024) is his first spiritual book, his other reflections are also published onGionata.org.