Via Crucis Station 04 brings us to the heart-wrenching encounter between Jesus and His Blessed Mother. Along the way to Calvary, their eyes meet. No words are recorded in Scripture, yet everything passes between them in that gaze. Mary, who held Him as an infant, now watches Him carry the instrument of His death. This station reveals the depth of maternal suffering and the solidarity of love. At Valinhos Sanctuary, where Our Lady appeared to call the world to conversion, this station resonates deeply. Mary's presence on the Via Dolorosa wasn't passive—she actively participated in the work of redemption. I'm learning that true love doesn't turn away from suffering; it moves toward it.
V. We adore Thee, O Christ, and we praise Thee.
R. Because by Thy holy cross, Thou hast redeemed the world.
Blessed Mother, what did you feel when your eyes met His on that road? Did you remember Simeon's prophecy that a sword would pierce your heart? Did you recall holding Him in Bethlehem, protecting Him in Egypt, finding Him in the temple? Now you see Him bloodied, beaten, condemned. Yet you don't turn away. You don't collapse. You stand. You accompany. You suffer with Him. I want to learn this kind of love—the love that stays, that suffers alongside the beloved, that doesn't abandon when the way becomes unbearable. When I encounter Christ in the suffering people around me—the homeless person I pass, the difficult family member, the suffering stranger—give me your heart, Mother, so I won't look away. Help me move toward suffering with compassion rather than away from it in fear.
In the temple, forty days after His birth, Simeon warned Mary that a sword would pierce her heart. She held her infant Son knowing He was destined for suffering. This first sorrow was the knowledge of what would come—a mother's foreknowledge of her child's pain.
Their eyes meet on the Via Dolorosa—the prophecy fulfilled in this moment. The sword Simeon foretold now pierces her maternal heart as she sees Him broken, bleeding, condemned. She cannot save Him. She can only accompany Him. This is the sorrow of powerless love.
After holding His dead body, Mary watches them seal Him in the tomb. The sword stays lodged in her heart through Holy Saturday's darkness. Yet she doesn't despair. She waits. She trusts. This is the sorrow that transforms into hope through faith.
Our Lady's appearances at Fátima reveal her continued maternal presence on humanity's journey through suffering. Just as she met Jesus on the way to Calvary, she comes to meet us on our path through this valley of tears. Her message carries urgent maternal concern: her children are walking toward eternal loss, and she cannot rest while they're in danger.
At Valinhos, when the children couldn't attend the August apparition because they were imprisoned, Our Lady came to find them afterward—a mother seeking her children. This mirrors the fourth station for me: a mother who will not abandon her Son, a mother who will not abandon us. I find comfort in knowing she's looking for me, meeting me on my own via dolorosa.
According to St. Alphonsus Liguori, Mary suffered more in her heart at the foot of the cross than all the martyrs suffered in their bodies combined. St. Bonaventure reflected that no one can fully enter into an understanding of the Crucifixion without contemplating Mary's participation in it.
Pope St. John Paul II taught that Mary's "fiat" in the Annunciation found its fullness in standing beneath the cross—her yes to God's plan never wavered, even in this darkest hour. These reflections help me understand that Mary isn't just a bystander in salvation history. She's a participant, a co-sufferer, an essential part of the redemption I'm receiving.
I'm using imaginative prayer with this scene. I place myself as a bystander on the Via Dolorosa. I see Jesus stumbling forward under the cross. Then I notice her—Mary, pressing through the crowd toward Him. I watch as mother and Son lock eyes. What do I see in their faces? Then, in my imagination, Mary's gaze turns to me. What does her expression communicate?
This week I'm sitting quietly before an image of Mary holding Jesus after the crucifixion, asking her to teach me how to be present to suffering without running away from it. I'm also asking myself some hard questions: Who in my life is carrying a heavy cross right now? Have I been avoiding them because their pain makes me uncomfortable? How can I show up for them the way Mary showed up for Jesus?