Docitism minimizes the human drama between mother and son. Jesus of Nazareth was a son, in the fullest sense of the word. He most assuredly lived his life as a son. His mother lovingly cleansed him when he soiled himself miserably as an infant. She fed him when he stomped and screamed for nourishment with all the fierce, selfish, and necessarily instinctive temper displayed by infants to this very day. She nursed his bloody elbows and knees on more than a few occasions when his outside play was performed with too much reckless but youthful abandonment. Mary was mother. Jesus was son.
The encounter of Mary and Jesus, which is not attested to by scripture, but by Christian legend, as he was being forced toward his crucifixion, must have been heart-wrenching.
I know of no mother who could stand aside, with an aura of calm, faithful, and distinguished reserve, as her son was carted off to be shredded to pieces. I know of no such mother, and I believe it to be unjust to force Mary to be one too. I suspect she was draped in emotion before, during, and after this encounter with her beloved son, Jesus. I imagine she went loudly into the night. I imagine she acted like a boy’s mother. Jesus’ heart broke one more time, I’m sure.
Artwork Used By Permission & Credit: Gwyneth Leech