At the foot of the cross on Good Friday, two very different groups gathered. There were the soldiers, strong, intimidating, and desensitized to suffering, tasked with maintaining order. Having struck Jesus, scourged him, dressed him in mock royalty, and pressed a crown of thorns into his brow, they now passed the time by dividing his garments and casting lots for what little he had left.
At the foot of the cross, there were also several women devoted to Jesus (John 19:25). They had likely been pushed back at first, forced to watch from a distance. But as the crowds thinned and curiosity faded, they drew closer, both to the horror and to the one they loved. Not deterred by the brutality of the scene or the intimidation of the soldiers, they were drawn by devotion. Among them stood Mary, the mother of Jesus.
The fourth-century preacher John Chrysostom once remarked, “The women stood by the cross, and the weaker sex appeared the manlier.” His words sound jarring to modern ears, but his point is unmistakable: when others fled, these women remained. While the disciples sought safety, they chose presence.
In his so-called “third word” from the cross, Jesus, suffering and abandoned, communicates unmistakable care. Of John, he says to Mary, “Woman, behold your son!” (John 19:26), and of Mary, he says to John, “Behold your mother!” (John 19:27). This moment, so tender, seems out of place amid the brutality of Calvary. But it reveals three profound features of Christ’s ministry at the cross we should celebrate.
An Attentive Love
Mary’s presence at the cross is striking. She had been there at the beginning of Christ’s life, at the manger and then at the temple, treasuring things in her heart. Now, at the end, she once again stands with him. Soon to be without her firstborn son, she does not collapse in hysteria or protest but remains steadfast, bearing a sorrow too deep for words.
What was it like for her? She who once held him in her arms now sees him suspended on a cross. She who once soothed his cries now hears his laboured breath. Every impulse in her must have been to intervene, to wipe his brow, to ease his pain, to take his place. But she can do none of it.
After a sleepless night, brutal scourging, and the exhausting journey to Golgotha, Jesus surveys the scene. His body is depleted, his nerves aflame, his strength nearly gone, and yet his eyes locate his mother. Perhaps memories flicker through his mind as he recalled her nurture and the quiet faith that shaped his early years. But even more so, he wonders about her future. Who will care for her when he is gone?
The moment they lock eyes, Jesus speaks with a love unlike any other, “Woman, behold your son!” Many of us know what it is like to suffer, to feel overwhelmed by pain, grief, and uncertainty. In those moments, we often turn inward and wonder: Does anyone see? Does anyone care? At the cross, the answer is unmistakable. Here is a Saviour who sees and who cares, whose love is not diminished by suffering but revealed through it. Even as he dies, Jesus obeys the command to honour his mother. Even as he dies the death we deserved to die, he lives the life we were meant to live.
A New Family
But this moment is not only about Mary and Jesus; it is also about Mary and John. Once a fisherman and now a follower, John had fled in fear like the others but was drawn back by love. Seeing him, Jesus says something startling: not “Behold my mother,” but “Behold your mother.” Jesus is subtly, albeit profoundly, loosening his earthly bond with Mary. Why? Because something greater is taking place.
In privileging belief over biological family, Jesus is building his church. Earlier, when told that his mother and brothers were waiting for him, Jesus had responded, “Who is my mother, and who are my brothers?” (Matt.12:48). And then, pointing to his disciples, he said, “Here are my mother and my brothers. For whoever does the will of my Father in heaven is my brother and sister and mother” (Matt.12:49-50).
It is to John, not his own brothers, that Jesus entrusts his mother. In so doing, Jesus is building his church to be a community defined not by bloodlines but by grace, to be people who care for one another as he cares for them. John embraces the responsibility immediately: “And from that hour the disciple took her to his own home” (John 19:27). By taking Mary into his home and into his life, John models what it means to live as the church: to receive one another, to bear one another’s burdens, and to love not in word only, but in action.
An Eternal Home
There is one more layer to this moment, and one that reaches even deeper. Jesus addresses Mary not as “mother,” but as “woman”: “Woman, behold your son!” (John 19:26). Far from rejecting Mary, Jesus is redefining his relationship to her. From the beginning, Jesus understood that his ultimate allegiance was to his Father in heaven. At twelve years old, in the temple, he had already said, “Did you not know that I must be in my Father’s house?” (Luke 2:49).
Now, at the cross, that mission reaches its climax. To accomplish the work of salvation, Jesus must stand alone. No human relationship, however precious, can divert him from this task. In a sense, he releases Mary as his mother so that he may redeem her as his sister. Mary, though faithful and devout, is not sinless. She, like all of us, needs a Saviour. And for her to become a child of God, Jesus must bear the weight of sin, including her sin. By dying for her (and us!), Jesus admits her (and us!) to God’s family forever. Years later, this is something John would continue to celebrate with wonder: “See what kind of love the Father has given to us, that we should be called children of God!” (1 John 3:1).
The Friday Jesus was crucified was good for so many reasons, not least for three gifts apparent from the so-called third word from the cross. Jesus sees us in our suffering and cares. Jesus builds his church to be a community of mutual care. Jesus dies to secure us admission into God’s family forever.
