We immediately associate Vivaldi’s Stabat Mater with church because, of course, it’s a contemplation of Mother Mary experiencing the Crucifixion of her son, a defining event of the Western world—in many respects, the defining event. But none of that story took place in a church. It took place in 1st-century Judea, a city that socially, was not really so different from our own. 

If we recount the events in plain language, without religious associations, it’s a story that occurs every day in every city around the world: a mother’s child is brutally, senselessly killed with a gun. More often than not, the child is innocent in every way—innocent of any crime, and still so young. We see images of this repeated on the news without end. A weeping mother cries out in unbearable pain, the “reason” for the killing pathetically meaningless and insignificant compared to the loss. 

By our inaction, we allow this to continue. We’re told, “You can’t save people from themselves,” but isn’t that the opposite of what Jesus told us? Isn’t that obviously wrong weighed against the eternal love and devotion of a mother? Their countless cries and prayers through the ages have not been answered. Our mannered sympathy and bizarre rationalizations do nothing to end this. We are as brutal as ever. That strikes me as hopelessly tragic. I would be overcome with despair, except for this: 

As these images and sounds come from my television, what I see every time is a mother standing as a pillar of strength, begging, demanding that we abandon antiquated ideas and uphold the fundamental ideals of civilization: co-operation, harmony, compassion. 

This dance marvels at the towering, inexhaustible strength of mothers—mine and yours—as yet another begs us to change.

Scenario
In a city, a mother walks 
toward her son in a playground. 
He waves.
She sees a man pull a gun.
He fires at someone. Vanishes.
The crowd slowly clears
as mother looks for her son.
He lies dying.

She lovingly cradles him.
He struggles for his last breaths. 
On-lookers gather. 
He dies in her arms.

She tenderly wipes his face,
neatens his hair,
then gathers her strength
to defy the pain
that would drive her insane.

Police arrive. 
The on-lookers offer sympathy. 
She is lucid, 
filled with fire, 
but also compassion.
She begs, pleads 
that we stop this senseless violence forever. 
Everyone leaves in shame.

She watches her son taken away. 

She is alone.
Where to go? What to do? How to live?
What for? With him, went her hopes, 
her dreams—her life.

Her son returns to inspire her love,
joy, and the strength to live. 

His memory begins to fade. 
She fights to stay with him, 
refuses to let him go.
He shows her he will always be with her.
She watches him vanish
into eternal bliss,
then faces us,
arms outstretched,
asking us to come to our senses.

Music For Dance

A Mother's Tears

Composer - California, USA
View Scores at:
http://www.issuu.com/jacquesbailhepublishing
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ASCAP

A Mother's Tears

Jacques Bailhé