Standing Near
John 19:25 — One of the women who stood near the cross at the crucifixion of Jesus, named once in Scripture, otherwise unknown.
No one will remember her name.
She knows this, standing here
in the thin shadow of the cross,
unable to look away—
not from courage,
but because love
has taken that option from her.
She cannot climb to Him.
She cannot stop this.
So she does the only thing left:
she walks with Him in her mind
through what His eyes may still be seeing.
She hopes He remembers the river—
John standing waist-deep in the current,
water streaming from his great dark beard,
the sky opening
as if it had been waiting
all its life to say yes.
She hopes He remembers the wedding,
the stone jars, the steward’s confusion,
the moment ordinary water
became something that made the guests
go quiet with pleasure.
They said He smiled that day.
She wants to believe it.
She hopes the city’s entrance
has faded from Him now—
the coats thrown down,
the branches, the misreading crowd
who wanted a general
and got a man on a foal
who wept before He arrived.
She hopes the garden
is not what He is seeing.
The dark. The cup. The friends
who could not keep their eyes open
for even one hour.
The one who came with a kiss.
The rest gone into darkness.
These few at the foot of the cross—
she counts them on one hand.
When He cries out—
Finished.
She doesn’t know if it means
the end of everything
or the completion of something
she cannot yet see.
Perhaps He knew it meant both.
She carries it home through streets
that have forgotten
it is still Friday—
not answers,
but a word large enough
to hold all her unknowing.
No one will remember her name.
She was there.
That was enough.