Mary believed. She was a Christian before anyone else was, God’s pioneer in the Kingdom. God led her in faith, but there was no one else she could follow, except her Son. It was her faith that her cousin Elizabeth praised. Not simply that she was the mother, but “blessed is she who trusted that the Lord’s words to her would be fulfilled” (Lk. 1:45). She believed and there were many days when she could do nothing but cling to her faith in the dark, watching the mysterious teenager, this wandering evangelist, this daring hounded prophet. She could do nothing but exist in faith beneath the cross and afterwards. So Mary is Michelangelo’s “Pieta” which even the pagans look on with wonder and perhaps a tingling desire for faith. Mary is the mother who holds her dead Son, looks into His face and cries tears like all mothers and fathers in history, all those stunned by tragedy who see the ashes of their dreams slip through their fingers. After Jesus had risen and left the earth Mary’s faith was strong, even more peaceful and trusting as she witnessed the birth pangs of the Church struggling to be born.