Priest Alexandru Lungu
When a man is born in that house there is joy and feast. The walls of the houses where the babies are raised hear many prayers and lullabies. Maybe only in the room of a mother who cradles her baby are uttered as many prayers as in a church.
But where the Holy Mother of God was born, it was joy mingled with sadness. She was to give birth to the Son of God and her heart was to be pierced by sword.
She wouldn`t live a playful childhood and summers going swimming. Since childhood her angelic soul and fragile body was dedicated to vigils and prayers. She devoted her entire childhood to God and she spent her youth wandering.
Her whole life was on the run, like a candle which burns out quickly, but its flame embraces the whole world. She stayed all the time beside her Son, even in the hardest torments, as a mother who can`t leave the life she carried in her womb for nine months; a mother who had to protect her Son of death since His birth until His last moments. To see your Child offended, blamed and spitted by a whole world when He had healed, soothed, fed every day can`t be anything else but an endless purgatory.
Tomorrow is her birthday, of our protecting Mother. Nobody else beside her hears more tears, prayers and sighs except for her Son. We should bring her a flower at least, we should offer her a lily, lwe should shed a tear at least. Tomorrow is her birthday, of the one who gave us a God, a Son, a brother. Let us gather and honor her for an hour, a minute or a moment at least.
