Stabat Mater Dolorosa: The Pain of Seeing One’s Child Suffer and Die

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Brighton Katabaro
Academy of International Ecumenism, University of Hamburg

 

The Pain of Seeing One’s Child Suffer and Die

Recently, on November 15th, 2025, my choir here in Nienstedten had a concert, and we sang the "Stabat Mater" piece by Joseph Haydn. Since that evening, one particular line from the hymn has stayed with me like a refrain I cannot shake off. Again and again, this sound rises within me:

“Stabat Mater dolorosa,
juxta crucem lacrimosa,
dum pendebat Filius.”

The sorrowful mother (Mary) standing beneath the cross, watching her son (Jesus) die.

Today, in many places around the world, mothers and fathers stand beneath their own “cross.” They watch their children suffer - because of war and violence, because of hunger that threatens millions of young lives every day, and because of the consequences of climate change: droughts, floods, destroyed harvests - bringing new suffering, new tears, new graves.

 

The pain of seeing a loved one (and especially one’s own child) die goes beyond what a human heart seems able to bear. It is a grief deeper than any wound, a silence that screams louder than any noise. A parent’s heart never fully heals.

I know this pain.
On February 28th, 2002, I lost my child Neema, 11 months old.
And it is true: time does not heal everything.
After 23 years, the wound still burns.

It hurts to see a child dying.
It hurts.
It hurts.

This pain reminds me today: every child’s life is sacred.

Therefore, all who knowingly or unknowingly cause children to suffer (through any form of violence, through environmental destruction, through indifference toward hunger and poverty) should pause for a moment and understand what this pain means.

For parents around the world, this pain does not simply fade. It stays with them for a lifetime.

Is there comfort or hope in such moments? Hard to say!
Yet the Bible reminds us that God knows and takes seriously the pain of a parent’s heart: 

“As a mother comforts her child, so I will comfort you.” (Isaiah 66:13)

This promise is not only for parents. It is also for children who are forced to mourn their parents for any reason, and for those who grieve the loss of a spouse. Indeed, it is for anyone who laments the death of a beloved one.

God sees the tears no one else sees. He knows the breaking of a heart that mourns someone who was irreplaceable. Just as Mary stood beneath the cross (helpless and yet full of love) so we, too, sometimes stand: holding on, weeping, hoping.

And in the image of the cross, I believe that God Himself has known the pain of seeing a child suffer and die. Therefore, He understands our wounds and our tears. He carries what is too heavy for us. He holds what we had to let go of. And He walks with us, step by step, until pain becomes breath again, and tears become quiet comfort.

May God comfort all parents who weep: in war zones, in regions of hunger, in cities, in villages, in flooded landscapes, in destroyed homes, and in empty children’s rooms.
May He give all of us strength, so that we do not look away, but act.

And may He move the hearts of those who cause or allow suffering in this World  so that they may understand how precious every child’s life is. Amen

______________________

In diesem Beitrag reflektiere ich über den tiefen und lebenslangen Schmerz von Eltern, die mit dem Tod oder dem Leiden ihres Kindes konfrontiert sind. Ausgehend von Haydns Stabat Mater verknüpfe ich die Trauer Marias unter dem Kreuz mit dem gegenwärtigen globalen Leid von Eltern, die ihre Kinder infolge von Krieg, Hunger oder den Auswirkungen des Klimawandels verlieren. Vor dem Hintergrund meiner eigenen Erfahrung des Verlusts eines Kindes wird deutlich, dass dieser Schmerz unheilbar bleibt und zugleich dazu anhält, jedes Kinderleben als heilig zu achten.  

 


 

 

 



 




 

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