The tears of the Mother of Sorrows fill the Scriptures and spill over the ages. All the mothers, widows and virgins who weep, add nothing to that superabundant effusion which would suffice to wash the hearts of ten thousand despairing worlds. All the wounded, the naked and the oppressed, the cumbersome, suffering processions we find at all of life's desperate crossroads, are a perfect fit in the generous folds of the azure-blue mantel of Our Lady of Seven Sorrows.
Each time someone bursts into tears, in a crowd of people or all alone, Mary is the one crying, because all tears belong to her as Empress of Beatitude and Love. Mary's tears are the very Blood of Christ, shed in a different way, since her compassion was a sort of interior crucifixion of the holy humanity of her Son.
Mary's tears and Jesus' Blood are the double effusion of the same heart and one can say that the Blessed Virgin's compassion was the Passion under its most terrible form. This is the meaning of the words that were addressed to Saint Bridget:
Christ's affliction was my affliction, for his Heart was my heart; for as Adam and Eve sold the world for only one apple, my Son and I have redeemed it with only one Heart.
Tears are a legacy of the Mother of Sorrows; such a formidable legacy cannot be squandered in vain worldly attachments without committing a sacrilege. Saint Rose of Lima used to say that our tears belong to God and that whoever sheds them without thinking of him, steals them from him (Leon Bloy).