Mark 14:32–42 (NKJV)

Then they came to a place which was named Gethsemane; and He said to His disciples, “Sit here while I pray.” And He took Peter, James, and John with Him, and He began to be troubled and deeply distressed. Then He said to them, “My soul is exceedingly sorrowful, even to death. Stay here and watch.”

He went a little farther, and fell on the ground, and prayed that if it were possible, the hour might pass from Him. And He said, “Abba, Father, all things are possible for You. Take this cup away from Me; nevertheless, not what I will, but what You will.”

Then He came and found them sleeping, and said to Peter, “Simon, are you sleeping? Could you not watch one hour? Watch and pray, lest you enter into temptation. The spirit indeed is willing, but the flesh is weak.”

Again He went away and prayed, and spoke the same words. And when He returned, He found them asleep again, for their eyes were heavy; and they did not know what to answer Him.

Then He came the third time and said to them, “Are you still sleeping and resting? It is enough! The hour has come; behold, the Son of Man is being betrayed into the hands of sinners. Rise, let us be going. See, My betrayer is at hand.”

Poetry

“Gethsemane”
by Mary Oliver

The grass never sleeps.
Or the roses.
Nor does the lily have a secret eye that shuts until morning.

Jesus said, wait with me. But the disciples slept.

The cricket has such splendid fringe on its feet,
and it sings, have you noticed, with its whole body,
and heaven knows if it ever sleeps.

Jesus said, wait with me. And maybe the stars did,
maybe the wind wound itself into a silver tree, and didn’t move, maybe
the lake far away, where once he walked as on a
blue pavement,
lay still and waited, wild awake.

Oh the dear bodies, slumped and eye-shut, that could not
keep that vigil, how they must have wept,
so utterly human, knowing this too
must be a part of the story.

Christ’s Agony in the Garden

When I first saw a picture of “Christ’s Agony in the Garden” my eyes were immediately drawn to the starry sky. It reminded me of a time I took my daughter camping in Death Valley to see the stars on the longest, darkest night of the year. The sky on that night appeared as vibrant as the sky in this painting. We positioned our heads under the window of our tent so that we could wake in the middle of the night to watch a meteor shower, a meteor shower my daughter ultimately slept through despite my prodding. In the painting, the disciples sleep in childlike slumps, seemingly using their halos as pillows. I learned recently that those halos were once called glories. Here they appear incongruent on the figures of the sleeping disciples. Glory should be for the watchful ones, those who stay awake as directed.

But perhaps, even if the disciples did not keep watch, as Mary Oliver writes, then “maybe the stars did.” This observation echoes the triumphal entry in which Jesus remarks that if the crowds did not cry out, then the stones would! His purposes – and his glory – would not and will not be thwarted. The people are quick to see his entry into Jerusalem as the answer to their prayers. God has heard! The glory has returned! (Ezekiel 43). They celebrate, and rightfully so. They do not recognize that here in the agony of the garden, God has also heard. They do not see glory here. Yet it is in Christ’s passion that John will write about the Son of Man coming into glory (John 17:1-5).

How do we live and see God’s glory in a world that is in need of remaking, in which death is unavoidable and suffering surrounds us? Which is the greater temptation for me: that I am only able to see God’s glory in ease and in health, or that I compartmentalize an awareness of God’s glory to a future, heavenly state? Or do I simply fall asleep, content to not face the brokenness and suffering around me? What would it be like to somehow become awake to God’s glorious presence even in the midst of suffering?

While the disciples did fall asleep in the garden, they did not ultimately lose sight of God’s glory, even as they walked through their own suffering. Out of the twelve, ten of these disciples went on to die for their faith, and one had to bear the grief of living through these losses. Yet here in the garden, they each sleep on an undeserved halo of glory. The only disciple who did not fall asleep was incredulous of this type of glory, betrayed Christ, and died in despair.

As I have read this gospel scene over the years, I have often heard different tones in Christ’s voice when he spoke to the sleepy disciples. Sometimes I have heard his voice filled with anger when he tells them “enough!” Sometimes I have heard this “enough” as spoken with exhaustion and sorrow. Yet, it was only when trying to show my daughter the glory of tiny lights in the sky in the midst of darkness in a valley literally named Death that I heard Christ’s “enough” spoken in love. In looking upon her, it opened up my heart to a new possibility of how Christ looked upon the disciples and how he looks upon us in our own dark nights. He understands how we are totally overwhelmed and exhausted by it all, the call to lament and the call to celebrate, the fear of death and the fear of hope. We are, as Mary Oliver puts it, “so utterly human.”

“Not what I will, but what You will…let us be going.”

Prayer

Guide us waking, O Lord, and guard us sleeping; that awake we may watch with Christ, and asleep we may rest in peace.

        — From the Book of Common Prayer

Stacie Poston
Adjunct, Torrey Honors

For more information about the artwork, music, and poetry selected for this day, we have provided resources under the “About” tab located next to the “Devotional” tab near the top of the page.