Sunday, March 20, 2011
LoG prays at Gethsemane
Adapted: Mk 14: 26-42 (+Lk 22: 43-44)
Singing hymns, we climbed the Mount of Olives. My journey has begun.
And I turned to my disciples and said, “You will all become deserters for it is written ‘I will strike the shepherd and the sheep will be scattered.’”
Of course, I didn’t expect them to understand those words, for what was to come was truly unimaginable. Even for me. It seemed like such an easy thing to say. I think even I did not realize just how hard I would be struck – physically, mentally and spiritually. I was so uncertain that, for a moment, I forgot about the people – my people, God’s people – the reason I was doing all of these in the first place.
And as I recited the words of the prophets, I wondered to myself: would the message that I had fought to convey in the past three long years go to waste? Was I destined to be a failure? One who would be remembered for his disciples leaving him in the most critical hour?
Just as the first vestiges of doubt and fear crept into my mind, a Voice reassured me. It was the same Voice that proclaimed my belovedness at my baptism; the same Voice that affirmed me at my Transfiguration. It was this Voice – the voice of the Father who was Love, that gave me the conviction to say to my beloved flock, “But after I am raised up, I will go before you to Galilee.”
I already knew every word that Peter would say in response. Yet, it wasn’t any less easy hearing his words – the confidence in his voice, his tone bordering on pride – “Even though all will become deserters, I will not.” His words were like small cuts on the surface of my heart.
But I knew also that this man would be the one that I would count on. And he was still human, after all. I forgave him for his words in the quietness of my heart. In an instant, I swung from hurt to forgiveness. I knew everything I had to say, but I loved him. And it was not easy saying these words in reply – “Truly I tell you, this day, this very night, before the cock crows twice, you will deny me three times.”
Peter, it hurts me so much to say that you will deny me three times before the cock crows twice. When I first called you, you put down everything and followed me. You were with me when I performed miracles. And I even gave you the key to my church. Yet I know that everything you believe in, you will deny; you are not yet ready to pick up the cross and follow me.
But that’s ok. I will not deny anyone. I will take up my cross as a perfect example for you and all others to follow. And by my death, you would have the courage to die in the face of anyone else who denies me.
Almost instantly, Peter’s eyes widened and he ardently expressed his disagreement. Vehemently, he said, “Even though I must die, I will not deny you.”
A hint of desperation escaped Peter’s proclamation. But I knew. My eyes shakily slipped past his. It has been a long journey and the hurt has been building up. How does it feel to know that your best friend will betray you even when it has not happened? Is such clairvoyance a blessing or a burden that I have to tend to tirelessly?
At that juncture, my other disciples echoed Peter’s sentiments, like dogs barking fervently after their master who tells them that he has to go. But I knew. And it is because that I knew that it hurt even more. But I love them all the same. They were earnest men. However, even the mightiest rock will undergo and weather the strongest of storms.
I paused. I must trust in my Father’s plan. I stepped past each of them, tears welling up in my eyes. I could only pray silently, alone as I was in the crowd. The blaring moonlight silently lit up the path ahead of me. It was time to go.
We went to the place called Gethsemane – a wonderful garden, but it’s beauty brought no comfort to my fears. I then said to my disciples, “Sit here while I pray.”
And I was overcome with sorrow. For even these friends of mine that I’ve been given could not partake in the same cup. This I must do alone.
I called just Peter, James and John to come away as I needed to let out this uneasy feeling in me. My heart racing, my mouth dry, I needed to share. I started to feel the nervousness – the same choking feeling I get when I’m vulnerable.
Loneliness. Fear. Sorrow. Death was just upon me, hours away.
For the first time, I was flooded with all the emotions of man. In this very moment, I was both truly God and Man.
Comfort. Assurance. Strength.
“My disciples,” I said to the three of them, “oh how my soul struggles even to death. Remain here and keep awake.”
I left them to be by myself for a while. I may be in good health, but the pain within my heart is so cancerous that every step I take is unbearable. Finally, I threw myself to the ground but the physical pain I feel is dull, incomparable, to what is within. I tried to pray but there are no words that can describe the anguish that I feel inside. I thought I had fallen far enough to reach rock bottom, but now I realize that the rock bottom is bottomless. I begged that if it was possible, this cross would end tonight and I would wake up and never have to feel this pain ever again.
In my desperation and fear, I could only cry to my Father for his help. There was no way that I could go through all that was ahead by myself. And given a choice, I would ask my Father to pick another. Why me? I felt helpless and so alone as I knew that no man could ever understand what I will have to go through.
My last attempt was thus to surrender and believe that His plan for me, though painful, was perfect in every way. And I cried, “Abba, Father, for you all things are possible. Remove this cup from me, yet, let it be by Your will and not mine.”
I want to surrender. Surrender to my desire to run away, to escape from the will of God, to protect myself. It’s such a tempting option, to run away; it’s so much easier. Father, it’s so much easier. I really want to give up…
But suddenly, a voice whispers in my ear, “Be strong, my child.”
I knew what was to come; I knew what I had to do. The magnitude and magnanimity of the task that my Father had entrusted me with shook me to the very core of my being. But in my pain, I turned back to Him, for the strength that only He could empower me with. As I prayed in the garden, with sweat dripping down the side of my face, it was as if my humanness was protesting against His will.
Going to my disciples, I found them in a deep sleep. I rebuked Peter, “Simon, why are you asleep? Here am I about to die on the cross for my people, which include you. I find the man chosen to follow me asleep right in front of me. Can you not keep your eyes open for just one hour?”
I thought to myself how futile it was to say this now to them. But as I looked to the future, I could see how it would come to their aid and comfort when the world overwhelms them. I pray that after each fall, they will pick themselves up and remember their desires for good. That is why I implore them to pray, and I will come to their aid as will the angels descend upon me to support me in this time of darkness. I know that they want to keep in company with me, but the day has taken its toll on them, as it has on me. Only the fear and the pain of what is to come keeps me awake. They cannot know what is going to happen. Though I want them to be by my side, my love for them does not bind them to any selfish desire to force them to do my will.
Leaving them, I returned to my own space of anguish and solitude. The loneliness I felt was overwhelming. Every single part of my body and soul was begging me to resist, to escape from my impending doom.
I cried out in desperation – to Papa, to Abba, to Father – for some repose, but the silence was fulfilling. It had to be done.
Back to my disciples I went, and there they were sleeping as I had expected. They awoke when they heard me. And they stood, speechless, seemingly confounded by their own human weakness.
They still do not understand. In this time of fear and struggle, I need their support and their prayers. But they do not understand what is to come. This cup is only for me to drink and only I will drink of this cup. Where I am about to go, they cannot follow. Alas, my hour has come!
Have you ever found yourself in a situation where every part of your body screams “no”, but your hands and feet and mouth simply disobey you? They go against your thoughts, and act with a life of their own. Perhaps during a 42km run, when you are nearing the finish line? Or maybe when you rush forward to protect a loved one from immediate danger?
In biology, it is known as a fight or flight response. When adrenaline rises to great levels in the body, when a person has to choose to either stick it out and fight or to run as far away as he can, as fast as he can. He has to choose – to fight, or to take flight. And that is the beauty of free will. I am able to choose.
Everything in my body tells me to run away right now. Danger is approaching. Leave before it is too late.
The soldiers enter through the gates.
Just lift my legs, go to my disciples, and they will make sure we get out safe, that we get out alive.
But strength from the angel surfaced, and I found myself leading us straight into the hands of the soldiers instead. “Get up, let us be going. See, my betrayer is at hand.”
LoG prays at Gethsemane
Adapted: Mk 14: 26-42 (+Lk 22: 43-44)
Singing hymns, we climbed the Mount of Olives. My journey has begun.
And I turned to my disciples and said, “You will all become deserters for it is written ‘I will strike the shepherd and the sheep will be scattered.’”
Of course, I didn’t expect them to understand those words, for what was to come was truly unimaginable. Even for me. It seemed like such an easy thing to say. I think even I did not realize just how hard I would be struck – physically, mentally and spiritually. I was so uncertain that, for a moment, I forgot about the people – my people, God’s people – the reason I was doing all of these in the first place.
And as I recited the words of the prophets, I wondered to myself: would the message that I had fought to convey in the past three long years go to waste? Was I destined to be a failure? One who would be remembered for his disciples leaving him in the most critical hour?
Just as the first vestiges of doubt and fear crept into my mind, a Voice reassured me. It was the same Voice that proclaimed my belovedness at my baptism; the same Voice that affirmed me at my Transfiguration. It was this Voice – the voice of the Father who was Love, that gave me the conviction to say to my beloved flock, “But after I am raised up, I will go before you to Galilee.”
I already knew every word that Peter would say in response. Yet, it wasn’t any less easy hearing his words – the confidence in his voice, his tone bordering on pride – “Even though all will become deserters, I will not.” His words were like small cuts on the surface of my heart.
But I knew also that this man would be the one that I would count on. And he was still human, after all. I forgave him for his words in the quietness of my heart. In an instant, I swung from hurt to forgiveness. I knew everything I had to say, but I loved him. And it was not easy saying these words in reply – “Truly I tell you, this day, this very night, before the cock crows twice, you will deny me three times.”
Peter, it hurts me so much to say that you will deny me three times before the cock crows twice. When I first called you, you put down everything and followed me. You were with me when I performed miracles. And I even gave you the key to my church. Yet I know that everything you believe in, you will deny; you are not yet ready to pick up the cross and follow me.
But that’s ok. I will not deny anyone. I will take up my cross as a perfect example for you and all others to follow. And by my death, you would have the courage to die in the face of anyone else who denies me.
Almost instantly, Peter’s eyes widened and he ardently expressed his disagreement. Vehemently, he said, “Even though I must die, I will not deny you.”
A hint of desperation escaped Peter’s proclamation. But I knew. My eyes shakily slipped past his. It has been a long journey and the hurt has been building up. How does it feel to know that your best friend will betray you even when it has not happened? Is such clairvoyance a blessing or a burden that I have to tend to tirelessly?
At that juncture, my other disciples echoed Peter’s sentiments, like dogs barking fervently after their master who tells them that he has to go. But I knew. And it is because that I knew that it hurt even more. But I love them all the same. They were earnest men. However, even the mightiest rock will undergo and weather the strongest of storms.
I paused. I must trust in my Father’s plan. I stepped past each of them, tears welling up in my eyes. I could only pray silently, alone as I was in the crowd. The blaring moonlight silently lit up the path ahead of me. It was time to go.
We went to the place called Gethsemane – a wonderful garden, but it’s beauty brought no comfort to my fears. I then said to my disciples, “Sit here while I pray.”
And I was overcome with sorrow. For even these friends of mine that I’ve been given could not partake in the same cup. This I must do alone.
I called just Peter, James and John to come away as I needed to let out this uneasy feeling in me. My heart racing, my mouth dry, I needed to share. I started to feel the nervousness – the same choking feeling I get when I’m vulnerable.
Loneliness. Fear. Sorrow. Death was just upon me, hours away.
For the first time, I was flooded with all the emotions of man. In this very moment, I was both truly God and Man.
Comfort. Assurance. Strength.
“My disciples,” I said to the three of them, “oh how my soul struggles even to death. Remain here and keep awake.”
I left them to be by myself for a while. I may be in good health, but the pain within my heart is so cancerous that every step I take is unbearable. Finally, I threw myself to the ground but the physical pain I feel is dull, incomparable, to what is within. I tried to pray but there are no words that can describe the anguish that I feel inside. I thought I had fallen far enough to reach rock bottom, but now I realize that the rock bottom is bottomless. I begged that if it was possible, this cross would end tonight and I would wake up and never have to feel this pain ever again.
In my desperation and fear, I could only cry to my Father for his help. There was no way that I could go through all that was ahead by myself. And given a choice, I would ask my Father to pick another. Why me? I felt helpless and so alone as I knew that no man could ever understand what I will have to go through.
My last attempt was thus to surrender and believe that His plan for me, though painful, was perfect in every way. And I cried, “Abba, Father, for you all things are possible. Remove this cup from me, yet, let it be by Your will and not mine.”
I want to surrender. Surrender to my desire to run away, to escape from the will of God, to protect myself. It’s such a tempting option, to run away; it’s so much easier. Father, it’s so much easier. I really want to give up…
But suddenly, a voice whispers in my ear, “Be strong, my child.”
I knew what was to come; I knew what I had to do. The magnitude and magnanimity of the task that my Father had entrusted me with shook me to the very core of my being. But in my pain, I turned back to Him, for the strength that only He could empower me with. As I prayed in the garden, with sweat dripping down the side of my face, it was as if my humanness was protesting against His will.
Going to my disciples, I found them in a deep sleep. I rebuked Peter, “Simon, why are you asleep? Here am I about to die on the cross for my people, which include you. I find the man chosen to follow me asleep right in front of me. Can you not keep your eyes open for just one hour?”
I thought to myself how futile it was to say this now to them. But as I looked to the future, I could see how it would come to their aid and comfort when the world overwhelms them. I pray that after each fall, they will pick themselves up and remember their desires for good. That is why I implore them to pray, and I will come to their aid as will the angels descend upon me to support me in this time of darkness. I know that they want to keep in company with me, but the day has taken its toll on them, as it has on me. Only the fear and the pain of what is to come keeps me awake. They cannot know what is going to happen. Though I want them to be by my side, my love for them does not bind them to any selfish desire to force them to do my will.
Leaving them, I returned to my own space of anguish and solitude. The loneliness I felt was overwhelming. Every single part of my body and soul was begging me to resist, to escape from my impending doom.
I cried out in desperation – to Papa, to Abba, to Father – for some repose, but the silence was fulfilling. It had to be done.
Back to my disciples I went, and there they were sleeping as I had expected. They awoke when they heard me. And they stood, speechless, seemingly confounded by their own human weakness.
They still do not understand. In this time of fear and struggle, I need their support and their prayers. But they do not understand what is to come. This cup is only for me to drink and only I will drink of this cup. Where I am about to go, they cannot follow. Alas, my hour has come!
Have you ever found yourself in a situation where every part of your body screams “no”, but your hands and feet and mouth simply disobey you? They go against your thoughts, and act with a life of their own. Perhaps during a 42km run, when you are nearing the finish line? Or maybe when you rush forward to protect a loved one from immediate danger?
In biology, it is known as a fight or flight response. When adrenaline rises to great levels in the body, when a person has to choose to either stick it out and fight or to run as far away as he can, as fast as he can. He has to choose – to fight, or to take flight. And that is the beauty of free will. I am able to choose.
Everything in my body tells me to run away right now. Danger is approaching. Leave before it is too late.
The soldiers enter through the gates.
Just lift my legs, go to my disciples, and they will make sure we get out safe, that we get out alive.
But strength from the angel surfaced, and I found myself leading us straight into the hands of the soldiers instead. “Get up, let us be going. See, my betrayer is at hand.”
1 Comments:
bahhh i can't get e paragraphs to go right cos u can't press in blogger. even pressing a few times doesn't work! ok but if anyone wants e original just ask me i can send out e email. i'll do a fb note also.
mel
By 
LoG,
March 21, 2011 10:44 AM