Asleep in the garden

Then Jesus went with his disciples to a place called Gethsemane … Matthew 26:36

Imagine Jesus entering the garden at night. It’s dark, cool, maybe a little damp. Even his robes feel heavy with the weight of dread and sadness. It’s quiet. His feet rustle through rough stones, scrubby vegetation. He can hear the close steps of those who accompany him. They are his apprentices, his traveling companions, inner circle, close friends. I wonder if he is torn. Should he gather them around himself and bring them deep into his turmoil, or move ahead alone to meet his Father, to plead his case, to lean into the slim hope of another way? Singular focus wins and he moves ahead alone, leaving them to pray, to weave silent slings of support around his throbbing heart.

But these three, Peter, James, and John, are human—oh, so very human. Flawed, weak, and in so many ways clueless. These three, with Jesus at the transfiguration, were transfixed. Awakened to the wonder and power and beyondness of this God-man they followed. All senses on high alert, not wanting to miss a single glimmering dust mote, attuned, vigilant. But now, at the pivotal hour, where the One and Only, the source of love and life and peace and all things good, faced the unthinkable, they slept. So, so human.

I find it interesting that none of them tried to accompany Jesus further. It would have been characteristic of the impulsive Peter to insist on being with Jesus for support or protection, charging deeper into the Garden, glued to his side. But he doesn’t. Might we assume that John, the disciple Jesus loved, would have been so in tune with his Master that he sensed the agony deep in his bones and glued himself to his side out of love and devotion? But he didn’t.

At the very least, could they not have stayed awake? Couldn’t at least one of them muster the strength to keep his eyes open and nudge the others to wakefulness? But that doesn’t happen.

I want to be the pesky stones in their back that won’t let them rest. I want to be the annoying beetle that tickles them to consciousness. I want to be the harsh wind, or wild animal call that shakes them to attention. How could they fall asleep at a time like this? But I understand the elixir of overload, of too much to comprehend, too much to take in, too much to feel and come out sane on the other side. Sometimes it is just easier to sleep, to surrender to unawareness. They were unaware of the cosmic, divine, climactic struggle playing out a stone’s throw from them. They were unaware of the agonizing sorrow Jesus’ own awareness brought. They failed to recognize Jesus’ invitation for them to truly be his companion in suffering. Jesus tried to make them aware—three times he tried. But they slept, unaware.

Imagining this scene makes me wonder. Am I sleeping when I should be awake? Am I slipping by difficult situations God wants me to fully enter into? What might Jesus be trying to make me aware of right now?

“Why are you sleeping?” he asked them. “Get up and pray that you will not fall into temptation.” Luke 22:46