And he came out and went, as was his custom, to the Mount of Olives, and the disciples followed him. Luke 22:39
He leads the way back toward their camping place on the Mount of Olives, but then turns aside in the little valley between the outer wall of Jerusalem and the crown of the hill called Gethsemane. “Stay here for a while,” he tells them, adding this strange instruction. “Pray that you may not be put to the test.” Then he walks on alone—they know not to follow—and darkness obscures him.
For a moment, no one knows what to say. “Well,” Peter remarks at last, “That was strange.”
“Remember what he taught us to pray,” John says: “’Lead us not into temptation?’ Big things are about to happen, and we must be ready.”
“All right then.” Peter takes the lead, as usual. Spreading his hands, he looks up to heaven, closes his eyes, and speaks in the singsong lilt of a cantor in the synagogue, “O most high and exalted God, the Blessed One of Israel, hear our prayer! Keep temptation from us and let us . . . let us walk always in the way of our Master, the Messiah who comes from you. And train our hands for battle that we may bend a bow of bronze and triumph over our enemies. The LORD is my strength and song, and he had become my salvation! Amen.”
“Talk about making a show of your prayers,” teases his brother Andrew.
“As fine as any Pharisee!” laughs James.
“He didn’t even look at our swords,” Simon yawns.
The yawn spreads like fog through their ranks; it had been a long day. “We should take turns praying,” John suggests, as he squirms out a more comfortable place for himself against a rock. “Who wants to be next?”
After a pause, Bartholomew speaks up: he who hardly ever says anything. “I will.” His droning voice puts some of them to sleep, and when it ends John give a little start: oh, my turn. He begins, but loses his train of thought a few times and fills in the gaps with holy words.
One by one they drift away under the stars. Satan haunts them—and taunts them—
Deliver us from evil.
They are put to the test, but since they never took his harder sayings very seriously before, they are ill-prepared to resist now. Only one or two, before losing consciousness, thinks to wonder, Hey—where’s Judas?
* * * * * * * * * * *
Meanwhile, only about a stone’s throw away, the Son of Man rises unsteadily to his feet. He wipes his forehead with a corner of his cloak.
It comes away bloody.
We suddenly realize: we have never observed him at prayer before. He prays all the time—hours every day—but this is the only private prayer we are privileged to hear, and it’s deeply disturbing. There has never been a clash of wills between these two, and indeed, this is not exactly a clash. But it’s a conflict, an offsetting, where two wills don’t quite line up together. What has he been asking? If you will, do not pour out your cup of wrath on me. Over eons of time that cup has been poised and ready: “the wine foams . . . surely all the wicked of the earth must drain and drink down its dregs . . .”* Ps. 75:8 All the wicked of the earth crowd around him and pull him away from his Father; the separation has begun, and so has the bleeding. It’s blood from a torn heart. Nevertheless:
“Not my will, but yours . . . .”
(Here I am—the one the prophets wrote about—I have come to do your will, O God.**)
The bright-faced boy in the temple, the emaciated Son in the wilderness, the Teacher at the well, rejoicing in unknown food, the Anointed One who has resolutely set his face toward Jerusalem—all meet here, where the paths of justice and mercy cross. A mighty heart clenches and wrings out blood, a mighty mind recoils then returns. Once again the wills line up, but it takes every ounce of strength Messiah has.
* * * * * * * * * * *
Standing, he goes to seek out his disciples. He’s not surprised to find them sleeping, nor to see the distant flicker or torches emerging from the eastern gate: distant, but ever closer. He nudges the nearest sleeping body. “Get up. You wasted your time in sleep when you could have been in prayer.” One by one, they sit up and rub their eyes, pushing themselves off the ground. “Temptation is coming—in fact, it’s almost upon us.”
The rattling of swords and hiss of resin torches is upon them: a detachment of the temple guard together with a few servants, led by . . . It is all too much to take in at first: in a daze, the followers see Judas approach and kiss their master on the cheek—a common greeting after a brief separation, but with a sinister taint they can smell from yards away. Then a scuffle; swords flash in the torchlight; Peter seizes a blade from Simon and leaps forward with an earnest, unpracticed swipe.
Shouting, scuffling—a scream as one of the servants clutches the side of his head. Above the din, one clear, authoritative voice:
“No more of this!”
In the fraught silence the Master bends down and picks up a scrap of flesh from the ground: an ear. Taking a step toward the sobbing slave he touches the man’s shoulder to steady him, then matches the ear to his bleeding wound. Torn tissues and veins leap at his touch, eagerly knit themselves back together: Let it be. The Master lightly traces the rim of the ear as though pleased with his own work, before turning to the stunned guards.
“Geared up for battle, are you? As though I were a violent criminal? You could have taken me yesterday, or the day before, while I was teaching in the temple courts, but I see you had to wait for your dark time.”
He walks toward them, holding out his hands. Abruptly remembering what they have come for, leap forward, tie his hands and hustle him away, ignoring the followers who remain behind in shocked silence.
After a moment, Peter casts a furious glance around him, drops the sword, and hurries after the flickering torches. John hesitates, then follows. The others, now in near-total darkness, scatter—almost as if they had planned it ahead of time. It is a plan, but not theirs.* All they know is stark terror. Only Judas is left—the only one who has nothing to fear, and yet has never felt more fearful.
He never looked at me! Not once, even when speaking to me. Why didn’t he look?
*Strike the shepherd, and the sheep will be scattered. Zech. 13:7
** Heb. 10:9
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He’ll need a nest egg to get back home, start a new life. As for the others, well, they’ll have to look out for themselves. They’ll survive. What he’s doing is best for them, too. Really, best for everyone, even the whole nation. Even, perhaps, the Master himself.