Jesus and eleven disciples left the upper room, went out of the gate of the city, over the viaduct spanning the wastes of Kedron, and came to the darkness of Gethsemane. This was a familiar place. Luke records that Jesus went “as he was wont,” while John states that “Judas also, which betrayed him, knew the place ; for Jesus ofttimes resorted thither with his disciples.”
How different was this visit, and how his inward feelings must have changed on those occasions when circumstances had made it difficult to reach Bethany and this place had been the shelter and rest for Jesus and his disciples. There would be no rest for him his night : he would not sleep as would his disciples. His only consolation would be the knowledge that it was his Father’s will that he should suffer, and now was the opportunity to ray to his Father.
The first pangs of sorrow would come across him as, with his disciples, he thought of their perplexity to come. He must have seen in a ash both their parting and their reunion, and e spoke to them :
“All ye shall be offended because of me this night : for it is written, I ill smite the shepherd, and the sheep of the flock shall be scattered abroad. But after I am risen again, I will go before you into Galilee.”
We must marvel at Christ’s ability, even in times of distress, to quote from the Scriptures which were ever his guide. We wonder whether we in trouble could call to mind comforting and strengthening words of scripture in like manner as he quoted this prophecy of Zechariah.
Leaving the majority of his disciples beneath the trees, he called to him his three beloved friends, Peter, James and John, and penetrated deeper into the garden. We are told that he “began to be sore amazed and very heavy,” and he who had prayed for his disciples with all the strength of his being, now begged them to pray for him in his distress :
“My soul is exceeding sorrowful, even unto death ; Tarry ye here, and watch with me.”
The joy and confidence with which he had many times comforted his disciples must have been ebbing as he stumbled amidst the olive trees and fell to his knees.
The words used by the gospel writers to describe the feelings of Jesus vary only a little. Matthew records that “he began to be sorrowful and very heavy,” while Mark renders “sore amazed and very heavy.” A dictionary definition of sorrow is “pain of mind produced by the loss of any good ; grief ; mourning.”
The phrase “very heavy” signifies being weighed down with anguish and distress. “Sore amazed” is a phrase peculiar to Mark and signifies his being stunned with astonishment. The Revised Version gives for both records the self-explanatory phrase “sore troubled.” Luke’s account is given in a different form. There we are told of Jesus “being in agony,” and this is suggestive of an increasing intensity of sorrow, the word “agony” implying conflict or struggle rather than bodily suffering.
Our Lord went from them about a stone’s throw, and cast himself to the ground in a paroxysm of grief. This is where the sorrow that he had for his disciples becomes suffering borne for the salvation of the world. Sorrow and suffering is a mystery, and when we come near to one who is so troubled we feel a sense of reverence. Here we must feel a sense of guilt too, for Christ’s sorrow led to suffering and suffering is the result of sin, and every sin of ours, however small, has added to the great weight of pain crushing the world. The mystery and reverence are only increased when we realise that the one who is troubled is sinless and pure, and in his mouth is no guile.
It is with reverent hearts that we seek for the cause of this desolation of spirit. Fear of death, even the terrible agonising death that he knew awaited him, was surely not foremost. He who had touched the leper’s scaly flesh, who had stood in a storm-tossed boat, who had fearlessly faced armed men ready to kill him, did not fear the wrath of men. Agony can be endured in silence only up to a point ; beyond that point, if some sort of sound is not pressed from the body, the mind cracks. It is typical that when our Lord reached that point he did not groan or cry out, but he prayed. There was little that was physical in his prayer for release from the cup that was now pressed to his lips. It was mental and spiritual.
Psalm 69 reveals to us the true feeling of Christ in Gethsemane :
“Save me, O God ; for the waters are come in unto my soul. . . . for Thy sake I have borne reproach ; shame hath covered my face. I am become a stranger unto my brethren, and an alien unto my mother’s children.”
Words like these automatically lead us to the prophecy of Isaiah where we read those oft-quoted, yet stirring words :
“He is despised and rejected of men ; a man of sorrows and acquainted with grief : surely he hath borne our griefs and carried our sorrows ; yet we did esteem him stricken, smitten of God and afflicted. But he was wounded for our transgressions, he was bruised for our iniquities. The chastisement of our peace was upon him ; and with his stripes we are healed.”
This was the measure of his sorrow. It was agonising grief, suffering and pain, as well as mockery, yet it was for our sakes that this was done. He was made sin for us, who knew no sin.
Let us always remember that there was not really an increased sensitiveness in Christ to physical suffering. The increased sensitiveness was to sin. He lived in the presence of his Father, and by so doing he lived in an atmosphere of purity and holiness. Yet he had to face the degradation of a criminal’s death. It was a desolating experience, accepting the curse of the tree, and it was a lonely one. He was to be forsaken by close companions, and by the One in Whose light he had dwelt. How well he knew that the words of the 22nd Psalm would be wrung from his lips
—”My God, my God, why hast Thou forsaken me ?”
It was not on the morrow in Jerusalem that Christ would undergo his trial. All that was to happen subsequently would be physical. This was his hour, and in his sorrow was his victory.
“Nevertheless, not my will, but Thine be done.”
He returned from his conflict to find his friends asleep. Their love had been overcome by weariness. In his sorrow he had indeed been alone.
“The spirit indeed is willing, but the flesh is weak.”
He spake to them for their benefit :
“Watch ye and pray that ye enter not into temptation.”
Even in this hour of sorrow his thoughts were for his disciples and their well-being.
For a second time the conflict of agony went on. Sweat formed on his brow like drops of blood. Again he returned to find them sleeping . . . Leaving them once more he again joined issue with the conflicting forces against his will. This time there was a difference. He was no longer alone, but an angel of God stood with him so that he found strength an peace, and in his final victory was a peace which remained with him to his last moment on the tree.
Christ’s sorrow was now over. He returned to find the disciples asleep. He did not disturb them, for he knew that their sorrow would b on the morrow ; that would be their Gethsemane, but for him, the hour has now come.
The Origin of the Organic World – Part One