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What I Got Wrong about Gethsemane

LEAH FARISH|GUEST I grew up looking at a lugubrious, Victorian-era painting of Jesus in the Garden of Gethsemane. I knew that as He prayed there the night before His crucifixion, He sweated blood and asked that God “let this cup pass.” But somehow I was left with the idea that He was solely focused on His own upcoming suffering, perhaps doubting and fearing as He anticipated humiliation and torture. Lately, though, I have sensed that His anguish was for us, not so much for Himself. His humanity surely dreaded torture and death. Sweating blood, He showed us the horror He felt as He contemplated His sacrifice. This makes His resolve that much more poignant. Isaiah 50:6-7 prophesied it: “I gave my back to those who strike,   and my cheeks to those who pull out the beard; I hid not my face   from disgrace and spitting.  But the Lord God helps me;   therefore I have not been disgraced; therefore I have set my face like a flint,   and I know that I shall not be put to shame. Perfect love casts out fear; in His perfect love for us, fear did not deter Him. He was Truth; He wasn’t doubting. He must have acutely dreaded the next hours, but He wasn’t shrinking back; “for the joy that was set before Him He endured the cross, despising the shame” (Heb. 12:2). He knew He would be raised from the dead and vindicated (Isaiah 50:8, Psalm 22:29-31, Mark 8:31-2). But the church was just embarking on its path through a dark world, and that night in the garden He must have seen its weakness and vulnerability with heartbreaking clarity. He saw that the church would be on earth for centuries, in our puny flesh and faith “filling up what is lacking in Christ’s afflictions.” His followers had proved themselves utterly unready to unite in witness, despite His warnings and exhortations....

What I Got Wrong about Gethsemane2026-03-18T15:02:21+00:00

Gethsemane Glasses

LAURA PATTERSON | GUEST I awoke that Friday morning in May to the same white walls and sterile smell for the twenty-second day in a row. The same dingy blinds covered the same window. The birthday cards I’d received the week prior were still taped up on the mirror on the far wall. The now familiar white blanket engulfed my legs and torso. The sense of familiarity I’d come to find in my surroundings was suddenly arrested that morning as feelings of shock, dread, and numbness flooded my body and left me wondering if I was truly awake. I’d just given birth during the wee hours of the morning and, after being returned to my antepartum room without my baby, I had somehow managed to sleep for an hour or two. Doctors, nurses, and a lactation consultant visited me in my haze, and I eventually got the news that I could go meet my child. My nurse assisted me into a wheelchair, and I took the longest ride of my life to the adjoining children’s hospital. I knew I was headed to meet my baby in the neonatal intensive care unit, but no amount of exposure or information could have prepared me for the shock of meeting my two-and-a-half-pound infant covered in tubes, lines, and bruises. The well-intentioned nurse assigned to my son that day noticed my tears, came to the bedside, and said gently, “it’s ok, mom.” “NO, IT’S NOT!” I yelled deep within my soul.  From Demanding to Entrusting My internal cry that morning was full of truth. My baby was not ‘ok’. The neonatologist sat my husband and I down in a private room only hours later  to help us understand that we should expect our son to die within a couple of days’ time. I felt the very visceral reality of life in a sin-sick, disease-laden, death-cursed world. Crying, ‘It’s not ok!’ wasn’t wrong. But it was incomplete...

Gethsemane Glasses2024-10-27T21:14:50+00:00
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