PALM SUNDAY

by Sharalyn Hamilton

Mark 14:32-42

Jesus and the disciples came to a place named Gethsemane. Jesus said to them, “Sit down here while I to pray.” Jesus took along with him Peter, James and John. Then he began to be very distressed and troubled, and said to them, “My heart is filled with sorrow to the point of death. Stay here and keep watch.” Jesus went a little further off and fell to the ground, praying that if it were possible this hour might pass him by. He said, “God, you have the power to do all things. Take this cup away from me. But let it be not my will, but your will.”

When Jesus returned he found them asleep. He said to Peter, “Asleep, Simon? Could you not stay awake for even an hour? Be on guard and pray that you not be put to the test. The spirit is willing, but the flesh is weak.” Going back again, Jesus began to pray in the same words. Upon returning Jesus found them asleep once again. They could not keep their eyes open, nor did they know what to say to him. He returned a third time and said, “Still sleeping? Still taking your rest? It will have to do. The hour is upon us – the Chosen One is being handed into the clutches of evildoers. Get up, let us be going. Look! Here comes my betrayer.”

Reflection

The image of Jesus kneeling alone in the garden of Gethsemane has been near and dear to my heart since childhood. I have fond memories of lying alone in the smooth wooden pew of the Radnor Baptist Church, staring up at the stained glass image of Jesus kneeling in the garden while I listened to my mother practice the organ. The window was massive and central to the community. Facing south it caught the movement of the sun from east to west, illuminating different parts of this biblical story board. The artist had tastefully refrained from any defined image of God in the glass, yet God was undeniably present and powerful in this scene.

For me it evokes a personal connectedness with Jesus at a very pivotal moment in the story of his life and death. He is so fully human as he agonizes over what he believes is about to happen to him. “My heart is filled with sorrow to the point of death,” he cries as he asks his companions to stay near and keep watch. Yet, he is so fully bound to the divine when he kneels and prays, “God, you have the power to do all things. Take this cup away from me. But let it be not my will, but your will.”

Faced with impending doom, being betrayed by a loved one and turned over to his enemies, Jesus is you and me praying that this is all a bad dream or a mistake. “God, you have the power to do all things. Take this cup away from me.” Who among us has not prayed that a burden be lifted or to be delivered from our apparent fate?

As a young family we moved several times, climbing the corporate ladder. Each move came with some sadness and loss, but mostly it was a new adventure, until the announcement came that we were to leave our Kentucky home and move to the Los Angeles area. For the first time I vehemently did not want to go. I was nestled in a wonderful community, close to family and deeply involved in church where I had begun to experience my first inklings of calling to ordained ministry. “God, no. Please, no.” was my prayer. I pleaded with God and bargained with my husband to avoid this move.

When Jesus went to Gethsemane in his time of need, his soul desired both human companionship and divine companionship. Jesus took Peter, James and John with him asking them three times to keep watch. Ultimately he was alone in his prayer and yet so aligned with God as to allow his prayer to evolve into a full submission to that for which he was willing to die. In his book, The Gospel According to Jesus, Stephen Mitchell writes “The more we understand how infinitely superior the intelligence of the universe is to our own tiny, conscious mind, the more we can let go into God’s will.”

Faced with a corporate transfer that would take me out of my nest of nurture and security, I gathered my closest spiritual companions: my prayer group. They sat with me in silence with occasional prayerful utterances. It was time away from the balance sheets of pros and cons, the rational attempts to make an informed and intelligent decision. We went our separate ways that night, each woman to continue to pray about this decision.

When we gathered again, we had all experienced a sense of letting go of our own will to keep things as they were. We had each experienced an opening of our spiritual arms to embrace our new path. One of my companions said it had became very clear to her in prayer that this move was different than the others, that it was not about advancing my husband’s career, but the next leg of my spiritual journey. I too had heard that message in the solitude of my prayers. Weeks later, about half way across the country on my way to California, I was able to fully submit to the intelligence of the universe and in joy and in sorrow embrace my new destination.

In the mixture of childhood memories, the words of these scriptures, and the image of Jesus kneeling in prayer, alone yet surrounded by companions, I am reminded of an old hymn sung by the voices of the past:

Take time to be holy, speak oft with thy Lord;
Abide in him always, and feed on his word.
Make friends of God’s children, help those who are weak,
Forgetting in nothing his blessing to seek.

Take time to be holy, the world rushes on;
Spend much time in secret with Jesus alone.
By looking to Jesus, like him thou shalt be;
Thy friends in thy conduct his likeness shall see.

Take time to be holy, let him be thy guide,
And run not before him, whatever betide.
In joy and in sorrow, still follow the Lord,
And, looking to Jesus, still trust in his word.
— Words: Wm D. Longstaff 1882; Music: George C. Stebins, 1880

As you journey into Holy Week remember to take time to be “holy” – set apart for God. It is so easy to succumb to the business of the world and the temptation to cram more activity into our lengthening hours of daylight.

During the Week

Dare to schedule some time alone for prayer and reflection.

How might you take friends along to join in silence and reflection together?

Is there a place in your life that needs discernment? Who would you take with you into the garden to stand watch?