Go To Dark Gethsemane

Even after all these centuries, there is still a garden called Gethsemane on the hill across a valley from Jerusalem. It has been walled off and protected from the modern world. When I entered the garden through a door in the stone walls, I immediately sensed the peace of this place. It is beauty and tranquility are ironic, because it is famous as a place where one man underwent great spiritual agony. His torturous physical agony was still ahead of him at Pilate's seat and on the streets of Jerusalem and at Golgotha. At Gethsemane, he underwent a wrenching struggle to accept the bitter cup that was before him.

There is now a church next to Gethsemane. It is called the "Church of all Nations" and also the "Church of the Agony." It was built in the 1920s, so it's fairly recent.



It is called the Church of the Agony because when you go inside, you find a piece of bedrock where Jesus may have sweated out his struggle the night before his death. It is called the Church of all Nations for at least 2 reasons:

First and most practically, because churches from many different countries financed the building, which was telling after World War I.


Second, because of the depiction of Christ above the church doors as the mediator for humanity. Christ is clothed in red, kneeling and looking up above him to his Father, who is surrounded by angels. To Jesus' left and right are people. Those to his left are the poor and troubled - a woman weeping and carrying the body of her dead child is the most striking figure in this group. Those to his right are the powerful - a soldier, a philosopher, a rich man, all kneeling and bowing their heads. In his agony he is lifting up the sorrows of all nations - both the sorrows that come through power and those that come through weakness.

A verse from Hebrews 5:7 is in inscribed in Latin across the front of the church:

preces supplicationesque cum clamore valido et lacrymis offerens exauditus est pro sua reverentia

"Jesus offered up prayers and supplications, with loud cries and tears, to him who was able to save him from death, and he was heard because of his reverence."

I think of a different verse from Hebrews when I see this mosaic (4:15-16):

"For we do not have a high priest who is unable to sympathize with our weaknesses,
but one who in every respect has been tempted as we are, yet without sin.
Let us then with confidence draw near to the throne of grace,
that we may receive mercy and find grace to help in time of need."

Here's another hymn about Gethsemane (click the link for an instrumental guitar arrangement):

Go to dark Gethsemane, ye that feel the tempter’s power;
Your Redeemer’s conflict see, watch with Him one bitter hour,
Turn not from His griefs away; learn of Jesus Christ to pray.

Lead Me To Calvary

We are fast approaching Holy Week, the high point of the Christian year. What does it say about us as a people that our "high point" includes what by all accounts is a low point - a very, very low point, a nadir? The Christian story is not simply about triumph, success, the good stuff in life. It includes in its embrace that which is lowly, despised and painful. The things we would rather not embrace; the things we wish life didn't include; the things we might cut out of our stories if given a magic wand. If we were to write the story of Jesus, we might have him come to earth and just wave his heavenly wand and make everyone better. We might write a story in which he lives forever and doesn't undergo death. Who would ever expect their god to die?

He didn't have to undergo death. He had the divine prerogative to skip that part of human experience, but he chose to enter into our deepest source of sorrow and to transform it with his love. "Death, where is your sting?"

This morning the hymn "Lead Me to Calvary" came to my mind as I prepared my Palm Sunday sermon. Jennie Hussey, the woman who wrote the lyrics, was a Quaker who lived in New Hampshire. She was born in 1874 and died in 1958. Not much is known about her except that she spent much of her life caring for an invalid sister. She wrote poetry that was later set to music as hymns. This is a good song for Palm Sunday, because it asks God to lead us through the events of Holy Week.

This time around I am particularly struck by Jesus' struggle in the Garden of Gethsemane. The hymn asks God to

Lead me to Calvary

Lest I forget Gethsemane

Lest I forget thine agony

Lest I forget thy love for me

Lead me to Calvary

Don't let me forget what happened there. Don't let me forget that Jesus struggled as I sometimes do to accept your will. When he was on that side of the struggle, when the pain and suffering were still ahead of him, he felt the agony that humans feel when they anticipate pain - which is sometimes worse than experiencing the pain itself. I see Gethsemane as the place where Jesus inwardly, spiritually took up his cross. He was able to shoulder his literal cross in humility and submission - like a lamb before the slaughter, he did not open his mouth - because he had taken time in prayer the night before to wrestle with and finally accept the bitter cup that had his name on it. And he did it all for us.

I found a youtube video of Christians in Bangalore, India, singing this hymn in beautiful harmony:

Lead Me to Calvary

King of my life, I crown Thee now,
Thine shall the glory be;
Lest I forget Thy thorn crowned brow,
Lead me to Calvary.

Refrain:
Lest I forget Gethsemane,
Lest I forget Thine agony;
Lest I forget Thy love for me,
Lead me to Calvary.

Show me the tomb where Thou wast laid,
Tenderly mourned and wept;
Angels in robes of light arrayed
Guarded Thee whilst Thou slept.

Let me like Mary, through the gloom,
Come with a gift to Thee;
Show to me now the empty tomb,
Lead me to Calvary.

May I be willing, Lord, to bear
Daily my cross for Thee;
Even Thy cup of grief to share,
Thou hast borne all for me.