I have often seen the picture of Jesus in the Garden of Gethsemane in books and paintings. Many times I have looked at that scene in our beautiful stained-glass window. But something about this particular afternoon magnified the feeling of aloneness. The staff had already left for the evening and the building was entirely empty. The church was uncharacteristically quiet, the silence broken only by the pop and creak of aging timbers. I could feel just a hint of the aloneness Jesus must have felt in the garden on that flower-scented, moonlit night so long ago. I was in a most familiar place—one I enter many times during the course of a week. So often when I am there, it is filled with people and, even on weekdays, there is usually someone coming or going. But now I was alone in this familiar place as Jesus had been alone in the familiar garden. And somehow there was a feeling of strangeness about it. I think the very aloneness I felt standing there helped me to enter into the emotions of Jesus as he carried out his solitary vigil. Peter, James and John were just a stone's throw away—but they were asleep. The other disciples were just a bit further away but for Jesus, at this time, they did not exist at all. He was alone in the dew, in the misty moonlight at the midnight hour.

Strange, isn't it, how many of our most difficult struggles come between midnight and dawn. This is the time when we feel most alone and isolated even from the people nearest and dearest to us. Jesus knew the agony and the pain of intense struggle there in the garden that night. Was he deluding himself? Was he really God's Son? Did he have to die an agonizing death? Was there not a better way—an easier, safer way? Blind to the soft haze of the moonlight, oblivious to the sweet scent of spring flowers hanging heavy on the moist air, Jesus grappled with the doubts and fears flooding his soul as he prayed alone in the garden. But out of that agony, out of that struggle, there finally came resolution and peace. Jesus had prayed until his sweat was ``as it were great drops of blood falling to the ground.'' Now his fears are all gone, his doubts resolved. In being utterly alone and forsaken by even his closest friends, he found companionship with his heavenly Father on a level he had never known before. His fate was not altered—his suffering still lay ahead, but his attitude had changed immeasurably. Sidney Lanier described so accurately the change which had taken place:

``A Ballad Of Trees And The Master''

God had given him his answer—not in taking away the source of his concern, but rather in walking with him through even the darkest shadows. Jesus came to know, not the peace that comes with the absence of conflict, but the peace that grows out of the knowledge that, when life has done its worst, he was still safe in God's hands. Jesus did, in the garden, what he was to put into words the next day on the cross: ``Father, into your hands, I commend my spirit.''

Look now for a moment at the scene of Jesus in the Garden. The artist in glass has captured something of the silence—the aloneness—of Jesus as he prayed there that night. In the distance are the gates of Jerusalem through which soon would come the torch-bearing soldiers to lead Jesus away. The olive tree spreads a canopy over Jesus' head, while rough rocks form the floor of this temple ``not made with hands.'' But the feature that most captures my attention is the face of Jesus. Notice the emotions which reside there—anguish, doubt, resolution, commitment. Once and for all, Jesus is settling the meaning and purpose for his life, his destination, and his reason for being. Unlike the little boy who, while on an automobile trip with his parents, kept pestering them with the ever-present question, ``When will we be there?'' Finally, after hearing the stock parent-answer to this universal question of little children on automobile trips, ``It won't be long now!'' for the hundredth time, the little boy exasperatedly asked, ``Daddy, when we get where we're going, will we be there?'' Jesus knew exactly where he was going and he knew when he got there. Using our imaginations for a moment, let us see—in the incident portrayed by this beautiful stained-glass window—four basic needs we share in common with Jesus.

There was the need for comfort from friends. How Jesus needed the comfort of those closest to him. Peter, James and John had been with Jesus on many special occasions—the raising of Jairus' daughter, the Transfiguration on the mountain, and so many others. But now Jesus felt alone, isolated. Knowing the Psalms as he did, the haunting words of the fugitive David must have crept into his mind:

``Reproach has broken my heart; and I am full of heaviness; and I looked for some to take pity, but there was none; and for comforters, but I found none.'' Psalm 69:20

Not even the best and most devoted of friends always prove faithful in our times of need. There are hurts that are simply too deep in life for friends to share, try as hard as they might. Of Jesus, someone has written: ``He will have them (Peter, James and John) as near as possible: and yet He must be alone. Did He think of the passage, `I have trodden the winepress alone, and of the people there was none with me (Isaiah 63:3)?''' The poet Robert Frost, through tragedy in his own family, also recognized this reality and crystallized it in words that are unforgettably simple and poignant:

Yet, can we deny that we still need desperately a warm human touch, and nothing else will ever do.

Then there was the need for privacy with God. In spite of the proximity of friends, Jesus needed to be alone with God. Luke tells us that ``he withdrew about a stone's throw beyond them....'' What Jesus had to do on this night, he had ultimately to do alone. To be certain, he needed the support and the proximity of his friends—but his true tryst was between himself and his heavenly Father.

In each life, there are some things that can be settled only in private with God. Today's generation has, to a degree, lost the ability to be alone. In fact, most of us are actually afraid of being by ourselves. We have become so accustomed to noise and crowds that, even when we are at home alone, we keep a radio or television set on to keep us company. One lesson we may learn from Jesus' agony in the Garden is that aloneness is an essential quality for our spiritual and mental well-being. Each of us needs time alone in which we can meditate, think, and pray through life's deepest decisions and problems.

There was also the need for resolution of doubt in Jesus' life. He had now arrived at the point of no return in this climactic moment of his career. This night his course would be irrevocably set for good or ill. Thus he needed the assurance that he was doing the right thing, that he was following faithfully God's plan for his life. He was no fanatic martyr who eagerly sought out pain and death as an end in itself. Facing again the temptation to take the easy way out that he had met in the wilderness at the beginning of his ministry, he truthfully desired to know whether this course of action was absolutely necessary. Jesus demonstrated the practical balance between prayer and action shown by a child who, in church school, had drawn a picture of a man who could not get his car started while a tornado was bearing down on him. His teacher said to the child, ``That man really needs to pray, doesn't he?'' The child, with much wisdom, answered, ``No! He needs to run.'' Like Jesus, he combined genuine prayer with the practical need for action. Jesus was making a final determination of the action God desired for him to take.

Only through prayer can we truly be certain that we are going in the right direction. We often make the wrong decisions because we don't take the time or the effort to agonize in prayer over those decisions. Agonizing prayer is reflective of our desire to know where God is leading us. Once that is determined, we can move forward—even in the most difficult of situations—with perfect confidence.

Finally, there was the need for acceptance of God's will. All of Jesus' human instincts rebelled against the horrors of the cross. Jesus, like any person in his right mind, desired an easier way than the cross. Hear his very words: ``He knelt down and prayed, `Father, if you are willing, take this cup from me....'' Yet, his time of agonizing prayer in the Garden led him to accept willingly whatever God had in mind with perfect trust that it would work out for the best. Again, listen to his concluding words: ``....nevertheless, not my will but thine be done.''

``Not my will but thine'' is the most difficult prayer we can ever pray. The cost to us, as to Jesus, is truly enormous. Luke, the beloved physician, describes just how much this prayer cost Jesus physically: ``And being in anguish, he prayed more earnestly, and his sweat was like drops of blood falling to the ground'' (Luke 22:41-44). Yet, following the storm of prayer, there came the serenity of resolution. There is a peace and tranquility in accepting fully and completely the will of God for our lives that is worth all the cost.

Frequently, when I am uncertain of the direction my life should take or of a decision I should make, I come into our sanctuary and look at this magnificent portrayal of Jesus in the Garden. It helps me to know that even Jesus struggled with difficult decisions in prayer with God. Somehow, the knowledge that Jesus, too, struggled to know God's will makes him more real to me. I know of no incident in Jesus' life that helps me feel closer to him than the one depicted in that particular window. When you are struggling with a difficult decision about which direction your life should take, come to the sanctuary, look at this beautiful window and let its message speak to your heart.

Harold L. McDonald
First Baptist Church
Albemarle, N.C.

March 17, 1991