Photo: Bokeh / Tomedia. Person Walking on Beach at Sunset.
I wrote something in my notes on Gethsemane that I keep coming back to.
I had always thought about Jesus being perfect. I hadn’t properly thought about that perfection including the experience of pain.
Obviously I knew he suffered. The cross is hardly a minor detail. But knowing the story and allowing it to change what I expect from myself have turned out to be different things.
Somewhere in my head, faith had become tangled up with being fine. If I trusted God properly, surely I would be calmer. Less overwhelmed. Better at dealing with whatever was happening.
Then there is Jesus in the garden.
He says how bad it is
In Mark 14:32–42, Jesus takes Peter, James and John with him. He is deeply distressed. He tells them his soul is overwhelmed with sorrow and asks them to stay and keep watch.
And saith unto them, My soul is exceeding sorrowful unto death: tarry ye here, and watch. And he went forward a little, and fell on the ground, and prayed that, if it were possible, the hour might pass from him. And he said, Abba, Father, all things are possible unto thee; take away this cup from me: nevertheless not what I will, but what thou wilt.
He falls to the ground and prays. He asks the Father to take the cup from him, while submitting to the Father’s will. Then he returns to find the disciples asleep.
It is a painful scene. He asks for company and prayer, and the people closest to him can’t even stay awake.
What got me was how openly he speaks about the sorrow. He doesn’t conceal it behind a reassuring line about everything working out. He brings it to the Father and asks his friends to remain with him.
I need to allow that to challenge the version of faith where I am meant to skip straight to the positive ending.
Knowing the ending doesn’t remove the middle
My notes call this living in the now and the not yet.
We have hope. We believe God will put things right. We still have to live through the part we are currently in, and sometimes that part is horrible.
I can believe that God loves me while being upset. I can trust him and ask for something painful to stop. I can be thankful for what he has done without pretending I enjoyed every experience that brought me here.
I joke about character building because, well, there has been quite a lot of it. But I don’t want that joke to become a rule that somebody else has to find the benefit in their suffering before they are allowed to talk about it.
The garden gives us a much more honest scene than that. Jesus brings the distress itself into prayer.
Hebrews 4:14–16 describes a high priest who can sympathise with our weaknesses. It invites us to approach for mercy and help. I find that easier to understand when I remember the Jesus who asked his friends to stay with him.
For we have not an high priest which cannot be touched with the feeling of our infirmities; but was in all points tempted like as we are, yet without sin. Let us therefore come boldly unto the throne of grace, that we may obtain mercy, and find grace to help in time of need.
I don’t have to perform recovery
There are things I have come through which helped shape who I am. I can see that looking back. While I was in them, I often couldn’t see very much beyond getting through the next part.
I don’t think pretending otherwise helps anyone.
Faith gives me someone to turn to in that space. I can pray before I have reached a tidy explanation. I can ask people to be with me before I know how to describe everything. Being in distress is something I can bring to God now.
And when somebody else is struggling, I can remember what Jesus asked of the disciples. Stay here. Keep watch. Sometimes the help I can offer is being present and listening, without rushing them towards a conclusion they haven’t reached.
If I am overwhelmed, I can say so. I can ask God for help and let someone I trust know I am having a hard time. Jesus didn’t need to disguise his sorrow before he prayed, and I don’t need to disguise mine either.