The worst part of those final days,
I think, must have been the knowledge
that your work wasn’t finished; there was more
— so much more — still to be done, still deeply needed.
But life got in the way of life, and death got in the way of life,
and you couldn’t accomplish it all. No wonder you were volatile
toward the end, and so impatient. Did you guilt yourself, Jesus,
for finitude? Did it add to your suffering to recognize that
you were not eternally able? Did you pray in the garden
not for relief but for more time to heal and teach?
How did you accept what was left undone?
Lord,
Holy Week is taking my words away.
Flailing attempts to ground myself with tasks
are meeting with constant interruptions,
many of my own making.
I am thankful for your open invitation
to join you for a meal at any time
any place.
For the reminder that simple acts of kindness and welcome
have unexpected power
and are vehicles for your grace.
Lord,
you surround us with your enveloping love
a cape of billowing goodness to wrap ourselves in
or to let soar as we go where we dared not venture before.
During this week of darkness, betrayal, doubt and unknowing
May we lean into the swirling confusion,
Believing that even in the chaos and storm
You are there.
Amen.
(I’m not to the garden yet, but I still wanted to share, since I actually did write!)
Thank you for sharing, Heather! I’m definitely out-of-order — from Lent 37’s praying with Jesus in the garden, I’m backtracking to the Last Supper for Lent 38. 🙂
Jesus
I would like to think
that You would have asked me to come
and sit with you in anguished prayer
I would like to think
I would have rushed to your side
knelt beside you
prostrated my own body
on the cool earth
overcome with agony
with You
for You
I would like to think that
my words would have been few if any
that my arms wrapped around You
would have said
what no words can
I would like to think
that I would have stayed with You
through that long, dark horror-filled night
that I would have been willing
to just “be”
with You my Saviour Friend
while You
gave Yourself
for me
I would like to think…
Beautiful…. How often we have good intentions of being present for one another in these ways!
I find it so hard to pray in the midst of trouble, when I’m knee deep in it. My soul prays, but my brain can’t. And I don’t know what’s coming next. You did. You knew what to expect. You knew how long it would last. You knew exactly what your body would have to endure. You knew exactly how taxing it would be. Yet you went. You cried out to your Father, but you still went. I would have been as dumbfounded as your closest companions, wanting you to fight against it, wanting you to run away. But you knew better. And were still scared. Was there comfort in your friends? Was there comfort in your foreknowledge? Would I been able to provide anything other than my presence? Would that have been enough?
Moving. Thanks, Wendy!
Stay here, you said.
Stay here with me.
Watch and pray.
How hard it is to stay, to remain in the face of an unpleasant and implacable purpose.
Easier to move away, to move on.
Easier to let them go and not be involved.
Easier to rely on a miracle.
Be with all those feeling impotent, all those in turmoil and facing deep distress.
May they find a companionship even within a dark loneliness.
May they remain in your love.
Amen.
Amen.