When we wait in suspense, fearing every moment that death may claim his own, then perhaps we understand something of the agony which, in Gethsemane, drew great drops, as of blood, from our Saviour's face. But in measure only, for He was bearing griefs not His own, and carrying the sorrows of mankind. He who had shed tears, and would soon shed His blood, so completely shared our nature that from His brow, as from ours, anguish wrung forth the moisture--what the Bible with utter candor calls the sweat--of intense pain. In the mountains that encircle Jerusalem, He might have found safety, but the garden had been His place for prayer--John tells us that--and with Him prayer was no casual impulse, but an appointment not to be set aside under any pressure of circumstances. Gethsemane was His Eden--the Paradise on earth which, as a Son of Adam, He must reconquer for His brethren; and if He had surrendered the Garden, returning to the desert, all good gifts that grow by knowledge of God would have been lost to us for ever. Judas, who betrayed Him, knew absolutely where He would be found.
His disciples were now only eleven in number. Three of them had seen Him raise the dead and talk with the departed. Of these, James and John wished to share His throne, and were ready, so they declared, to drink of His cup. Peter, on his side, had promised vehemently that he would die with Him. These three men were, like Him, severely stricken with sorrow. But while sorrow with Him was unto death--since it was for sin--theirs, which was for pain and suffering, ended easily in sleep. He only asked them to watch with Him one hour. As we have seen, it was His fixed belief that, while the Kingdom of God is everlasting, the reign of evil must--compared with eternity--quickly pass away. But, despite His appeals, thus limited in time, they failed as sentinels. Even of His personal safety they were careless; for without warning from them His enemies surrounded Him. Having so lately received His sacrament of remembrance, they thus forgot Him; and as He trod the winepress alone, it was not they, but an angel, that strengthened Him.
Spirit willing: Flesh weak
In the wilderness He had fought three times a solitary fight, and had no friends near Him. Here also was a conflict, thrice renewed, only it was more desperate; the prize was no longer a career, but life itself ; and, as if He invited reinforcements, He thrice asked the Apostles to pray with Him. But we should notice that He withdrew from them a stone's-throw. Prayer to our Father is certainly fellowship--that is true--but it is also personal. We must enter our room, shut the door, and face our special, individual responsibility. He had taught the disciples, like children, to use in prayer His words. But, in doing this, He warned them against vain repetitions, and He now wished that they should frame their own devotions. The Spirit, said He, was willing to help them, but the flesh was weak--not, be it noted, wicked, in this case, or unclean; but unreliable, shrinking, yielding--in a word, weak. A thorn could tear it; a scourge could wound it; a nail could pierce it; a spear could cleave it. And prayer requires courage, perseverance, concentration. For Him to win, as God, without the burden of our nature, would have been simple. The value of His victory s to us is that He won it as Man; and the failure of His chief Apostles shows that only God in Man could have won it. Indeed, even this victory, in His own human Person, did not content Him. Peter, having thrice failed in watchfulness, failed thrice in witness--it was cause and effect, scientifically inexorable; yet it was through Peter, and men like him, that our Saviour has triumphed in history. This is the miracle--His use of others--which challenges explanation.
As He prayed, slowly but surely the tide of battle turned. The Satanic idea that the cup might pass from Him was surrendered, but with infinite sacrifice. He bowed His head to the ground--He could go no lower--as He accepted the Father's will, making it His own. And when a few minutes later Peter would have rescued Him by force, so complete was His mastery in Himself that He asked, without a trace of agitation--indeed, as if in surprise: "The cup that My Father hath given Me, shall I not drink it?" John, who tells us this, is silent about the previous wrestlings. He describes the conquest, but leaves the campaign to be inferred.
Gethsemane profoundly influenced the Apostles. Peter never wearied of writing about our Saviour's sufferings as a trial or test of faith; and Mark gives us one touch of exquisite intimacy when he says that Jesus addressed His Father as "Abba"--the Aramaic word--as when He said "Talitha Cumi" or "Ephphatha." In His weakness as in His power He fell back, not on the language of scholars and poets, but on His mother-tongue--the common speech of ordinary men and women. Mark seems to have had it from Peter, an eye-witness, and he handed it on to Paul; so that in the great chapter, the eighth of Romans, we are told that if we are led by the Spirit--the willing Spirit--the Spirit of adoption--we also may cry, "Abba, Father," as He did. And we detect, too, His Divine irony when He said: "Watch and pray, lest ye enter into temptation." It was as if He argued : "If I need to watch and pray, and invite you to watch and pray with Me, do you think that you can neglect such precautions?"
"Whom seek ye?"
A great multitude came to take Him. It was the majority, determined to rule; the big battalions, with swords and staves, confident that God must be on their side. The Wise Men were guided by a star, beyond themselves, poised in its orbit by God; but these violent and foolish men bore with them their own illumination--the smoking torch of revolution, the more sheltered flame of the lantern, which suggests law, civilization, order--and they thought that with such flickering beams they could illuminate the Light of the World. Deeming Him Man, they called for "Jesus of Nazareth"; but on seeing Him they fell to the earth--not forward, in reverence, but backward, in that terror which Paul says is not the Spirit of adoption. He was thus self-identified; and while John mentions Judas, he says nothing of the kiss--prearranged as the signal for our Lord's arrest. Here, at the very crisis of His fate, Jesus would have forestalled the Iscariot's crime. Arrest--yes; but at least let the treachery be omitted.
Some act of supreme irreverence was wanted to break His spell. The crowd, though misled, hesitated. Their motives were not evil enough, without stimulus, for what they had to do. Incarnate God could only be betrayed by Incarnate Devil. Judas--determined to persist--walked up boldly to Jesus, and with the words, "Hail, Master," kissed Him on the cheek. Twelve legions of angels witnessed the act, but kept silence. The hosts of heaven were content that Jesus should speak. Twice He offered to save Judas, for twice He put to Him a question that invited contrition. "Friend," He asked, "wherefore art thou come? " And again: "Judas, betrayest thou the Son of Man with a kiss?" One look was to be enough to arouse Peter to repentant weeping. But Judas hugged the hatred which the reverent devotion of Mary had fomented. And hatred, from that hour, vanquished whatever of love there had been in the traitor's heart.
Yet about those questions there was a wonderful brotherliness, a tender humility. Our Lord greeted the Iscariot not as a Master addressing His disciple, but as a Friend speaking to friend--not as God rebuking man, but so speaking--in our phrase--as "Man to man." How slow was the Redeemer to admit evil, and how ready to welcome confession! He desired no more from Judas than the loyalty which every one of us owes to his neighbor. It is true that the sin of Judas was predestined--indeed, prophesied; but our Lord, by His infinite patience, made it abundantly plain that Judas alone was responsible. For the mystery of evil, which ever perplexes us, lies just here -that there is in wickedness a destiny which appears to be inevitable, yet goes against the revealed will of an all-powerful and all-righteous God, and conflicts with the uttermost endeavors of the Lord Christ.
Jesus asked that they should let His disciples go, and it was an easy boon to grant, for He alone mattered. His friends had with them but two swords, one of which was used by Peter when he struck off the ear of Malchus. By the laws of war, Malchus deserved it. But our Lord's last act before they bound Him was to institute the Red Cross for foe as well as friend, and He told Peter to put his sword back into its sheath. Then, as now, many soldiers worshiped Him. But He made it clear that their power, great though it be and responsibly exercised, is different from and less than His. I sometimes wonder whether Peter's sword will ever remain quietly in its sheath until He is King of kings and Lord of lords.
They all forsook Him and fled. So great was the panic that one nameless young man, who happened to be there in his night array, when he was seized, left his garment in the soldiers' hands, and fled naked. Who he was we shall never know--Mark tells us of him; some conjecture that he was Mark himself. To us, he is the eternal type of those who, when there is a noise about religion, are attracted to Christ by mere curiosity, but when they see Him, realize nothing of His sufferings, and hurry away again, worse than before, by the loss of their self-respect.
"It was Expedient that One die"
Peter followed the Lord afar off. And so did the other disciple, John, whom Jesus loved. John was a friend of the high priest, and he it is who tells us how Caiaphas prophesied that a man--some man--must die for the people, that bulls and goats were no longer a sufficient sacrifice. When Jesus was taken to the palace of the priests, John entered himself, and apparently remained through the trials; also, he secured admittance for Peter. The night was cold as well as dark. The garrison kindled a fire, and Peter sat by it, saying no word to mitigate the rough humors of those hardened soldiers. He was recognized as a disciple, not by his witness or by his behavior, but only by his face and accent. The women-servants were particularly zealous in pointing him out, and the friends of Malchus--curiously ungrateful to the Saviour, for miracles in themselves do not win men's hearts--were full of their grievance against Peter. Thrice he denied the Saviour. Afraid of their inquiries, he made his way uneasily to the door, but gave one last glance at the Prisoner, standing bound. The Lord then turned and looked upon Peter, and he forgot everything else.
Peter's Denial
John did not deny Jesus, but he never taunted the first of Apostles with his fall. He and Peter were among the earliest to visit the empty tomb, and, in later times we read of them entering the Temple together, Paul had his controversies with Peter, but he never mentioned the denial. On the contrary, he spoke always as chief of sinners. The forgiving of Peter by Jesus transcended all. On rising from the dead, the Master sent him a special summons to meet Him. And when they met by the lake, He, with exquisite reminder, kindled for Peter a fire of coals. Asking not to walk on the water dry-shod--as he had once asked--Peter plunged into the sea, and so found his way back to the Saviour, returning thus to his first love; for it was through water that he came to Christ in earlier days.
He who had fallen asleep three times, and three times failed, was now asked three times if really He loved the Redeemer. He was grieved--he had to endure grief; but, humble and penitent, he replied: "Thou knowest." In the Garden, the Shepherd was taken, the sheep were scattered. Peter was to be a good shepherd, who feeds the sheep, even the lambs, and is ready to give his life for them.