The Bible tells us nothing of the weather conditions on the night Jesus prayed in the Garden of Gethsemane, but my weather app suggested the overnight temperatures in Israel on Maundy Thursday. 2020 were in the high 50s, and the sky was clear.
In Western Pennsylvania, the overnight temperatures were in the high 30s, a haunting wind was snarling, and a full moon blazed in a sky scattered with stars. I know because I stepped into the chill at 11 p.m., hoping for a glimpse into His garden experience.
“Abba, Father, everything is possible for you; remove this cup from me. Yet, not what I want, but what you want..“
I have often joined friends in a 24-hour prayer vigil that extends from their Maundy Thursday service through Easter morning. Their congregation, as individuals or families, is invited to select an hour to pray. The church was always unlocked throughout the vigil for those who wanted to pray in the sanctuary. I worked evenings and often selected the midnight hour, and prayed alone in the softly lit sanctuary.
This year, because of the coronavirus crisis, the church is not available. I chose the 11 p.m. prayer slot and determined to spend it outdoors, led by Jesus and His Gethsemane example.
I walked. The cold demanded that I keep moving, and I thought it wise to distance myself from the door and the warmth behind it.
My first prayer was fear-driven. I was worried about dogs and anything else that might be prowling in the night. I asked for His protection.
My second prayer was shaped by trust and thankfulness. Anyone, including Jesus, who goes to pray outdoors in the darkest part of the day trusts in the accessibility and protection of God. I didn’t go looking for God. I knew He was there, and the stars reinforced that knowledge. And when the “God is with me” thought surfaces in your heart, thankfulness flows. Every blessing sings for acknowledgement.
I followed a residential street and entered a park. I sat and prayed on a bench, and then in a gazebo, and then at a ball field. I passed beneath street lights and paused to take a photo of my shadow beneath the branches of a tree. The Bible also refers to Gethsemane as an olive grove.
Fear subsided quickly. I prayed into the pandemic, into those who are ailing, those who are anxious, those who are responding and providing and protecting. I prayed into families separated. I prayed into Holy Week. I prayed into my circumstances, my children’s lives, and the lives of family, friends, co-workers, people from my recent past, and my deep past.
The Bible tells us that Jesus prayed, moved to wake his disciples, and returned to prayer.
I can’t know what Jesus felt as he prayed outdoors that night, but I understand the return to prayer. As my walk persisted, the fear faded, the cold faded, the dark faded. Prayer became a comfortable place, an unhurried place, a welcoming place.
In the unhurried space, everything, every thought, breathes. And each new breath seems to force anxiety and resentment and burden from your heart and lungs. Each unhurried breath is cleansing, assuring, energizing.
Maybe, Jesus found assurance and energy in His garden prayers. Certainly, I found it. I began the walk trusting in His protection in the moment, and I ended it with a greater sense of trust in Him in alll things. Not what I want, Lord, but what you want …
.