In the garden
Monday, March 23, 2015
Rogelio Zelada
Caravans flooded the holy city until they overflowed, and roofs, patios, gardens and terraces were prepared so that everyone who had come could fulfill the ancient rite of Passover.
The population of Jerusalem, about 30,000 people, tries to share the available space with over 125,000 pilgrims who have arrived from all over the country and the diaspora. It was almost impossible to lodge such a large multitude, which needed to sacrifice and eat the Paschal lamb in Jerusalem, and also had to stay there overnight in order to obey the interpretation of the Book of Deuteronomy (Dt 16,7).
Some pilgrims stayed at the homes of friends or relatives;
others stayed in tents raised on the plain north of the city; and, despite the
cool weather, most slept on the outback or wherever they could find space. To facilitate
the observance of this commandment, the limits of Jerusalem were expanded, as
if its walls extended to Bethphage, which included the Kidron Valley and a good
portion of the Mount of Olives.
That is the reason why Jesus and his group of followers do not leave for Bethany after honoring the paschal rites, as was their custom, and head instead to the Mount of Olives, to Gethsemane, an orchard on the eastern side of the Kidron stream. It is not an empty or deserted area because thousands of people are trying to spend the cold night there, keeping as warm as they can among relatives, friends or fellow pilgrims.
The evangelists have portrayed that moment focusing on what happens to Jesus and his group, separate from the multitude that surrounds them everywhere, allowing us to see the closeness of Jesus’ relationship with the Father in the outstanding prologue of his passion and death.
Luke describes the scene by framing it around a prayer of such intensity that it causes a bloody sweat that runs onto the stone where the Lord has knelt. It is the image of an embraced passion, an enormous and terrible struggle that leaves the most perfect prayer as testimony for every believer who really wants to follow Christ: “Take this cup away from me; still, not my will but yours be done.”
While meditating on the dread of that night, the great Catholic writer Bernanos thought that Jesus had felt fear at the Mount of Olives so we could avoid feeling ashamed of being fearful when death is near; it was the Master’s tender mercy, because he knew our human weakness all too well.
Jesus suffers desertion, incomprehension, loneliness; the most terrible feelings that anyone could endure. Three times he looks to the company of his close ones but finds them tired and unable to share such a moment with him, to also be on the lookout for at least an hour. Luke, with his proverbial courtesy towards the apostles, justifies it by adding that “he found them sleeping from grief.”
The chief priests, the authorities of the temple, needed the services of Judas to locate Jesus among the swarm of pilgrims that filled the mount. They come heavily armed to deter anyone who could defend the Nazarene; they take him away as a criminal, bound and humiliated as a faithful portrayal of the suffering servant described by Isaiah. Jesus begins his journey towards martyrdom not only among insults and harassment, but above all in complete loneliness, in the cowardly abandon of those who, until that moment, had vowed to give even their lives for him.
The evidence of human frailty, of our weak nature, the fickleness of decisions based only on our capacity or strength, of what we are capable of doing, has been imprinted in the Mount of Olives. The evangelists have written a statement of enormous currency and validity: We can do nothing without prayer, nothing depends on us; however, day by day, in the sacred garden of life, God keeps trusting us and keeps waiting for our response.
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