passion

Then Jesus returned to the disciples and found them sleeping. “Were you not able to keep watch with Me for one hour?” He asked Peter. “Watch and pray so that you will not enter into temptation. For the spirit is willing, but the body is weak.”

---


By this we know what love is: Jesus laid down His life for us, and we ought to lay down our lives for our brothers. If anyone with earthly possessions sees his brother in need, but withholds his compassion from him, how can the love of God abide in him? Little children, let us love not in word and speech, but in action and truth. And by this we will know that we belong to the truth, and will assure our hearts in His presence: If our hearts condemn us, God is greater than our hearts, and He knows all things.


---


“Holy places are dark places. It is life and strength, not knowledge and words, that we get in them. Holy wisdom is not clear and thin like water, but thick and dark like blood.”
- C.S. Lewis, Till We Have Faces


---


"Is it difficult being a disciple?" Is what a boy asked you last week. You wanted to say something profound, something that the Rabbi would say. 'It depends on what you mean by difficult - is it difficult to be a man?' but you knew that wouldn't mean anything. So you decided to just answer honestly. 'Sometimes,' you said, getting down on one knee. 'You have to follow the Rabbi wherever he goes and leave all your old friends and family behind. But you get to see some pretty cool miracles, and you always get front row seats to hear the Rabbi teach, so there's that.' Satisfied with your answer, the boy smiled and said, 'I'm going to be a disciple when I grow up!' 'Good for you!' you replied.

Right now you are finding it particularly difficult to be a disciple. The Rabbi has gone and said some very upsetting things over dinner. Even more upsetting than usual. Just a few hours ago the Rabbi said that one of you would betray him, and now you're all on edge. You wonder if the Rabbi is talking about you. If you are harboring some hidden grudge within your heart. If there is some unknown evil brewing deep inside you that the Rabbi can see. You and the others can sense that something is off. It started when the Rabbi decided to wash all the disciples' feet. That was really bizarre. To make matters worse, the Rabbi keeps hinting that he is about to leave, but refuses to say where he will go. He keeps hinting at some terrible fate that awaits him. You can't imagine anything worse than losing him now. You wonder if you all have done something to upset him. Despite this, you know in your heart that you would never abandon the Rabbi. That you are prepared to follow him even until death. There is no way you would let anything happen to him.

The night is cool as you stare up at the stars. It is so quiet and peaceful, here in the garden. The Rabbi is kneeling and praying a stone's throw away. He has asked you and two others to keep watch with him. Even from a distance you can tell he is in pain. You feel a knot in your gut every time you look over. You feel so helpless. Tomorrow things will be better, you tell yourself. Tomorrow, surely, the meaning of things will be revealed. You've been through worse. You think of the miracles. You think of all the times the Rabbi has come through for you. How he's always rescuing you - and this time is no different, you tell yourself. Perhaps this is a test of some kind. A character-building exercise. You may be suffering now but soon it will be replaced by rejoicing. You can sense it. A flutter of anticipation stirs in your breast. How many days has it been since the Rabbi arrived in Jerusalem? You will never forget it for as long as you live. What an entrance! The hooping and hollering! The children doing cartwheels and the people laying down their clothes on the street. Oh the colour and sound! When the children and women began singing, in unison, "Blessed is He who comes in the name of the Lord! We bless you from the house of the Lord!" you nearly wept. The streets were filled with their voices. It was as if the whole world had gathered on that street to adore him.

And for once the Rabbi seemed to welcome the fanfare and praise, instead of trying to hush everyone up the way he usually does. There was no doubt that this signaled the beginning of a new era, of liberation and restoration for Zion. Not to mention the temple cleansing afterwards. Talk about overt symbolism. Shortly afterwards, you and few of the others dared to fantasise of a coup, you imagined Israel free of Roman rule, of the multitudes who would rally behind the Rabbi, of what it would mean to be ministers of his eternal kingdom. Surely, this was the Messiah. Invigorated, intoxicated by a glimpse of freedom, eager to see the kingdom of heaven, you grasp the hilt of your sword. You wonder if it will be violent.

To the death. The thought keeps repeating for some reason. Your mind is clinging on, chanting it over and over to try and stay awake. The Rabbi hasn't moved in ages it seems. You're trying your best to muster up some zeal. To the death. Yes, you would follow him to the death. This unshakable conviction, who can steal? Your heart is secure. Your spirit on fire for God. Yes, yes. Of course. But your eyes, they grow heavy now. Holiness and glory feel far away. And God. All you feel right now is weariness and unease. Where is this peace he talked about? You can't help but feel a little confused by what the Rabbi has said. A little alienated. You fear he has turned his back on you. Is being a disciple difficult? Right now the answer is yes. The Rabbi wouldn't do that. You're trying to pray, but the words won't come. To the death. You've prayed for strength. You've prayed for joy. But all you're getting is more tired. And this sorrow. Maybe a little sleep would be good. Would help. Just for a while. Couldn't hurt. You should. Try a little longer. But your eyes are closing now. Your Rabbi is going somewhere now. No, he's right there. Somewhere you can't follow. To the death. Your eyes are closing now.