Where Apology Won’t Grow Relief

I lay here in this garden,

watching petals downturn their view.

We are quiet, waiting with what

some call the ghosts of

Gethsemane. There was a teacher

and His disciples, whom He

instructed to pray. For sleep would

take them as the Enemy willed.

This teacher became weighted

down, sorrow filling the house of His

troubled soul. He said again, watch,

your flesh is weak, but you have a

willing spirit unable heed to

tempter’s call. Stay with me, won’t

you? This unknown prince, went

before His Father: if it is Your will,

please take this cup from me. Your

will be done, not my own. Going

back, He found His students

sleeping sound. You couldn’t spare

not one hour awake to My grief?

He went again to the secret place

He and His Father communed,

If I must drink from this cup, without

choice, Your will be done.

Again, He found His friends well

worn in dreams. He went a third,

final time to speak with His Father.

The same fervent prayer upon

grieving lips. He came to these

lazed comrades, You are still resting,

sleeping as if today was sent to

waste? The Son will be delivered

into all hands who sin. Come, my

betrayer waits to observe this grief.


8 thoughts on “Where Apology Won’t Grow Relief

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