Holy Thursday
It was a meal that gave Jesus’ disciples a lot more than they expected.
They had prepared a Passover meal, eager to celebrate this great feast of God’s liberation of their people with their Master. Jesus, unexpectedly, redefined the meal. He would be their Passover lamb. His own sacrifice would be the means by which humanity would be reconciled with God. The disciples, on their part, were to reenact this new Passover in memory of what Jesus was about to do. “What did this mean?”, the disciples must have wondered.
But there was more.
Jesus announced that one of them would betray him, another would deny him, and that all would flee for their lives that very night. The disciples knew that something was up. Jesus had been warning them for some time. They knew that some powerful people were bitterly opposed to Jesus. Yet, they had followed him this far – from the fishing boats and tax collector’s tables of Galilee to Jerusalem itself. They were afraid, but were unable to admit to it. Instead, they resorted to boasting about how faithful each would be. Each promised to outdo in fidelity all the others. Boasting, bragging, and bullying are often our effort to avoid acknowledging the fear and doubt that lurk just below the horizon. Unacknowledged fear and doubt do not go away, however. They seethe and push and build up beneath the surface, until some event happens that overwhelms the boastful self and causes that person to do things that were seemingly impossible a short while ago. If we are to grow in integrity as human persons, we need to learn to listen to these emotions – even the ones that make us feel uncomfortable or weak. Only this will give us the strength to maintain our commitments in the face of fear or doubt or pain of whatever kind.
Jesus knows the disciples he has chosen. He sees the fear beneath their boastfulness. The disciples are good people. They have followed Jesus this far. That, in itself, is worthy of praise. But they are also weak, fearful, doubting, childish. Jesus had told them of how the Kingdom of God begins in seemingly very small ways – a mustard seed, a measure of yeast. These disciples were surely a “mustard seed” beginning. Jesus would teach them one more thing before his arrest.
After the meal, Jesus leads the disciples to Gethsemane, a place he and they had gone before. He had revealed much to them about who the Father is, who he is (as the Son), and about the Holy Spirit. He tells the group to remain where they are, and then tells Peter, James and John to follow him as he goes some distance from the rest. Peter, James, John – these three were invited to witness the Transfiguration, where they would learn something about the divinity of Jesus. Now, Jesus would show them something about not only his humanity, but how to live a very difficult moment in a most human way.
Just as Peter, James and John had seen Jesus shine in utter divine glory, now they would witness a human glory – though they didn’t yet know that this is what it was.
Jesus begins to feel intense sorrow and distress. He doesn’t send Peter, James and John away. Instead, he tells them to remain with him and keep watch. We can certainly understand Jesus wanting some companionship as he faces this great distress. There’s more to this, however. Jesus wants to show the others how to face such distress in a way that honors their humanity and their integrity. They need not mask the distress with boasting or in any other way.
Jesus allows himself to feel this distress to the full, even when it seems to be pulling him away from doing his Father’s will. He thus honors his humanity by paying attention to it, allowing himself to feel it and allowing others to see it. He knows, humanly speaking, that he has good reason to feel fear, even utter revulsion, at what he is about to face.
Crucifixion was a horrible way to die. The physical pain was constant and intense. There was also the psychological torture. In a society focused on gaining honor and avoiding shame, crucifixion was done in such a way to make it as shaming as possible for the crucified person, as well as anyone who knew that person. Anyone living in that time and place would feel intense fear and revulsion if threatened with this gruesome style of execution.
But even this isn’t enough to fully explain what Jesus must have felt then. Jesus, being true God and true human, lived a life of utter harmony and integrity. He would soon be delivered over to people who were compromised to the hilt. As it often happens, people who are compromised react quite negatively to anyone who seems to live a life of personal integrity, as such a person causes them to face their own compromised lives. Such people attack the messenger rather than hear the message.
We must go yet further. Jesus is revealed to us as the Lamb of God, the One whose sacrifice frees us from our slavery to sin and death. This means that, in some profound sense, Jesus is about to encounter sin and death in a very intense way. Since Jesus is totally uncompromised and totally about doing his Father’s will, he may have been more sensitive to the joys and pains of life than we are, as sin and guilt tend to dull us to what is really happening. Jesus would show his love for us, and for all that is truly human, to the end. He embraced it all, even the fear and doubt, without being knocked off his course. In this way, he brought his disciples, and the rest of us, with him to Calvary. No one was left behind. No feeling or reaction was too “weak” or “beneath” him. He embraced all of it. He let himself be totally open, totally vulnerable, because of his love for us – knowing that this openness would also leave him more open than anyone else to the pains of human life.
Every emotion, every reaction, needs to be named, acknowledged, and given a place at the table of our mind and heart. Each one needs to be valued and heard. Moreover, this kind of inner openness also leaves us more open to God’s presence and love, and the love and beauty we find all around us – even in our troubled world. Only then can we proceed to fulfill our commitments to God and others with integrity and faithfulness. Once Jesus had done this, he was humanly ready to face the many sufferings he would soon encounter.
The disciples had not yet learned this lesson. They wanted to be faithful, but did not know how to include their fears, anxieties, and doubts into their faithful service. When trouble came, they ran off or denied Jesus. The fears, unheard before, were now erupting all at once. Their inability to acknowledge their fear led them to do the very thing they most feared doing – abandoning or betraying their Master. Later, they would learn. Their lives would be transformed. Thus, they did not consider it unworthy of the Lord to include in the Gospels the account of Gethsemane. They knew that the Lord was never more truly human than he was in that garden.
Now for a disclaimer of sorts – one that I have hesitated to write, because it is intensely personal to me. Many of my posts are cleverly (or not so cleverly) disguised autobiography. This one is no exception.
As someone with Asperger’s Syndrome, fear and anxiety are an ongoing presence in my life. They are at their most intense when I am facing something unexpected or out of the usual routine. This is also of true of things that recur, but only now and then. My heart loves Christmas and Holy Week. They have been a recurring part of my life as a priest for three decades now. My anxiety is at its most intense at these times, though, making them painful as well as joyful.
When I was young, I did not know about Asperger’s and never imagined that I might be autistic. Yet I knew that something about me was different. I knew – unconsciously – that I was extremely sensitive to certain things. I felt the anxiety at times. My approach then, however, was like that of Mr. Spock from Star Trek. I must be in control of my emotions. Better yet, I must try to hide them from public view. Part of me was very vulnerable and needed to be kept safe. This was the only way I knew to accomplish this.
As I grew older and started seminary, I was encouraged to be more in touch with my emotions and to express them more. This is, no doubt, good and healthy advice for most people. For an Aspie, however, it is a double-edged sword. I eventually trusted in God enough to put aside – at least to some degree – my inner defenses. That might not be as obvious from the outside looking in. But from the inside looking out, it was as though this country had decided to unilaterally disarm – totally. I became more open to expressing and receiving love. I became far more accepting of my own feelings. Things that I had assumed were weaknesses I came to see as strengths. My spiritual life became even more intense. I came to sense a love, a joy, and a beauty that I never want to abandon. I truly love the people I pray with and pray for.
All of this, however, left my hypersensitive side more exposed to hurts as well as to joys. I became more aware of just how intense my anxieties and fears were. I could see how simply being with a group of people, let alone presiding at a liturgy, was very draining for me. I never have a day without some awareness of grace, But I never have a day that is free from some emotional pain. Every Saturday is a “little Gethsemane” as the weekend liturgies approach. Even though my public exposure is limited these days, what I still have is hard enough. Even if I had no public ministry at all, I would still have my share of anxiety thanks to my autism.
Just as Jesus showed that being open to love also involved being open to pain – and that pain need not turn one away from one’s love – so, too, I have begun to see this in my own life, at least in small ways. Gethsemanes, great and small, come to me. The anxieties can be rather dreadful. Trust me on this one. I usually underestimate what I feel, so you might want to add a few zeros to what I say. I would gladly trade any ascetic practice for my anxiety. My anxiety makes any ascetic practice seem superfluous. Nevertheless, when I simply accept them for what they are – no more, no less – I remain open to the grace of God. Some people ask me why I don’t take an anti-anxiety pill. Some of them don’t play nicely with autism. But there’s a deeper reason. Something that can dull my anxieties might also dull my joys. I want to be open to everything that the Lord gives me. I don’t want to walk through life in a haze, even if it means less pain. I know now why, at the cross, Jesus refused to drink the wine mixed with myrrh. He wanted to embrace it all, even the pain, and present it to the Father as a gift of love.
Now, I don’t pursue pain or anxiety – not at all. I don’t like them any more than I ever did. But I find that if I want to be truly open to the Lord and to other people, I also need to accept the risk of pain and anxiety. I want to welcome with gratitude the gift of the life that God has given me. I want to offer any discomfort I feel on behalf of anyone who may need my small acts of love. For these reasons, the story of Jesus at Gethsemane speaks powerfully to me.
How does this story speak to you? I suspect that if we were with one another, discussing this, we could have quite a conversation! Since we aren’t together in person, share it with the Lord. He loves to hear from you.