He staggered up the side of the mountain, weakened and trembling hands clinging to the clumps of grass and brush to pull Himself along. The hem of His garment was sodden where it used to be white. His whole demeanour was that of someone suffering under a tremendous strain.

 

His breathing was shallow and weighted, as if something heavy was pressing down on His chest. And the heaviness of His legs would not allow Him to lift them far enough off the ground to take more than a small dragging step. And still He climbed. He was silent.

 

His friends climbed the mountain beside and behind Him. The hour was late and their bodies weary. They were as faithful and loyal to Him as humans could be, but fear and exhaustion were showing a telling strain. The climb that most of these virile men could have made in no time, and with little effort, seemed to be taking an eternity. Today all seemed to be taking an eternity.

 

The darkness around them was a living thing, closing in on them and tightening its fist, so that even thought took too much effort. If you listen, you can hear their grunting as they exerted themselves, their gasps quick as they drew in laboured breaths. Their lethargy and fear growing as they travelled further and further away from home, and into the unknown. But they knew Him and trusted His power and care. They were faithful. So they stayed. Physically.

 

Finally, He reached a peak of the mountain and pulled Himself up to His impressive height. He slowly drew His shoulders back, carefully arching His back, He tilted His head as far back as it would go, and drew His first true breath of the evening. He closed His eyes and exhaled. Opened His eyes them to stare up at the Heavens contemplatively for a moment. He seemed to be so lost.

 

In the meantime, His friends had managed to finish the climb. Some of them very much the worse for wear. It had been a long road to this point, and some of them stooped, hands on knees to brace them, others sat gathering their strength for what was to come. Yet more stood, chests heaving, all looking to Him for answers. What now?

 

He turned to them and really looked at them for a moment. His stares were always disconcerting; in a glance He pierced your soul and tore past your shields. There was no judgement, no condemnation, just nakedness and miraculous acceptance. ‘Wait here for me.’ He said, turning to step away from them. He stopped and turned to add, ‘Be on your guard. Watch and pray.’ It was all the warning He could give.

 

The men had already slid down in abject relief. Their trembling thighs and throbbing feet screaming with joy, as their whirling minds groped for clarity and consciousness. They had never been this exhausted in all their lives. Surely that trip up the mountain had been unnaturally fraught. Surely this pain and dread was unnatural. Surely no man had ever known such weariness. Such that the cold, dew dampened, grass patched ground held more comfort than a down covered bed. Eyes weary, bodies weak, they slept.

 

 

 

His will drove Him further than His body wanted to go. The shivers and shudders wracked His body constantly, making each step jarring and such an incredible effort. He called up to that eternal source and could find no relief. The power had left His body, and the shield that had covered Him was removed. Naked, He faced the darkness, and wave after wave of fear and pain tormented Him.

 

He tripped on a stone and cried out as He fell, reaching trembling hands out to meet the ground in order to break His fall. He winced as His hands were grazed and scraped by the gravel and stone. And stayed there for a moment gathering Himself, praying and pleading for help through this portent of things to come.

 

He had never been so alone in His life. Automatically, He reached His spirit out to grasp that of His friend. And found…nothing. There was an awning blackness were He should have been. His heart screamed in anguish at the rejection. He was gone. The bright light of His life was gone. That burning fire that had consumed Him had died vanished. Leaving Him and suffering in a cold sweat. He wanted to curl up into the foetal position. He wanted His mother’s warm arms keeping him safe. He yearned for His father’s hand to guide Him through this. He longed for His Father, now more than ever, to whisper everything would be all right. To feel Him. For Him to be here. But He was not.

 

Everyone was gone. He had known the time would come. That He must walk through this. But He had not truly known, comprehended the cost. The vortex of nothing was consuming Him. Father! He gasped. Reaching for that strength. Nothing. The scream from His spirit was a primal living thing to behold. Deep within the earth things were shaken, and loosed in the awareness of a new freedom. Where He had once been protected, He was unclothed; the glorious power that had shielded Him was no more. Now was the time to strike, to destroy. They swam up toward Him from the abyss, and high above them He could feel their approach. Heaven held its breath.

 

He got up. Dusted His hands together, and turned to make the torturous journey back to His friends. And found them sleeping. The sorrow He felt was a living thing, the sound of His heart breaking was loud in the silence. He stood over their prone bodies for a moment, watching them sleep in seeming peace. How could they?

 

‘Could you not watch with me for even an hour?’ His pain was tangible. It throbbed in the silence between them. Guilt would not allow them to dare look at Him. Rejected, He turned back to His Father. The walk back to solitude was long and lonely. He went, knowing the answer to His call, He knew the duty He must perform, His decision had been made centuries before, yet now He was again faced with the choice.

 

He reached what had once been His refuge from the turmoil of human life and sufferings. He knelt before the Lord, and wept bitter tears. Such sorrow there was in Heaven that night. Such pain this child felt. The fear came upon Him as He knew what was to come. Trembling He said,

 

“Father, if it possible, may this cup be taken from me, nevertheless, not my will, but Yours be done.”

The channels of secret communion were opened between He and His Father. Heaven watched as He closed His eyes in private conversation. In Heaven, the chamber leading to the throne room was darkened as all power was drawn in and focused. They communed. What decision do You make, Your answer will be fully accepted. You have walked truly and stayed the course. What is Your will?

 

What would You have me do? You have been true to Me in all our dealings. You’ve never left me. My Lord, I miss You. I want to come home. I need to come home. This burden is too heavy for Me to bear.

 

What is Your decision?

 

Father, I’m so tired.

 

What is Your decision?

 

Why must it all rest with Me? my life has been this decision hanging over Me. what am I that You would choose this path for Me.

 

What is Your decision?

 

I am just a man, Baba. A man.

 

God felt His heart clench in agony. This suffering was unbearable, they had never been separated, and the emptiness He felt was foreign and rending. This process they were going through was a mere formality. Eternity didn’t know, couldn’t know. The decision that had already been made stood firm. There was no going back, because there was no other option. So He spoke as God, and wept as a Father.

 

What is Your decision?

 

 

 

He hung His head in abject defeat. He had known this day would come. Knowing, He had chosen to live through it, aeons before time itself began. Now was the time to act. He had no choice, not really. He just hadn’t KNOWN. He was at His lowest. An eternity of Creation, waiting with bated breath for His final decision. Would He make the ultimate sacrifice? Lay down His life for His friend. All Heaven held its breath, some praying He would say no, and come home to safety. The price for this salvation was too high.

 

 

God shut His eyes in painful acceptance, and veiled Him from His sight. “My Son.”  ~ He shut His eyes in acceptance. Bowed His head in humble defeat. That was it. It was done. The windows and doors of Heaven opened to pour out such a wrath as had not been seen, even in the Great Flood. The One He had called Father was gone, no more, in His place was God, the Judge over sin.

 

The force of the vile scum pouring over Him drove Him to His very knees. It was too much to be borne. He called out to the Heavens, and there was no response. The slew of sin covered Him; He was indistinguishable from its mass of waste. His light hidden from within its dark embrace. They came for Him then. Leaping on Him from the shadows. Delirious with the joyous opportunity to unmask God. They rent His clothes and tore at His flesh. Ripping Him to the very core, so they could consume Him. Blot His very existence from the records of Life. In their glee, they shrieked and laughed. Taunting Him with their taste of victory. Millennia of battles had finally come to this. It was the end. This was the deciding battle, should He falter her, all was lost and the war over.

 

He whimpered in pain. Reached His hand up to wipe the sweat from His forehead. He refused to cry out. The sound of His pain would empower His tormentors, give them such joy. They swooped on Him from every direction, falling on Him from the sky, leaching up through the ground to grasp and tear at His feet, as if to drag Him through the earth to hell, beating at His body, bumping him to throw Him off balance, to further His humiliation. He brought His hand down to wipe it dry on His robe, and left a dark crimson stain of blood. How is such suffering to be borne?

 

Weariness beat at His soul. The rancid smell of defeat filled His nostrils. After all this, He had failed. Hopelessness left a bitter taste in His mouth. He folded His hands under His armpits to keep them warm. On His knees, rocking back and forth in a timeless rhythm set to soothe, reciting the Psalms to Himself. ‘The Lord is my Shepherd I shall not want.’ ‘The Lord is my strength and my fortress whom shall I fear.’ ‘It is God I trust, my hope is built on the Lord.’ Yet, still the insidious whispers hissed in His ear. Alone, they said, rejected, abandoned. Ultimately, when He needed Him the most, His so-called Father abandoned Him, what love is this? Though He knew their purpose, the words struck deep.

Casting down those evil imaginings, He gasped to the Heavens. Called out to the source of His strength and bore down under the weight of the sufferings. He was alone. He was magnificent. In the darkness. He held.

 

A cool breeze blew over His blood soaked brow. The smell of beauteous peace replaced the other smells of hell. Warmth seeped into His frozen quarters. A loud whisper of love. It was not His Father, it was His familiar friend. The glimmer of light cascaded softly over the hunched stoop of His shoulders. Bringing Him comfort, if not ease. Not alone, never alone. That knowing, that precious answer, in gratitude He broke down. Finally. In victory… Jesus wept.

 

The Holy Bible

Matthew 26 verse 39

Mark 14 verse 33-36

Luke 22 verse 41-44

John 17