In the western distance, low clouds dance with colors of purple, gold and imaginary flashes of green, yellow and red. Soft, how sweet the night approaches, how deceptively it steals one's soul, how false its raiment of radiance. Somewhere near the twelfth hour from dawn, the most heinous day in human history inaugurates.

We came at length to the Mount of Olives and emerged into a clearing near the garden known as Gethsemane, brightly lit with moonlight, luminescence so brilliant that it cast our shadows on the ground.

The world was too magical. Everything was just too . . . right. Jesus halted abruptly. "Here is a meadow arrayed in light," he said, "Sit here. I will speak to the Father now. I will speak for you. I am concerned for you. I will speak . . . you listen."

In the presence of us all he looked up at the moon'or beyond it'its light causing his eyes to shine, and spoke to God as he had to us so many times before. He began his prayer casually, as if his Father were standing at his side in the meadow instead of beyond the moon. His words came soft, gentle.

"Father, the time has come."

The hours of the night enveloped us with lonely sounds and the gentle rustle of shifting, soft winds. However delicious the fragrance of spring jasmine titillated our nostrils with beguiling perfume and the panoply above bespeckled with diamond lights dimmed by the light of the moon, we were soon to discover that the loveliness of the moment would prove illusory.

A frown clouded his face accentuated by moon shadows. Sorrow and pain enveloped him. "Please," his voice pleadingly appealed to us; "sit here while I enter the garden to pray." He began to walk away, and just as he reached the opening of the low stone wall that surrounded the garden, he stopped and turned. Hesitating with apparent uncertainty, he said, "Simon, James and John, please join me." With these companions to comfort him, he stepped into the garden. Shadows of Mt. Hermon and the daughter of Jairus tugged at my memory. Inside the garden he spoke again, "I am overwhelmed with . . . cold . . . sadness. I know I am about to die. Stay here, close to me. I need you with me."

Going a little farther, his knees bent and he fell to the ground, where he lay, his face to the ground. It was hard to see our Master in such pain. Even from outside the garden, we heard him pleading, "My Father, if it is possible, take this cup from me." He began to weep. The quiet weeping escalated until his body shook with sobs and he began to gasp for air. He groaned while tears, mixed with the earth of the garden, formed droplets of mud on his face. In a moment he was quiet.

He remained quiet for a long time, and then softly he whispered, "No. Not as I will, but as you will." A glow, an illumination, materialized from no known source and in a moment Jesus was no longer alone in the garden. A man appeared arrayed in a luminescence that had nothing to do with the light of the moon. He knelt beside Jesus, lifting him into a sitting position, embracing and strengthening him, comforting him. In anguish Jesus cried out again and spoke in loud, incomprehensible words. The sweat on his brow coursed its way down his countenance mingling with tears and the dirt caked on his face. Was it drops of blood we saw rolling down his cheeks and falling to the ground?

Seeing our Lord there, lying in the dirt cradled in the arms of an angel, should have made us react. It isn't everyday one sees an angel. It isn't everyday that one sees the Christ groveling in the earth. Many of the disciples, including those Jesus had taken with him, Peter, James and John, had closed their eyes and fallen asleep. For them, the wine of supper and the late hour had finally exacted its claim. I did not sleep, however. Andrew and I sat quietly, afraid and awed. I saw the strange, iridescent man look at us or, you might say, stare at us as some of us slumbered and others, oddly curious, yet detached from the event being played out before us. We did not want to intrude. The truth is we were actually stunned into near paralysis.

Sustained by the ministrations of the angel, Jesus ceased his sobbing, got to his feet and returned to find Peter, James and John asleep. "Could you men not stay awake with me for this one lonely hour?" Was that all it was? Seemed longer. Where did the angel go? Jesus' lips tightened. "Stay alert and pray with me, my friends. I need you now. Do not succumb to the need for sleep. I know your body is weak, but surely your spirits are willing. Force yourself. Stay awake with me."

More in possession of himself now, he went back to his place of prayer and said, "My Father, if it is not possible for this cup to be taken away unless I drink it, then your will be done." He said other things as well, but the minds of his men were as if seized with resin. Their heavy eyelids sealed shut yet again.

When he came back and found them sleeping, he simply dropped his head and returned to his place of prayer. He prayed the same thing he prayed before. Three times Jesus had asked the impossible. Three times the plea of God the Son deferred to the will of God the Father. Three terrible moments of potential conflict which could only be, and finally were, resolved by the words, "not my will but yours be done."

As I reflect on this interchange between Jesus and God, it helps me to see it as the struggle between the human character of the Son and the Divine Character of the Father. Does it bother me that the two Divine Persons are One in essence yet separate in identity, with separate and distinct wills? It would if One did not submit to the Other. But he did submit. He did yield. He acknowledged and submitted to the holy Purpose of the Father. He who is God gave himself, his human will, to him who is God and his Divine Will. It would have violated the nature of God for him to do otherwise.

When he finished, he came to us and nudged Peter, James and John gently with his foot, "Are you still asleep? Wake up! The hour is here. I am betrayed into the hands of my enemies. Rise, let us go! The jackal is at hand!"

Judas knew about Gethsemane because Jesus had often taken us there to pray and enjoy the beauty of the garden. He first took the officials to the room where they had eaten the Passover meal. When he arrived and Jesus had already gone, he knew he was in trouble. "I thought you said you knew where he was" one of the soldiers barked. Judas nervously searched his mind like a rat scurrying to avoid being cornered. After a long stressful moment, he remembered the garden. He was sure this is where they'd find him. "Gethsemane, that's where he'll be."

The heavy footsteps of a detachment of soldiers soon materialized into an angry crowd of men carrying torches, lanterns and weapons. Among them were the chief priests with whom Judas had dealt, including Asher. Judas, himself, stood at the head of the column. Judas had arranged a special signal with them: "The one I kiss," he had told the authorities, "is the man. Arrest him." So going at once to Jesus, Judas said, "Greetings, Rabbi!" and kissed him on the cheek.

Jesus looked with remarkable compassion at his disciple and replied, "Judas, do you betray the Son of Man with a kiss?" The terrible irony of his act was lost on Judas.

Jesus, fully aware of their intent, asked the soldiers, "Who is it you want?"

"Jesus of Nazareth," they replied.

"I am he," Jesus said. When Jesus said, "I am he," some of the Temple officials drew back so abruptly that they tripped over each other. One even fell into a bush and awkwardly scrambled to free himself. Why were they so shocked? Given his supposed infamy, that he would readily identify himself? Perhaps. Some had heard of his mystical powers and were afraid. Others suggest he used the name of Yahweh to refer to himself. This would certainly explain their reaction.

Amused, Jesus again asked them, "Who is it you want?"

"Jesus of Nazareth," a soldier replied in the authoritative tone of Rome. The behavior of the Jews was unsettling to the soldier. The steadiness of Jesus intimidated him. He needed the tone of Rome. He needed it desperately. With it his fear could be stayed, and he could do his job. That is why be had brought a full detachment of men.

"I told you that I am he," Jesus answered. On hearing this a second time the soldiers seized each of us, assuming they were about to have a fight on their hands. They forced us to the ground roughly, yelling as though in battle.

"If I am the one you want, then let these men go."

Then ignoring the soldiers, Jesus said to the Temple officials, "Am I leading a rebellion that you thought it necessary to do combat with swords and clubs? Every day I sat in the Temple courts teaching, and you did not arrest me." They didn't respond. "Are you deaf? Have you lost your tongues? Why do you not speak?" Again he awaited an answer. When it didn't come he said, "You do not speak because you do not know the truth and would not believe it if the Father himself came down with all the hosts of heaven and spoke it to you. Search the Scriptures, and you will discover that the things of this night were foretold by the prophets. You can be sure that every word will be fulfilled. Now, do what you came for." Then, the captain of the guard stepped forward, seized Jesus, and arrested him.

Once they had Jesus apparently willing to "submit" to their authority, they released us. This was a mistake. Indeed, once free, James said, "Lord, don't you want us to fight?" Without waiting for an answer, Simon Peter drew his Roman short sword from his tunic where it was hidden and struck Malchus, the high priest's servant, severing his ear. The man grasped the side of his head where the sword had struck. Blood spurted through his fingers.

As Peter began a second and fatal strike, cold steel words stopped him, "Peter! Stop! Control yourself! Put your sword away! No more of this!" Jesus bent over and retrieved the man's ear from the ground. Brushing the dirt from it, he put it back in its place and healed him.

Peter, embarrassed and confused, lowered his sword. "Was it not only a few hours ago that he told us to arm ourselves? Did he not say that two swords were enough? Enough for what if not to fight!?"

Then Jesus said more gently, "This is the cup the Father has given me. Shall I not drink it? If you live by the sword, you will die by the sword." This was not mere philosophical rhetoric. He was not teaching us; he was rescuing us. Had Jesus not intervened, we all would have been massacred in a moment of time, by the Roman detachment. We had two swords between us all. These trained, combat soldiers each had a sword, and some carried lances as well. Hardly a military match. "Dont you think I could call on my Father, and he would, at once, put at my disposal more than twelve thousand angels? But how then would the Scriptures be fulfilled? Understand that it must happen this way!"

Peter looked away in disgust. Rage. "Let me then die! How gladly I would forfeit my life than to allow you to be led off like a witless sheep! Why do you do this insane thing?" Silent thoughts. Silent accusations. For the first time in his life, Peter felt unmitigated rage at Jesus. At anyone. At everything.

Shaking his head in disillusioned contempt, Peter allowed his sword to fall to the ground, then turned and walked away. Was this his leader? Was this the man to whom he had pledged his life'and death? Then all the disciples fled. The captain ordered that Jesus be bound with his hands behind his back and they led him away. I did not flee, but neither did I follow.

The garden, so disturbed by the arrest, became quiet again. Dark clouds now covered the sky hiding the moon and the stars. The night was dark. I slipped away to the shelter of a grassy cove under a small willow. I was exhausted. Perplexed, dazed and frightened by the events of the evening, I curled up, with my cloak around me and soon succumbed to sleep'alone.