Gethsemane
The pastor began the sermon by telling us that evil will eventually touch all of our lives. I was happy but distracted at the beginning, but the words interrupted me. Then the weight of all the anxiety I’ve pushed to the side with optimism began to press down. I thought my path was the one that rose above this world-that buying a woman’s groceries at Wal-Mart when she didn’t have the money was the right thing to do, and that worrying about money was evil. The path I have been skipping down has required little, save the sacrifice of common sense. And only now, when my next destination looms ahead of me in future fog, does my optimism falter. And it falters hard.
I know that Jesus walked a harder path. His closest friends couldn’t understand him, his hometown mocked him, and he had no place to call his home. He was abandoned by God-cursed for our sake. I know, know, and know. My troubles are pathetic in comparison, and I am weak for succumbing to such miniscule anxiety. Instead of relief I feel embarrassed-like a kid crying about his fallen popsicle to his newly widowed mother. Of course I have shame in bringing my complaints before this God.
Jesus was in Gethsemane and even after coming so far, suffering humiliation, loneliness, and hunger-when he saw the next destination on his path, he begged God to take it away from him.
I can’t see what’s next, though. I can’t help but wonder how much of my own anxiety is self-inflicted. Jesus knew he’d done God’s will. He knew what he’d done was right, and that his punishment was unjust. is my ominous future fog a result of obedience or irresponsibility. Has what I thought was a test of trust been an unheeded call for action all along?
