How to Pray Like Jesus in the Garden
By Abby Slater
The Catholic Church, in her maternal care, gives us the season of Ordinary Time as a means of becoming increasingly ordered towards Christ. The month of June is no exception in allotting the faithful occasion for this dedicated pursuit. Two solemnities—the Feast of Corpus Christi and the Feast of the Sacred Heart—present opportunities for devotion and reparation to Jesus’ pierced heart, which is accessed through His uplifted, crucified body. These solemn commemorations acknowledge that God alone can save us, and He does so by His sacrifice. They remind us that mercy is found by way of the cross, from which His side was opened.
Endeavoring to grow in wisdom demands self-denial, but in this we will only be emulating our Savior who laid down His life for us freely, in love. We can begin with simple practices such as denying ourselves comfortable pleasures we’d rather not live without. Declining that slice of chocolate cake, forgoing our regular Seinfeld marathons, or fasting from any favored enjoyment can be uncomfortable. However, not only is self-denial meant to focus our attention on the “only one thing” (Lk. 10:42), deepening our dependence on Him; it also helps prepare our response to the unchosen pains we experience that are a consequence of living in a fallen world.
But be it in chosen mortifications, or those perhaps larger sufferings we have no choice but to take up, there is nothing we endure that Christ hasn’t already experienced, nor any weight we bear which our loving Savior hasn’t already felt. He takes everything that grieves us upon Himself. He mercifully becomes our model, in agonies small and great, and calls us to follow His lead. He displays His wounded Heart to beseech us to resemble Him, but He also desires lasting union with us. This imitation of Christ is enriched most fully in prayer, for in encountering Him we are transformed into His likeness. For prayer to inflame the heart, we must be willing to seek Christ with thanksgiving, even in trials.
Before entering His Passion, Jesus’s supplication to His Father in the Garden of Gethsemane illustrates three important aspects about praying in the midst of tribulations. He teaches us:
To feel the emotional heaviness of our burdens but to turn away from despair.
To be vigilant and remain close to Him in temptations.
To surrender humbly, in trust, to His will, for He knows all things and loves us even to the point of the Cross.
“My soul is sorrowful even to death” (Mt. 26:38)
A life conformed to Christ does not mean one devoid of emotion, and learning to suffer with our gaze fixed on Him does not signify an apathetic or numb response. In the Garden, Jesus very importantly demonstrates going to prayer even with a broken heart. It is in feeling the emotional heaviness of our miseries that we can learn to choose Him regardless; and in choosing Him in our lowest moments, we can practice what Christ so evidently displays––not despairing even when the sorrow we’re experiencing seems overwhelming.
We may prefer to flee from an encounter with God in prayer when we feel crushed by grief. However, Jesus shows us that there is no better place to be when our souls feel most burdened than in the Father’s presence. When I am in distress or feeling dejected, I usually have to actively remind myself that I don’t have to be in a particular emotional state to choose Christ but that I can choose Him right in that moment and that it matters to do so.
Recently, I’ve been turning to the Psalms in times such as these; they offer perfect examples of crying out to God in the extremities of human emotion, trusting He hears and responds, and that He’s near to us in every hollowness or pain. Our vulnerability and wounds can be access points into which Christ can enter and pour His grace; likewise, He invites us into His wounds, which give us access to His Heart.
In the Diary of Saint Faustina, Jesus says to her, “Tell aching mankind to snuggle close to My merciful Heart, and I will fill it with peace” (1074). The devotion to Divine Mercy reemphasizes what we see in the Garden of Gethsemane: that Jesus is inexhaustibly compassionate towards our sorrows. In His own, He thirsts for us, those for whom He lays down His life willingly, and in our sorrow, He asks us to look to Him as our Hope and all we need to fill us.
“Watch and pray that you may not undergo the test. The spirit is willing, but the flesh is weak” (Mt. 26:41)
In Gethsemane Christ also reveals to us the importance of vigilance and of being solidly rooted in Him, for He is the source of all strength. Through Him alone will we be able to withstand the temptations that threaten our weak flesh, jeopardizing our sanctity and eternal happiness.
These temptations come in all forms. At times, we may consider ourselves invincible, willingly entering near occasions of sin or falling for worldly allurements. But we can also succumb easily to doubt, fear, resentment, or aridity. We can be tempted, too, towards discouragement, especially when we experience our weakness.
However, we need not be distressed when we experience the trials of temptation. Jesus tells us not to be surprised; He reminds us, “In the world you will have trouble, but take courage, I have conquered the world” (Jn. 16:33). We see this clearly when Jesus defeated Satan in the desert, giving us confidence in His divinity as our power and in the dominion of His grace. We also see God’s authority and encouragement in His command in the Garden: “Watch and pray.” Realizing our helplessness, He tells us exactly what we need to do when facing temptation by the devil.
When we allow sin to invade, it can be helpful to imagine ourselves in the place of the disciples slumbering in the garden. I’ve always identified with them, feeling pity for their exhaustion. It’s a sober awakening, however, to see their sleep as the parts of my heart that are hardened––my inclinations to cling to self-reliance, preventing my gaze from being set firmly “to the East.”
Jesus knows our desire for Him and meets us exactly where we are. However, He is also Truth itself and never compromises, like we often do, with sin. Therefore, when He finds us resting in anything other than Him, He asks us, too, “So you could not keep watch with me for one hour?” (Mt. 26:40). It’s a charge to remain close in difficulties and failings, a loving order to consistently abide in Him. He will save us. And it’s imperative that we heed Him, for Christ alone is victor.
“Yet, not as I will, but as you will” (Mt. 26:39b)
Lastly, and most importantly, Christ’s example of prayer in the Garden invites us to the humility of trust. Humility has to be the foundation of prayer. Jesus shows us that we can present our petitions honestly while still submitting our will to the Father, acknowledging that He is God, and we are not. If we deeply trust that in all things His purpose is love, we can surrender to His will with serene abandonment, whatever it may be. This isn’t easy; after all, doubt is at the root of the fall. But Christ is so tender in bringing that wound to redemption, choosing humiliation to prove His trustworthiness and death in order to fight to bring us to Himself.
This past year, I wrestled often with trusting God’s goodness and abundant generosity when He seemed to ask me to endure considerable loss. Two major hip surgeries took away my goals of training for another marathon. Running was more than exercise for me; it also brought me great joy and the feeling of exuberant freedom. While awaiting the first operation, mulling forlornly over the rarity of the discovered reverse hip dysplasia, my attention settled upon the Gospel’s innumerable stories of healings. These accounts bear witness to Christ repeatedly answering the plea of His suffering creation, alleviating pain and restoring spirits. I couldn’t understand why He always said yes to those eagerly seeking cures to their maladies. Wouldn’t He in His wisdom deem it necessary to leave a model for those whose intercessions appear to go unanswered?
Then one day in prayer, after repeatedly bringing the question and ache to Him there, He reminded me in His gentle, kind voice, that He is our example in those times when we’re asked to drink the bitter cup––when the Father’s will is not our own preference, when we dread what’s asked of us and would rather evade it. He lays Himself down freely so that we can take up our crosses with His strength. He empties Himself out so as to fill us in our poverty.
As Catholics we have the immense blessing of the Eucharist. When we’re assailed by burdens, temptations, and suffering, we need look no further than the altar to see God is good. With eyes fixed upon Him there, we can obey even when we don’t understand. In trust, we can imitate our Redeemer, who didn’t flee from or resent the Cross but embraced it to give us freedom and life. And there’s always lavish grace for the difficult task, yet unmerited privilege, of being called to walk in the footsteps of our crucified Master.
The Cross: the Wisdom of God
In the Garden, Jesus displays trust unfettered by the bonds of sin and pride. But even in our brokenness, He’s present to aid us and make up for our lack. So during Ordinary Time’s season for growing in the likeness of Christ, let us join Him there in Gethsemane. Let us give Him our sorrows, remain vigilant during temptation, and surrender humbly in trust. Let us not fear our daily penances or any burden, however heavy, for Our Savior has already sanctified them by His blood. He’s calling us to Himself, through Himself, and He won’t forsake us along the way of Calvary.
The Cross is the beginning and end of prayer. And it is only by the Cross’s fruits that we will be united to Christ the Bridegroom, celebrating the Resurrection’s glory eternally.
