Le Christ au jardin des Oliviers — Gustave Moreau
Descending Theology: The Garden
We know he was a man because, once doomed,
he begged for reprieve. See him
grieving on his rock under olive trees,
his companions asleep
on the hard ground around him
wrapped in old hides.
Not one stayed awake as he’d asked.
That went through him like a sword.
He wished with all his being to stay
but gave up
bargaining at the sky. He knew
it was all mercy anyhow,
unearned as breath. The Father couldn’t intervene,
though that gaze was never
not rapt, a mantle around him. This
was our doing, our death.
The dark prince had poured the vial of poison
into the betrayer’s ear,
and it was done. Around the oasis where Jesus wept,
the cracked earth radiated out for miles.
In the green center, Jesus prayed for the pardon
of Judas, who was approaching
with soldiers, glancing up – as Christ was – into
the punctured sky till his neck bones
ached. Here is his tear-riven face come
to press a kiss on his brother.
–Mary Carr
The American Church in Paris just posted a short film for Maundy Thursday. The voiced-over reflections by youth and young adults from the congregation capture the spirit of the times, both now and then: a gathering of disciples processing the events of the last few weeks, discussing how the world has changed and what the future may hold, trying to find meaning and make sense of it all without the benefit of hindsight; denial and admission of fear; incredulity in the face of death.
Homespun 