But—­now on the morrow that would be changed.  The Father’s face be—­hidden—­His presence not felt.  That was the climax of all to Jesus.  Do you say it was for a short time only?  In minutes y-e-s.  As though experiences were ever told by the clock!  What bulky measurements of time we have!  Will we never get away from the clocks in telling time?  No clock ever can tick out the length to Jesus of that time the Father’s face was hidden.  This hiding of the Father’s face was the climax of suffering to Jesus.

Alone.

It was a very full evening for Jesus.  In the upper room of a friend’s house they meet for the eating of the Passover meal.  There is the great act of washing His disciples’ feet, the eating of the old Hebrew prophetic meal, the going out of Judas into the night of his dark purpose, the new simple memorial meal.  Then come those long quiet talks, in which Jesus speaks out the very heart of His heart, and that marvellous prayer so simple and so bottomless.

Very likely He is talking, as they move quietly along the Jerusalem streets, out of the gate leading toward the Kedron brook, and then over the brook toward the enclosed spot, full of the great old olive trees.  The moon is at the full.  This is one of His favorite praying places.  He is going off for a bit of prayer. So He approaches this great crisis.  There is a friendly word spoken to these men that they be keenly alert, and pray, lest they yield to temptation.  It is significant, this word about temptation.  Then into the woods He goes, the disciples being left among the trees, while He goes in farther with the inner three, then farther yet, quite alone.  Intense longing for fellowship mingles with intense longing to be alone.  He would have a warm hand-touch, yet they cannot help Him here, and may do something to jar.

Now He is on His knees, now prone, full length, on His face.  The agony is upon Him.  Snatches of His prayer are caught by the wondering three ere sleep dulls their senses.  “My Father—­if it be possible—­let—­this—­
cup—­pass—­from—­me—­Yet—­Thy—­will—­be done.”  The words used to tell of His mental distress are so intense that the translators are puzzled to find English words strong enough to put in their place.  A frenzy of fright, a nightmare horror, a gripping chill seizes Him with a terrible clutch.  It is as though some foul, poisonous gas is filling the air and filling His nostrils and steadily choking His gasping breath.  The dust of death is getting into His throat.  The strain of spirit is so great that the life tether almost slips its hold.  And angels come, with awe stricken faces, to minister.  Even after that, some of the life, that on the morrow is to be freely spilled out, now reddens the ground.  The earth is beginning to feel the fertilizing that by and by is to bring it a new life.