Gethsemane

This holy ground is populated by olive trees that were already here when Jesus walked among them pondering his final hours.  Perhaps it was under some of these that the disciples lolled while their master labored in prayer.   Today these ancient sentinels stand, now squat and decrepit, over two thousand years old and still shooting forth branches with living leaves reaching for the sun.  Imagine the lifetimes that have passed beneath these boughs.

The Garden of Gethsemane has hosted legions of Jewish peasants, Roman Centurions, endless generations of Palestinian shepherds, Ottoman Princes, European Crusaders, the arrival of avid Zionists, and the influx of ubiquitous tourists.

For vast centuries the garden was overgrown in a silent agrarian hibernation only to be interrupted from time to time by rotating eras of careful cultivation, further neglect, and episodic violent intrusion.  For all that has occurred on this hillside, called the Mount of Olives, from divine revelation to disgusting rape and torture, the ancient olive trees stand mute and unyielding of the triumphs and tragedies they have witnessed.

Some visitors come to this place for a once-in-a-lifetime experience to “walk where Jesus walked.”  But a Palestinian Christian I met encourages visitors to also walk with those who actually walk every day where Jesus walked.  His rejoinder reminds us that the so-called “holy” places are not special in and of themselves.  Whatever of note that took place there is over, and, while rightfully remembered, it is the past.  We do not live there anymore. Sentimentality does not serve the ends of justice, peace, mercy, and grace that Jesus represented when he prayed here two millennia ago.

Whatever value there is in being “moved” while standing in a “holy” spot is confirmed only in the intent of what we do next.  The ancient olive trees will be our witnesses.