As we near the end of our sermon series about “disputing with God”, we’ve been given this text, Mark’s version of Jesus’ prayer in Gethsemane. It’s pretty clear why this passage wound up in the series: I can’t think of a more intriguing sermon topic than “God arguing with Godself”. I’m sure we’ve all wondered at some point how a prayer from one person of the Trinity to another would work - is it like talking to yourself? Or is it more like a “multiple personality” situation? How can something be both not what Jesus wants, and also what God does want at the same time? There are a lot of fascinating directions that this sort of sermon could take. But as I wrestled with which of these questions I should tackle this week, I found an entirely different one distracting me: why are the disciples reacting SO differently from Jesus in this passage?
When I thought about it, I realized that there’s a pattern throughout the gospels when it comes to Jesus’ crucifixion. Jesus never shies away from what he knows is going to happen to him. His disciples, on the other hand, react with denial or avoidance whenever it comes up. The first time Jesus mentions his impending death to them, Peter’s immediate reaction is to scold Jesus for saying such things.[1] The second time, the disciples are uncomfortable and confused, but they keep it to themselves.[2] The third time, they don’t even engage the topic at all - they immediately change the subject.[3] And then, when they arrive in Gethsemane with Jesus just hours before he would be betrayed, they use the ultimate avoidance technique: they go to sleep.
Now, I’m not saying that this was an intentional choice. Avoidance is often more of an instinct or reflex than a conscious decision. By way of a relatively benign example, every time I sit down to write a sermon on a particularly difficult topic, without fail, my eyelids begin to droop and my body informs me that it would very much prefer to be lying down. A part of me irrationally hopes that maybe the sermon will write itself while I sleep, and the situation will resolve on its own. Maybe you’ve had a similar experience when faced with a difficult mental or emotional task. Your brain and body literally fight things that it doesn’t want to deal with by going into hibernation mode. It’s a natural coping mechanism, and one that we really can’t blame the disciples for giving in to.
But Jesus didn’t have that luxury. The specter of his death couldn’t be banished with sleep. He couldn’t pretend that it wasn’t happening or that ignoring it would make it go away. All he could do was plead with God to give him a different path forward. Jesus didn’t have the choice that the disciples had - he had to face what was going to happen, because it was happening directly to him.
The reason that the disciples were able to sleep through the moments leading up to Jesus’ betrayal and arrest was that they had privilege. I don’t mean that they never struggled in life - as Galilee’s version of blue-collar workers under an oppressive Roman regime, they certainly knew hardship. What I mean is that in this particular situation, they had the option to dissociate because the threat wasn’t happening directly to them. They could avoid the harsh reality of Jesus’ impending death because it wasn’t *their* reality. It wasn’t that they didn’t care, and it wasn’t that they were bad people. They simply had the unearned benefit of personal distance from what was about to happen. They had privilege.
Almost all of us here have privilege of one kind or another - certain contexts in which we don’t have to think about the difficult realities that others face every day. We’re all Christian or at least Christian-leaning, so we don’t have to think about whether the larger society will accept our faith practices. Most of us are cisgender, so we don’t have to think about whether or not there will be a bathroom that we’re allowed to use. Many of us are white, so we don’t have to think about what negative racial stereotypes others might be projecting on us. Some of us are straight or in straight-presenting relationships, so we don’t have to think about whether our partner will be welcomed in social situations. We can *choose* to be aware of these things, but *we aren’t forced to pay attention to them by virtue of our life circumstances.* None of this makes any of us a bad person. But all of it is privilege.
In Gethsemane, Jesus doesn’t ask his disciples to stay alert in order to serve as his security detail. If that were the case, he wouldn’t have rebuked their violent response to his arrest. No; he’s looking for a different kind of vigilance - Jesus is asking his privileged friends to stay awake with him in solidarity. Even though none of it is happening directly to them, he asks them to bear witness to the despair and anxiety that he isn’t able to escape.
The disciples have the best of intentions. They don’t minimize Jesus’ feelings, even though they don’t necessarily share them. They don’t say, “Jesus, you’re just being paranoid. Crucifixions aren’t a problem in our society anymore.” They listen and they believe him.
But the things that Jesus is anticipating and feeling - they’re hard. They’re uncomfortable. Although the disciples’ spirits are eager, the temptation to avoid sharing Jesus’ experience is strong. And so, despite their genuine intention and desire to support their friend, they give in. In falling asleep, they leave Jesus alone with his despair. They wanted to be Jesus' allies, but long before the rooster crowed later that night, they had already abandoned him.
We, too, must be honest about the times when, despite our best intentions and efforts, we’ve closed our eyes to the suffering of our human siblings. The times when we’ve declared ourselves allies but turned away in our siblings’ bleakest moments, not for the sake of self-care, but because we just didn’t want to think about it for a little while. The times when we’ve escaped into privilege that they don’t have. The times when we, too, have fallen asleep.
As natural and human as this inclination is, Jesus calls us to do better. He would not let his disciples sleep in Gethsemane, and he will not let us sleep now. Each time we try to use our privilege to close our eyes to the harsh realities of our world, he speaks through the stories and testimony of our struggling siblings: “Are you sleeping? Wake up! Keep alert! This is my truth. Help me to bear it!” Through the words of ancient Scripture and modern-day prophets, Jesus wakes us up again and again and again. He calls upon us to earn our title of disciple, of friend, of ally, by staying engaged even when it would be easier to look away.
We still use this metaphor of sleep to talk about solidarity and privilege, but the terminology has evolved a little bit, thanks to African American Vernacular English. Today, we might describe what Jesus asks for as “being woke.” Now, I’m not saying that Jesus would have identified with one political party over another, and I’m not trying to lend religious authority to any particular political agenda. Being “woke” isn’t about an ideology. It’s nothing more and nothing less than a willingness to keep your eyes open to the harsh realities that exist outside of your own experience. To see injustice and pain where we wouldn’t otherwise bother to look. To choose to stay awake when we would rather go to sleep. THIS is what Jesus asked of his disciples in Gethsemane, and THIS is what Jesus asks of us today.
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No matter where you are on the political spectrum, don’t you think this is a reasonable thing for Jesus to ask? Doesn’t this sound like something you could strive to do, as one human being for another? Isn’t this exactly the sort of thing that can help us to better understand each other and bring us closer to the kindom of God? I think so. It’s not an easy request and it’s not something that will come naturally for most of us. But given our love for Jesus and for all the marginalized and oppressed that he claims as his own, our attention and awareness is something real and meaningful that we can offer to others, especially when it feels like we don’t have anything else to give.
So, beloved: resist the temptation to close your eyes. Don’t look away. Remain watchful. Stay “woke.” Be aware of the battles that you aren’t fighting, the suffering that you don’t see, the struggles that belong to someone else. Bear witness to the iniquity that still exists in our world. Our attention, on its own, won’t fix these problems. But our care - our compassion - our empathy - our solidarity - these are the things on which a divine kindom can be built. May it be so. Amen.
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[1] Mark 8:31-32.
[2] Mark 9:31-32.
[3] Mark 10:33-35.
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