This verse erupted in my spirit recently, as I was wrestling with a profound feeling of loneliness.

The context: Jesus is with his three closest disciples in Gethsemane. He knows he's about to be betrayed, arrested, and deserted by his friends.

His crucifixion is imminent. It's impossible to imagine the weight of this moment.

Dallas Willard offers some insight, asserting that the Garden of Gethsemane was the final battle between Satan and Jesus:

The text reveals that Jesus was grieved and distressed. These are forceful words.

In fact, the word "distressed" in verse 37 (adēmoneō) is the strongest of the three Greek words for depression in the New Testament (see Strong's G85). It speaks to being full of heaviness.

Needless to say, this isn't a routine prayer meeting. Jesus is experiencing an all-out assault of darkness.

What touches me is that Jesus invites Peter, James, and John into his struggle. He asks his closest friends to stay with him and keep watch.

What vulnerability! What humanity!

Yet as Jesus is on his face praying, his disciples are sleeping. They truly could not bear the heaviness.

I imagine Jesus felt the sting of loneliness in this moment, being without any earthly comfort. He asked for company, for camaraderie, but the temptation to sleep among his disciples proved too strong.

Grief and loneliness are part of the human condition. We will walk through these dark valleys. Suffering is part of the gospel. And there's indeed a strong temptation to sleep — to escape, to isolate, to disengage.

Jesus could have kept his struggle to himself. But instead he opened up. He told his friends the truth and asked for their prayerful presence, even though they couldn't be there for him in the way he needed.

Some sources of grief are more socially acceptable or palatable than others. What about when our struggles carry a stigma? Or what if it's sin we need to confess?

In my own story of living with long-term infertility, my grief has been largely invisible. At times I've felt overwhelmed by loneliness, sadness, and a lack of support.

As I've been sitting in this Gethsemane garden passage with Jesus, it's comforting knowing that he understands loneliness and weakness. He bore the heaviness. He's been there — and then some. His suffering went well beyond my own. He endured the cross, scorning its shame.

And he's shown me something important: Grief beckons a witness. Shame wants me to stay silent. But my struggle matters. My reality is worth naming. Even if others don't know what to say or can't help but turn away, God never will.

In my grief and distress, I hear my Savior saying, I'm right here. Remain and keep watch with me.

I don't know what you're going through right now, but the same is true for you. Your story, your suffering, and your struggles are worth sharing — with God and others.

Gethsemane means "an oil press." The pressing in our lives produces something costly and precious. Oil in the Bible speaks of anointing, healing, joy, and blessing. It points to Holy Spirit empowerment.

Without prayer — without the oil of intimacy with God — we won't have the spiritual strength and steadfastness to stay awake. We also need a small circle of trustworthy people, even one precious person, with whom we can open up and tell the truth.

On this Thursday before we remember Jesus' crucifixion and celebrate his resurrection, there's a holy invitation to pause with him in that garden, knowing that any time we find ourselves in our own pit of despair, he's there.

Grief beckons a witness. Give voice to your pain. Ask for help in your struggle. And watch what God does. The pit isn't the end of the story.

Have a blessed Passover and Resurrection Day!

Love,

Chelsea