Night gathers around the stones of the Garden of Gethsemane
as the earth itself holds its breath.

The olives stand ancient and silent.
They have seen kings rise and empires fall,
yet never have they watched a man kneel
with the weight of the world upon his soul.

There, in the dark soil of prayer,
the Son bends low before the Father.

The cup stands before Him.
All the bitterness of human cruelty,
all the centuries of betrayal,
all the blood ever shed by brother against brother.

And still He whispers yes.

When the lanterns appear between the branches
and the footsteps of soldiers disturb the holy ground,
the night does not seize Him.

He rises.

The one they seek,
Jesus Christ,
steps forward into the flickering light
as though greeting an appointed hour.

A kiss becomes the sign of betrayal
given by Judas Iscariot,
and love is handed over with the gesture of friendship.

They bind His hands.

Though the trees
and the silent grounds know
that no rope has ever held the One who made the stars.

He walks with them willingly
into the deep valley of human darkness.

For long ago, in another garden,
human hands reached upward
to grasp what was not theirs.

Now, in this garden,
God stretches out His hands
to surrender what is His.

The olive branches sway in the night wind,
and somewhere in the unseen heavens
the angels stand in awe.

The Chosen Lamb has begun the journey
that will open the gates of mercy
for the whole world.