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After the Bread and Wine, the eleven went to the Mount of Olives with You, up to that sloping place of quiet on this Thursday night. You asked, after the warmth of that shared meal, You asked three to watch with You as You prayed.
But the silence - and the wine, the silence, and their unspoken fears caught and held them in some deep sleep and so You knelt alone, except for the quieting birds and the insect sounds of a spring night. The men You had called and loved, slept as You prayed to Your father who had called You to this place and this time out of His love for them.
Finally, You lay face down, the earth Your praying place.
As You prayed to do Your father's will, the image of a wounded man You had seen as a child intruded. Remembering the blood gushing from that man's deep cut, as Your remembered that blood, a tiny ant bit a finger and You winced.
A small ant's small bite and tomorrow there would be spikes and careless men lifting a cross carelessly, for You knew this night that the Pharisees, the Seducees and the people required Your death. You knew this night the kind of death that was required.
You, who winced at an insect bite, to be scourged and then hung in the sun to die.
If it could pass, but it could not.
Then You prayed: Let Your Love, Father, hold me on the Cross to show Our love for them.
So be it.
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