While we were sleeping
Whenever I think of Jesus, what leaps to my mind is Jesus in the garden of Gethsemane, drinking the cup of loneliness, his soul torn with sorrow at his impending death.
And he looks about him for his disciples, seeking a little warmth and human closeness, and there they are – sleeping. All these good people with whom he shared his thoughts.
Now in this moment of unbearable agony, in which he is so openly and wholly human, he turns to these companions, hoping to find comfort and support in any word or gesture on their part, but they are not with him. They are sleeping.
This dreadful moment, I know not how, was impressed on my memory in my early youth, and if I think of Jesus, always and unfailingly, the memory of this moment arises in my mind.
(Hermann Hesse)
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