Watch and pray

In the hush of the garden, Jesus fell to His knees—anguished, trembling, utterly human in His grief. The weight of what was to come pressed in on Him, and He turned to His closest friends—not for solutions, not for sermons, not for grand gestures.

He asked for one thing:

Watch and pray.

That was all.

Not to fix it.

Not to understand the fullness of the pain.

Just to stay awake.

To be present.

To pray.

But they slept.

And don’t we all, sometimes?

Exhaustion wraps itself around us, and avoidance feels easier than presence. Sleep—literal or metaphorical—becomes our sanctuary when sorrow feels too deep to touch. We retreat into distraction, into silence, into the safety of pretending everything is fine.

But anguish doesn’t disappear when we look away. It grows heavier when borne alone.

There are people around us right now—perhaps even close to us—who are kneeling in their own garden of sorrow. Not asking for answers. Not looking for us to speak miracles into the void. They just need us there.

Awake.

Present.

Praying.

Not with perfect words.

Not with easy clichés.

Not with all the reasons why “this will work out for good.” But with the kind of nearness that says, You’re not alone in this.

So resist the urge to sleep through someone else’s suffering. Resist the temptation to turn your eyes away because the pain makes you uncomfortable.

Stay awake.

Enter in.

Be with them in the dark, even if you can’t chase it away. Pray, not to fix, but to ask God to move.

Because sometimes, the most Christ-like thing we can do is simply not leave.

To be present in the garden.

To stay awake in the night.

To whisper prayers into the silence of someone else’s storm.

Don’t sleep through the anguish.

Stay.

Watch.

Pray.