The night that Jesus was in the Garden of Gethsemane was probably the worst of my existence, because it was then that I realized that God would not let me rescue Jesus.
When Jesus first entered the garden and began praying, I knew that something strange was afoot. The first tip off was the intensity of Jesus’ prayers. He prayed like a man on fire. Sweat poured off his face in great rivers, mixing with the tears that dripped from the end of his nose. He prayed and moaned and sat in silence.
And Jesus wasn’t alone in the garden that night. I could see the Serpent King and his spawn circling about Jesus, whispering in his ear. They offered him escape and peace. The Serpent King invited Jesus to follow him out of the garden to a place of rest, but Jesus never moved. I readied my troops and looked to the Father. The moment he gave the signal we would descend upon Jesus and minister to him and battle the Hell spawn.
The disciples were absolutely useless at that point. They were sleeping! Jesus was surrounded by the offspring of Hell, staring into the face of the wrath of God, and the disciples couldn’t even manage to pray for a few moments. I looked to the Father, begging him to allow me to minister to Jesus, and he agreed. I quickly made my way down to the Son and spent a few moments strengthening him. Then I was called back.
After I ministered to Jesus, he began to pray again, and he prayed like I had never seen a person pray. I have seen prophets, and kings, and mighty men of God pray, but none have ever prayed like Jesus. His face was a mask of agony, and blood began to mix itself with his sweat, covering his face in a red, bloody sheen. I was concerned that he might die from the sheer agony of his prayers.
But then he stopped. He rose from the ground, wiped the blood and grime from his face, and called his disciples. The sound of voices indicated that someone else had entered the garden, and Jesus and his disciples went to meet them. Judas, the traitor and coward stepped forward and placed a kiss on Jesus cheek. At that moment my troops and I surged forward, ready to destroy Judas and the others in a blaze of fire. But the Father held us.
The mob surrounded Jesus, and Peter, the renegade of the bunch, whipped out a blade and sliced off the ear of one of the men. I was waiting for Jesus to say the word. As soon as Jesus called, twelve legions of us would be by side. We would destroy all those wicked men who had the audacity to put their hands on our king. We would draw our swords of fire and make quick work of all who opposed Jesus. I could feel the other angels behind me drawing their swords and pushing forward. The call would come any second now.
But it never came. Instead, I heard Jesus utter these shocking words:
Put your sword back into its place. For all who take the sword will perish by the sword. Do you think that I cannot appeal to my Father, and he will at once send me more than twelve legions of angels? But how then should the Scriptures be fulfilled, that it must be so?
Then I understood. We wouldn’t be rescuing Jesus. He would do this alone. We would have been at his side in a moment, ready to defend the king we loved. But he wouldn’t have it. He wouldn’t let us save him, because he was going to save others.