From My Garden to Gethsemane

Join me for a tour of my garden, while we connect to our own suffering to Christ’s in the garden of Gethsemane.

Introduction

I’ve always loved these flowers. No one planted them, waters them, or weeds around them. And every summer they quietly bloom anyway. Whenever I walk past them, I think about Jesus’ words:

Consider the lilies of the field, how they grow; they neither toil nor spin…yet I tell you, even Solomon in all his glory was not arrayed like one of these. (Matthew 6:28-29)

It’s amazing how much beauty God creates without our help. But as I keep walking, I leave the wildflowers behind and enter another kind of garden. One that requires work.

The Beauty of the Garden

I love this time of year. The tomatoes are finally producing, raspberries are almost finished, garlic is ready to harvest. Everything feels alive. And if you’ve ever gardened, you know it’s easy to romanticize moments like these.

Beautiful baskets full of fresh vegetables. Children picking tomatoes. Golden evening light shining through on your hard work.

But what the camera doesn’t always capture is everything that came before this. The early mornings. The aching back. Pulling weeds. The uncertainty and waiting. The sweat. Every harvest has a hidden story.

Connecting with Christ’s Time in the Garden

I’ve been thinking a lot lately about another garden. Not one full of vegetables. But one filled with sorrow, The Garden of Gethsemane. It’s interesting to me that some of the greatest moments in salvation history happened in gardens.

Humanity fell in one. And Christ began restoring it in another.

The word Gethsemane actually means ‘oil press.’ An olive press. A place where olives were crushed until oil flowed. Is that why Jesus chose that place? Because He Himself would be pressed there, feeling “crushed” there, beneath the weight of what He was about to endure.

We Need Calvary First

When I spend hours pulling weeds, I often catch myself wishing the work were already done. I want the finished garden. Not the process or hard work. And isn’t that how we often approach suffering?

We want resurrection without Calvary. Peace without surrender. Joy without waiting.

Yet Christ walked another path. Luke tells us,

Being in agony He prayed more earnestly, and His sweat became like great drops of blood falling to the ground. (Luke 22:44)

Every time I kneel in this dirt, I’m reminded that our Savior once knelt in another garden. Not harvesting vegetables. But surrendering His own will.

Christ Suffered for Love

Because in that very garden, before a single nail pierced His hands, Jesus Himself was being pressed beneath a weight almost impossible for us to comprehend. He wasn’t simply anticipating physical pain.

He already knew what scourging would feel like. Jesus knew the crown of thorns was coming. He knew He would carry the Cross. Jesus knew nails would pierce His hands and feet. But I don’t think it was merely the suffering of His body that caused such agony. It was the weight of what He was about to carry.

The sin of the world. Every act of hatred, every lie, betrayal, act of violence, wound inflicted by man upon man, abortion, addiction, moment of pride, secret sin, failure, sorrow, grief.

Every consequence of sin from Adam until the end of time. The spotless Lamb of God willingly took it upon Himself. Saint Paul tells us,

For our sake He made Him to be sin who knew no sin, so that in Him we might become the righteousness of God. (2 Corinthians 5:21)

Imagine standing beneath the weight of all of humanity’s brokenness.

Not only seeing it, but choosing to carry it. It’s no wonder that St. Luke tells us,

Being in agony He prayed more earnestly; and His sweat became like great drops of blood falling down upon the ground. (Luke 22:44)

Medical experts tell us that under extraordinary emotional distress, a rare condition called hematidrosis can occur, where tiny blood vessels around the sweat glands rupture and blood mingles with sweat. Whether or not that is exactly what occurred here, Luke, the physician, records an agony so intense that it was unlike anything most of us could ever imagine.

The crushing had already begun. Long before the Cross, before the trial, before the soldiers, before Golgotha, Jesus was already saying ‘yes’ to the Father’s will. He was already offering Himself.

Connecting Your Suffering to His

That’s why Gethsemane speaks so deeply to those of us living ordinary lives, because most of our greatest battles aren’t fought where everyone can see them. They’re fought in the quiet, in prayer, hidden surrender.

A mother rocking a baby for the fifth time that night. A husband carrying the burden of providing for his family. Someone sitting beside a hospital bed, grieving a loved one, battling temptation no one else knows about. Someone praying for a child who has wandered from the faith. Those hidden moments rarely are seen. No one applauds them. Yet that is where love is often proven.

Before Jesus changed the world on Calvary, He surrendered His heart in Gethsemane. The Cross was visible but Gethsemane was hidden. And isn’t that often true in our own lives? People see the harvest. They see the beautiful garden. They see the basket overflowing with vegetables. But they don’t see the countless hours spent pulling weeds, or any of the pain that goes into planting or maintaining it.

Every harvest has a Gethsemane. Every fruitful Christian life has seasons where God allows us to be pressed. Not because He delights in our suffering, but because pressure reveals what we cling to most.

When olives are crushed, oil flows. When Christ was crushed, mercy flowed.

Suffering is Purposeful

When we allow God to press us through the crosses He permits in our own lives—not running from them, but entrusting them to Him—the fragrance of Christ begins to flow from us as well. James tells us,

Count it all joy, my brethren, when you meet various trials, for you know that the testing of your faith produces steadfastness. (James 1:2–3)

None of us would choose the crushing. Jesus Himself prayed,

Father, if it be possible, let this cup pass from Me. (Matthew 26:39)

There was nothing wrong with desiring relief. But He didn’t stop there. He finished with the words that changed history:

Nevertheless, not as I will, but as You will.

I wonder how different our own gardens—our homes, our marriages, our families, even our hearts would look if that became the prayer we whispered every day.

Lord… not my will, but Your will be done.

Because every act of surrender plants a seed that God can grow into something eternal.

little girl running after mother outside

Closing

I started this video showing flowers that bloom without anyone noticing. And I think that’s fitting. Because so much of our Christian life is hidden: the prayers no one hears, the sacrifices no one applauds, countless diapers changed, weeds pulled, meals cooked, tears cried after everyone else is asleep.

None of it is wasted. Jesus redeemed the world not only from a Cross…

but through His surrender in a garden.

Long before nails pierced His hands, He chose obedience while kneeling on the ground. That’s must be our reminder when we are put in our own “gardens” of suffering and pain.

So the next time you’re pulling weeds, folding laundry, working the land, or doing the ordinary work God has given you, remember that holy ground isn’t only found in churches.

Sometimes it’s found in gardens, kitchens, nurseries, maybe the laundry room. It’s found wherever we choose to say,

‘Lord…not my will, but Yours be done.’

Introduction

The Beauty of the Garden