As Christ bled from every pore, I find His Father’s response to His son striking. In our Savior’s deepest agony, He poured out His true heart, I can’t do it. It’s too hard. Please take it away. Please don’t make me go through with it.
I recently heard what His Father did not say, “Make sure you’re reading your scriptures and saying your prayers. Do your family history and listen to conference talks. Serve others and go to the temple…”
I imagined a Father sitting with His son, holding Him, silently near. I felt the space He held, wide open, for His son to honestly express what hurt, what He didn’t like, what He didn’t want to do. I sensed a Father’s stillness, the absent need to fix it, change it, or make it different. He just needed to be there.
I think of the angels who welcomed the extraordinary opportunity to minister to Jesus in His suffering. But what could they do? Almost nothing! They couldn’t make His burden light, couldn’t lessen the suffering, couldn't take His place, couldn't give advice that would make it better. They couldn’t do anything.
Neither did they need to. All that was needed was to be there. To sit. Wait. Watch. Be still. Be near. Be there while He endured the most difficult part of His mortal mission.
Maybe this is some of the most sacred ground we will tread: hearing hearts, honest hearts—the tender feelings not many divulge.
The angels who accepted that sacred mission became witnesses to their God overcoming His own suffering, and that of an entire world.
They got to be there.
