The agony of it is upon Him as He falls prostrate on the ground, under the tense strain of spirit. Out of the struggle a bit of prayer reaches our awed ears, "_If it be possible_ let this cup pass away from Me; yet not as I will, but as Thou wilt." And so tense is the strain that an angel comes to strengthen. With what reverent touch must he have given his help. Even after that the great drops of bloody sweat came. But now a calmer mood comes. The look full in the face of what was coming, the realizing more clearly how the Father's plan must work out, these help to steady Him. Again a bit of prayer is heard, "Since this cannot pass away; since only so can Thy plan for the world be accomplished Thy--will--be--done." The load of the world's sin almost broke His heart that dark night under the olives. It actually did break His heart on the morrow. This is the meaning of Gethsemane, intense suffering of spirit because of the sin of others. And at first thought you say, surely there can be no following for any of us in this sore lonely experience of His. And there cannot. He was alone there as on the morrow. None of us can go through what He went through there. For, it was _for us_, and for our sin that He went through it. And yet there _is_ a following, if different in degree and in depth of meaning, yet a very real following. While Gethsemane stands a lone experience for Jesus, yet there will be _a_ Gethsemane for him who follows fully where He asks us to go. There will be a real suffering of spirit because of the sin of others. We will see the world around us through those pure, seeing eyes of His. We will _feel_ the ravages of sin in those we touch, with something of the feeling of His heart. Close walking with Christ brings pain and it will bring it more, and more acutely. We will see sin as He does, in part. We will feel with our fellow-men toiling in its grip and snare as He did, in part. There will be sore suffering of spirit. This is the Gethsemane experience, and it will not grow less but more. "'O God,' I cried, 'why may I not forget? These halt and hurt in life's hard battle Throng me yet. Am I their keeper? Only I? To bear This constant burden of their grief and care? Why must I suffer for the others' sin? Would God my eyes had never opened been!' And the Thorn-crowned and Patient One Replied, '_They thronged Me too. I too have seen_.' 'But, Lord, Thy other children go at will,' I said, protesting still. 'They go, unheeding. But these sick and sad, These blind and orphan, yea and those that sin Drag at my heart. For them I serve and groan. Why is it? Let me rest, Lord. I _have_ tried--' He turned and looked at me: '_But I have died_!'