The Garden of Gethsemane

The Hebrew meaning for Gethsemane is “oil press.” The Garden of Gethsemane is located in the Mount of Olives. This same oil was used in the lighting of the Temple lamps and for the anointing of kings. Jesus was called the Messiah, which means “the anointed one.”

In order to get the fullness of the olive it  must be crushed three times. As Jesus goes into the garden to pray he asked his disciples to stay awake and pray. Three times He found them sleeping.  Jesus knew what He had to face; the agony in the garden, where He would be crushed like the olives for the weight of the sins of the world. In Jesus’ case, He was crushed until His sweat turned into blood.

Luke 22:44   New American Bible (Revised Edition)

⁴⁴ He was in such agony and he prayed so fervently that his sweat became like drops of blood falling on the ground.

The Church of All Nations

I have visited the Garden of Gethsemane many, many times and I have received new revelations with each visit. This magnificent church is also referred to as the Basilica of the Agony.  With the help of twelve nations, this church was reconstructed in 1920- 1924. Of course the United States had a hand in this because we are truly a benevolent nation. The other countries donating were Argentina, Brazil , Chili, Mexico, Italy, France, Spain, England, Belgium, Canada and Germany. The name, The Church of  All Nations, was built with 12 nations and, like the 12 apostles, it means complete.

Walking past the olive trees is one of my favorite sites to visit. Archaeologists believe that some of these olive trees were around in the time of Jesus. An interesting fact about an olive tree is that when cut it will continue to grow. These century old olive trees are still producing olives.

As you walk into  the small basilica the focus is on the huge boulder located at the altar. This stone is believed to be where Jesus wept. To be at the same site that our Lord wept blood and to be able to pray and weep at the same spot is truly joyful.

The rock of agony is surrounded by a crown of thorns made of wrought iron. Depending on who is guarding the rock, we could usually enter through the gates to kneel and pray. I could spend hours interceding for others; but sometimes, to allow others an opportunity to do the same, we were ushered out.

Olive Branches 

Through the grace of God after so many years of visiting the Garden of Gethsemane, I finally got the courage to ask a Franciscan priest if we could have branches from the olive trees. I still have some of these leaves and I treasure them. I’ve shared with my students throughout the years as a small Christmas gift. I will do so this year as well.

My Gethsemane

In no instance am I comparing myself to Jesus in a His agony in the Garden of Gethsemane. But many times I find that I have to go deeper into my Gethsemane to reach a higher spiritual level. That may come across as heavy for some but in reality it’s attainable for all. Our world is filled with so many distractions which cause us to inadvertently take our eyes off  our calling. In my case, I get a shaking in a dream to redirect my path.

Getting Back Into the Spirit

The Lord gives me warning dreams whenever I step out of the spirit into the world. These dreams are often confusing, and I’m always finding a way to get out of the situation.

This is the most recent  dream:

I had a baby, and I was responsible for him. The baby was very dirty; he looked as if he had not had a bath in days. I quickly put him in the bathtub but in the commotion, I was distracted. I started to do other things. Then I remembered the baby. I ran in and started scrubbing the dirt off of him.

What does this dream mean? This is my interpretation: the baby represents something new that has been entrusted to me. I failed to pay attention to the baby. The outcome of my neglect was that things with the baby were not right.

The Classes

I have volunteered to teach First Holy Communion and Confirmation classes at St. Norbert.  So, after this dream, I started to review some of the lessons. Preparing for something God has entrusted me with, I must  have a pure and yielding spirit.

Since I struggle with dates and times, I quickly posted all the dates of the class in my phone calendar with a reminder.                          .

The Distraction

It’s easy to unwillingly open the door to distraction. Mine come in different forms such as unnecessary shopping or trying to find something entertaining on Netflix. I like true life stories and documentaries, but I love romantic comedies.

No More Garbage

In almost every case, a spirit of perversion is introduced in the third or fourth segment of romantic miniseries. I’m disgusted with Turkish, Italian and Jewish miniseries. They are following the same script of  some American moviemakers who are doing a wonderful job of destroying entertainment. Their agenda is for us to always accept a sinful lifestyle as the norm.

Prayer

I pray a lot. But sometimes I need assurance from the Lord, so I go  deeper into the garden. Alone, I separate myself from the world and pray. I usually start with a Rosary and then continue to add other petitions. Part of my calling is to pray for others.  Many times I feel a burden to pray for our nation and the crazy politicians who are running it.

My first priority is always for my family. I pray for their health, favor in their workplace, for our grandchildren to do well in school. I also pray for the future spouses for our grandchildren because God has the perfect man or woman set aside for them. I pray for the spiritual direction of many. For those who do not understand who they are in God’s Kingdom, I ask the Lord to reveal Himself in a dream to them..

Be the Light

We all could use a little crushing.  Always remember that the oil from the olive trees was used for lighting. We are the light that can never be extinguished.

Brian, Mitch, Carter and Mikos

The Accident

Our son Mikos was in the seventh grade when he was first initiated into manhood.

Our home was always the neighborhood hangout. One afternoon, the boys came home from school talking about Jeff, a friend of Mikos who had been struck by a car earlier that day. They had no idea how serious it was. They laughed about his pranks and insisted he would be fine. When I walked into the room to explain that this was a grave matter, the words didn’t seem to land. They simply couldn’t comprehend what serious really meant.

I tried to call the hospital to check on Jeff’s condition, but without being family, no information would be released. We later learned through a mutual friend that Jeff had been admitted to intensive care. His condition continued to deteriorate. He slipped into a coma — but came out of it just long enough to tell his family how much he loved them. He died shortly after.

Mikos and his friends were devastated when they heard the news.

I never met Jeff. He was Mikos’ friend — and yet his death changed something in my son forever.

Our son Mikos was in the 7th grade when he was  initiated into manhood.

Mitch

I agreed to take some of Mikos’ friends to the funeral services. Among them was Mitch — our neighbor, and one of Mikos’ closest friends.

Mitch was my sweet friend too. He was the kind of kid who grew on you — not a know-it-all, but genuinely brilliant. He was always turning up at our door. I’d greet him and let him know Mikos wasn’t home, expecting him to head back down the street — but Mitch had other plans. He’d talk his way right through the doorway. “I’ll wait for him here,” he’d say, flashing that smile. Then he’d offer to vacuum while he waited.

Adorably charming. An old soul in a young boy’s frame.

Of all of Mikos’ friends, Mitch grieved Jeff’s death differently — with a maturity and sensitivity that set him apart. It was almost surreal to witness how deeply he felt the loss. When the time came to arrange rides to the funeral, Mitch called and asked if he could come with us. My first instinct was caution. “I can’t take Mitch without his parents’ permission,” I told Mikos. Not long after, Mitch’s mother called to give her blessing, and that settled it.

The Christmas Poinsettia

Jeff’s passing fell just before Christmas. Mitch had gone out and bought a poinsettia — not for himself, but for Jeff’s family. His mother was at work, so he turned to me. He wanted someone to take him to deliver it in person.

I hesitated. I didn’t know the family, and walking up to a grieving household as a stranger didn’t sit comfortably with me. But Mitch had a way with words. Somehow, he always did. So my daughter Sonja and I drove him over and waited in the car while Mitch went inside to pay his respects.

Mitch’s Accident

Less than a month later, a young and inexperienced driver was blinded by the sun and never saw Mitch crossing the street. Mitch had been riding his bike to catch one of Mikos’ basketball games when the car struck him — on the very same crosswalk where Jeff had been hit weeks before. The same corner. The same senseless moment. Mitch met the same fate.

From our home, I heard the ambulance first. Then the helicopter — the one that airlifted Mitch to the specialized head trauma unit of a nearby hospital. That sound carried a weight I cannot describe.

Mikos came home with the news. This time, he understood exactly what it meant.

I knew Mitch well, but had only met his parents a handful of times. Mikos desperately wanted to go to the hospital — but that wasn’t something we could do. We weren’t family. Out of respect for their grief, I chose not to intrude.

Saying Goodbye

For several days, Mitch fought. But the head trauma was too severe, and the outcome became inevitable. Mikos came to me and pleaded — he needed to say goodbye. I told him the only way that could happen was if Mitch’s family reached out to us directly. We would not go uninvited into that sacred space.

The following morning, Mitch’s mother called. There was no brain activity. They welcomed us to come and pay our respects.

Mikos and I walked into that hospital room together, and neither of us could hold back the tears. I reached out and touched Mitch’s arm. My heart ached — not only for Mitch, but for his family, absorbing a loss no one is ever prepared for. This beautiful boy with a brilliant mind had been taken far too soon.

My husband Mike and Mikos, along with Mitch’s friends, served as pallbearers for their young friend.

The Traffic Signal

Villa Park is a small community that has long prized the aesthetics of rural living — and for years, that meant no traffic signals. Stop signs mark every corner. But during school hours, the middle school and high school share the same crosswalk, and that intersection becomes a busy, unforgiving place.

After Mitch’s death, the community refused to be silent. Parents and children gathered, organized, and petitioned the city to install the one and only traffic signal in Villa Park.

I remember marching alongside a large crowd — peacefully, purposefully — from Villa Park High School to City Hall. It was grief made into action.

It took the lives of two precious young men to make that corner safe.

Now, every time that signal comes into view, Mitch and Jeff come with it.

My Poem for Mitch

In my grief, I wrote a poem for Mitch’s family, which was read at his service:

O my son, the many things we’d say we’d do. I have a hard time to find this real, this true. The coldness of life has left me numb. I ask you: why? Why, my son?

You turn my way and hold me through this. Is it Your love I can’t understand? Or is it my life which You want to command?

A life so young has now vanished, I say. But You, Lord, will not lead me astray.

Take my hand, and I will follow. Give me faith — at times, mine is shallow.

I’m slow to remember: You, too, share my pain. We share the same loss.

The difference… Yours died on the Cross.

© Lynda Ciriza