Jesus tells the disciples to wait for him in the grassy pitch, but then called Peter, John and James as he repented of To advance or just afraid something, and submit them with the slope of the first terrace.
According to the revelations of Maria Valtorta
Here he told the three: "Keep yourselves in expectation you here, while I pray. But do not sleep. I may need you. And, I ask for charity, pray. Your Master is very dejected in spirit ...". Mob lot about the word "very" and says the last two sentences in a tone of deep sadness. He made his voice as deep and hoarse from inside a prison. A tired voice. It is sad.
Peter, who took the torch from one of the other left before, he replied: "Do not worry. Teacherwe will monitor and pray that you do not call us we will come.".
And Jesus let them. Walking, turning our backs on them. Rises slowly with her head down looking for the place to put your feet in the moonlight which is now loud and clear ... After a few meters there is a difference of a few inches taller than Jesus There is also a rock that seems to have been placed there by man or by nature itself or to hold the rib.
Against this stops Jesus has almost under his feet the silvery foliage of an olive tree ... Jesus prays. Standing upright against the rock, his face raised to the sky and open arms to cross. His prayer is intense. I hear him sigh and whisper the words with urgent desire.
Then he turns his back to the boulder resting and looks ... Besides the hair unkempt olive trees sloping down at his feet following the uneven hilly place, you see Jerusalem. All white in the moonlight. Calmly, apparently, all good, all dormant. Jesus, with his arms crossed over his chest, looks at it intently. She sighs with greater anxiety.
Then walks again. Back to the three disciples. These have lit a small fire, perhaps to feel less cool night, perhaps to better resist sleep. But in fact already doze. The heads, especially that of Peter, dangling on his chest.
"Sleep? Have you been able to watch one hour? And so I need your comfort and for your prayers." The three of them shaking and rubbing his eyes. "Pray and supervised. Also you need them." It leaves them coming back again in its place.
The light of the moon, which is beating in making opinion turned white also the appearance as it heads towards the path, I see that has a face tired. A face martyred by an internal pain. It looks aged. The look is not radiance. The mouth falls with fold sad.
Back to his boulder and kneels with more intense prayer. Pray and meditate. And while meditating strikes. I see wince, I hear him moan. I see him leading his hands clasped over his head and support these at the rock face and wrists and is thus supplicating. When he raises his face, the moon, now directly overhead on them makes me see a face washed by tears.
He gets up. Takes a few steps back and forth muttering words that do not grab, lifting his eyes and hands, lowering his discomfort with these and those. Need. Cries. It's rough.
Back to the three who sleep even better than before. Even the small fire dozing. "But then? Sleep yet? Pray. The meat will not win. Did not win the meat, none. If the spirit is willing, the flesh is weak. Help me".
The three apologize. They leave the poses comfortable that they had taken, they look of the branches, and to do rise and, revive the fire. The blaze shows a face so tortured that would keep alive a dying man. But the three have sleep...
Jesus looks at them, shakes his head. Back away. Back to his boulder. Pray again. Prior to his hands raised and open to cross, then on his knees clasped hands as before. Then silent. Think. It has to suffer horribly because now sobbing openly, slumping on his heels. It invokes the Father ... With so much trouble looks like a tortured child you call the only one who can save him.
But he recovers and, after having moaned: "No, no. Too bitter is the cup. Father, him away from your son," he recovers and says, "But I do not listen to my voice. Father, if it asks what is contrary to your will. Remind you that I am not the Son, but only your servant. Not my will, but thineis done".
And after this prayer the tide of all the pain of the world down on him, presses it, crush it, knocks it down. Materially it is a poor thing bent to the ground, his face against the ground, the grass fresh, unique to its pitiful fever: one that seems to die. Spiritually is a tortured soul, a thought appalled, a heart crushed by the abandonment of the Father, by its rigor, knowledge of the torture that waits. From many, many things.
It's so long. When a bright light is shown on the head - I see nothing but a very white light - Jesus raises his head. The moonlight and the angelic show me a red face with blood. Tears do two white stripes in red mask. Even the hands are red, that He raises his arms toward the light. He takes off his dark red coat and dries it with the face, hands, neck, arms. But the sweat blood continues. Each pore has its own drop that forms, grows and falls. The grass appears darker place where he kept his face, as it is dyed with blood.
Jesus toiling as one taken from malaise. This raises sitting against the boulder. He leans. You leave; his head bent forward, his arms stretched out to the sides of the body. The angelic light is on to him then disappears merging the moonbeam.
Jesus is the head only. But it is more comforted. It dries again, carefully, face and hands in the mantle, which then folds, putting it at the boulder and leaning on this head and hands in a last prayer.
Then he gets up and goes to the disciples leaving the mantle where it is. His tunic stained pale red appears as if it were bathed in a dark liquid. But the face resumed its majestic appearance although it is immensely sad and pale than usual.
The three, comfortably lying down, sleeping, all wrapped up in their cloaks at the fire finally died. Jesus shakes them, "Get up. Come on. Who betrays me is at hand".
Taken from "The Notebooks of 1944" by Maria Valtorta page 131 - Centro Editoriale Valtortiano..