Jesus does his work in the garden. He comes to us and tends us as if we were his own very special planting. He made us and cultivates us for himself. He pulls up old weeds and lifts each drooping head as he passes by.
The disciples of Jesus were in the throes of the darkest three days of their lives. They had left literally everything to follow a warrior-king-Messiah who was now dead. Their knees buckled under the table as they sat silently staring at each other, waiting for a Roman soldier to come drag them off to court. Little did they know that Jesus was alive, yet he was not in a hurry. Instead of running to embrace his dearest friends and quickly draw them out of their suffering, he was patiently waiting to lift the head of one person, the one right in front of him.
Adam, the first man, was made to be a gardener. His failure was found in his negligence. His downfall was not the weeds, it was the snake – the ancient serpent himself, the tempter of humanity, the rebel of heaven. He traded the paradise of God for a playdate with a python until it was too late to act with force on God’s command.
So what does Jesus do? He goes back into that dark garden. The night he was betrayed, where was we? Gethsemane. “There was a garden which he and his disciples entered…” (John 18:1). There his friends were both anxious yet sleepy. The night was only beginning. The servant girl asks Peter, “Didn’t I see you in the garden with him?” (18:26). Me? No! No, not me. This garden was terrifying. It was no Sunday stroll. It was the dark night before Good Friday. There were weeds in that garden. And there were snakes. Jesus didn’t go for a picnic. He went to sweat drops of blood.
But he really went to do a man’s business, as the only man who could. He remembered the old, old word of hope he had heard since he was boy. God spoke to the snake and said, “you will strike his heel, and he will crush your head” (Genesis 3:15). Jesus went back to the garden to crush the head of the snake, to restore the paradise of God. I love the opening scene of the Passion of the Christ for this very reason. There’s no snake in Gethsemane in the Gospel accounts. But the scene in the Passion is hitting on this theme that stretches all the way back to Genesis 3:15. And John, in his own more subtle way, is not going to let us miss it. “Now in the place where he was crucified there was a garden, and in the garden a new tomb in which no one had yet been laid” (John 19:41).
I need this gardener, this man, this God. I need this snake crusher to address my deepest fears. I need him to bring redemption and renewal, to replace lies with truth, to wash my mind and heart clean with his words, to address me with the full force of his resurrection patience. He does this work in us. He doesn’t rush to his throne. Do you see it?
“‘Woman why are you weeping? Whom are you seeking?’ Supposing him to be the gardener, she said to him, ‘Sir, if you have carried him away, tell me where you have laid him, and I will take him away.’ Jesus said to her, ‘Mary’” (20:11-16). Your name on his lips. He is the good gardener. Your heart in his hands. He is the good gardener. Your vision transformed to see reality, the irony, that he actually is the gardener, and you are the planting of the Lord. What else can we do but run and proclaim, “I have seen the Lord” (20:18).
Read it for yourself, John chapters 18-21, and notice what Jesus does in the garden.
He plants. He waters. He tends. He restores. He renews. He dies in our place. He pays the penalty for our sin. And so he renders the serpent – our accuser – speechless. He is the good gardener. Weeds grow so fast. They cover so much ground. But he is relentless until he’s plucked up every one and restored the planting of the Lord (Isaiah 61:3). It may take time. But he is committed to completing the good work he began in you (Philippians 1:6). Who is Christ but the one who died for your sin, who rose for your restoration, who addresses you with words too wonderful to fathom. Trust him today.
Morning Renewal 