“So you could not keep watch with me?”

Fully God and fully man. Our understanding of Jesus seems simple but becomes complex as one tries to actually understand it or actually live out that beliefs. Plenty of heresies split from orthodoxy on understanding the nature of Jesus. Ok, he was God, using a human form. Ok, he was a man, who God gave divinity to for a few years. Ok, he was a demigod, the product of the Father and Mary’s union. And on and on. Hypostatic union isn’t a phrase brandied about in casual conversation, but it means the union that lies beneath the foundation—that is, that Jesus is one person with two natures, human and divine. Not half and half. Both fully.

Even for those of us that accept that, it’s hard for us to relate to. Often in our everyday thoughts, we relate to Jesus and one or the other. Jesus the man, the friend who understands us because he’s been there. Jesus the God, the Redeemer who understands us because he understands all things.

I admit I fall into the trap of focusing more on that latter. It’s hard to relate to the humanity of someone 2,000 years ago. He becomes legend at some point, stripped of simple human pains or daily life, magnified in greatness. But it’s hard to see the humanity and not just the legend figure of Alexander the Great or Julius Caesar or Richard I. So it’s easy to see Jesus’ divine parts shine through.

I’ve often heard people comment how lonely it must have been to be Jesus. And I always agreed. When you’re the only incarnate Word of God, it must be lonely. Everyone around is so fallible, so naïve, so distracted by petty problems. Constantly calling them out and explaining things must be exhausting, even if you do so with great love. How lonely that must be. So hard to relate to anyone.

But recently I realized that he wasn’t lonely in that way. (Or maybe he was, but there’s a both/and at play.) He got lonely in the same ways we get lonely. In Gethsemane, Jesus is at his lowest point. It is the moment before his Passion, and it is said that he sees all the sins of humanity that he will soon suffer for. He asks his closest friends to stay with him. "My soul is sorrowful even to death. Remain here and keep watch with me” (Matthew 26:38). He is not instructing them as a teacher or requesting action as a leader. He just doesn’t want to be alone in that moment. Sometimes in our lowest points, having a friend sit beside you, silently taking up space with you, makes the burdens less heavy.

But Jesus finds that the disciples, even his closest friends, have fallen asleep. He wakes them, and asks Peter, “So you could not keep watch with me for one hour?” (Matthew 26:40). This repeats two more times. While on a larger scale, this interaction is a warning to remain alert for the hour at hand, to stand guard and not fall into comfortable temptation, I think it speaks at a very human emotion too. Jesus didn’t want to be alone, and his friends disappointed him. They didn’t mean to. It wasn’t malicious. They were his friends and cared about him. But they failed him in that moment. It’s disappointing and lonely. And relatable.

It’s a moment that has helped me see his human nature. Sometimes I need that reminder. Other times I need a reminder of his divine nature. It’s a balance. Fully God and fully man. Who can really comprehend it?