Roses in Gethsemane

A dear Christian of seventy-three, well known to me, is passing into eternity. Just before the end he says, “I am walking through the Garden of Gethsemane; there are beautiful roses growing there.” What! I thought, roses in Gethsemane! flowers amid the anguish of our Saviour’s breaking heart! bloom amid the arid deserts where He trod the wilderness alone! But the beauty of the thought grew upon me, and what the dying eyes had seen I too began to see. The roses bloomed when He said, “Not My will, but Thine be done”―the roses of unquestioning obedience. They bloomed when He said, “The scriptures must be fulfilled” ―the roses of the perfect life, fulfilling all that God had said; the life of one “who kept the law Himself and died for those who could not.” They bloomed, too, to speak of a coming day of triumph―suffering first and glory afterward. “He shall see of the travail of His soul, and shall be satisfied.” Let us wreathe the roses of Gethsemane around the thorn-scarred brow and crown Him Lord of all. Yes, dear dying saint of God, thou hast taught us lessons God would have us learn―that if our duty to our God takes us into pathways of suffering and of care, the roses bloom if our Gethsemane is on our way to heaven.
I stood by another man over seventy, suffering terrible pain. We were speaking of sin, and he said, “Doctor, it does not trouble me; all my sins are gone―past, present and future; I am the Lord’s.” I smelled the fragrance of the roses of Gethsemane as I heard him speak.
Yes, we shall see these blessed blooms along the paths trodden by those whose hearts are breaking now, and whose tears are falling in the night of loneliness and prayer, when anguished and bereaved hearts learn to say, “Not My will, but Thine be done.”