Growing up, my mom insisted on saying the Rosary every day, and my favorite set of mysteries to pray and reflect on was always the Sorrowful Mysteries. Perhaps it seems odd for a child to find comfort in sorrow, but there was something about these mysteries that made me feel closer to Jesus. I saw Christ as a friend and couldn’t help but wonder why people were hurting him.
I continued to pray the Rosary and attend Mass as I got older, but it became more of a habit. Like so many cradle Catholics, I lost the childlike curiosity that I once had in my friend Jesus.
It wasn’t until I became involved in campus ministry at the University of South Carolina that I began to rediscover that childlike faith, piece by piece. To feed the growing hunger in my heart for Jesus, I sought out Eucharistic adoration and devoured resources that could help me reconnect with him, from Scripture to the accounts of the saints and even films such as “The Passion of the Christ.”
Still, something felt missing. No matter how much I attempted to immerse myself in Christ’s suffering, I felt as if I needed more — more detail, more intimacy. In moments of deep suffering and vulnerability, we often seek out and feel closest to our friends. Why should that be any different with Jesus?
It wasn’t until Holy Week of my junior year that I finally experienced the intimacy I sought. The chapel at St. Thomas More was hosting 40-hour perpetual adoration, and at 3 a.m., I found myself alone in the quiet and darkness of the chapel, gazing at the Eucharist and trying to imagine what Jesus had endured in his Agony of the Garden.
In my previous research, I had discovered “The Dolorous Passion of Our Lord Jesus Christ,” an account of Christ’s passion based on the visions of Blessed Anne Catherine Emmerich, a 19th-century German nun, mystic and stigmatic.
At first, I figured I would simply skim the text on my phone and move on to something else in my Holy Hour. But as I began to read, I sensed that I had stumbled upon something far more profound than I had ever imagined.
Understanding Christ’s suffering on the eve of his passion
Most Catholics are familiar with the basic narrative of the Agony in the Garden, whether through Scripture or meditation on the Sorrowful Mysteries of the Rosary. But have you ever wondered what Jesus was seeing and feeling during this moment of intense suffering?
The visions of Blessed Catherine Anne Emmerich, recounted in “The Dolorous Passion,” can help us imagine. She describes seeing Jesus tightly surrounded by frightful figures as he leaves the apostles and enters a grotto to pray:
Alas! This small cavern appeared to contain the awful picture of all the sins which had been or were to be committed from the fall of Adam to the end of the world, and of the punishment which they deserved. … (Jesus) fell on his face, overwhelmed with unspeakable sorrow, and all the sins of the world displayed themselves before him, under countless forms and in all their real deformity. … Satan, who was enthroned amid all these horrors, and even filled with diabolical joy at the sight of them, let loose his fury against Jesus, and displayed before the eyes of his soul increasing awful visions, at the same time addressing his adorable humanity in words such as these: “Takest thou even this sin upon thyself? Art thou willing to bear its penalty? Art thou prepared to satisfy for all these sins?”
A sense of anger stirred within me as though a friend had been unjustly wronged. How could Satan inflict such cruelty on the innocent Jesus? But as I read on, I gradually came to a sobering realization: It was not only Satan tormenting Christ; I, too, was responsible through my own sins, as the account continues: “Ah, truly did our dear Lord writhe like a worm beneath the weight of his anguish and sufferings!”
… after a time (Jesus’) soul became terrified at the sight of the innumerable crimes of men, and of their ingratitude towards God, and his anguish was so great that he trembled and shuddered as he exclaimed: “Father, if it is possible, let this chalice pass from me! Father, all things are possible to thee, remove this chalice from me!” But the next moment he added: “Nevertheless, not my will but thine be done.”
I saw the cavern in which he was kneeling filled with frightful figures; I saw all the sins, wickedness, vices, and ingratitude of mankind torturing and crushing him to the earth; the horror of death and terror which he felt as man at the sight of the expiatory sufferings about to come upon him, surrounded and assailed his Divine Person under the forms of hideous spectres. He fell from side to side, clasping his hands; his body was covered with a cold sweat, and he trembled and shuddered.
Seeing the future sins of mankind
How could I ever willingly participate in sin when I knew that it hurt Jesus so tremendously? I thought of all the times I could have so easily forgiven a family member who I had instead held a grudge against, refrained from gossiping about a petty roommate issue or avoided indulging in gluttonous habits related to food and use of media. For the first time, I truly began to understand the weight of my decisions and actions.
As Jesus continued in his suffering, the “most awful picture of the future was displayed before his eyes and overwhelmed his tender heart with anguish.” His vision included the many sins of the future Church: the pride and disobedience that would lead to heresies and schisms, the lies, tepidity and corruption of “an infinite number of Christians”:
The scandals of all ages, down to the present day and even to the end of the world — every species of error, deception, mad fanaticism, obstinacy and malice — were displayed before his eyes, and he beheld, as it were floating before him, all the apostates, heresiarchs, and pretended reformers, who deceive men by an appearance of sanctity … many turned contemptuously away, shaking their heads at him, avoiding his compassionate embrace, and hurrying on to the abyss where they were finally swallowed up. He saw countless numbers of other men who did not dare openly to deny him, but who passed on in disgust at the sight of the wounds of his Church, as the Levite passed by the poor man who had fallen among robbers.
Blessed Anne Catherine Emmerich’s account continues in excruciating detail, describing the physical toll that these visions took on Christ, who was “annihilated beneath the weight of his suffering.”
So violent was the struggle which then took place between his human will and his repugnance to suffer so much for such an ungrateful race, that from every pore of his sacred body there burst forth large drops of blood, which fell trickling on to the ground. In his bitter agony, he looked around, as though seeking help, and appeared to take Heaven, earth, and the stars of the firmament to witness of his sufferings.
Several times I heard him exclaim: “O my Father, can I possibly suffer for so ungrateful a race? O my Father, if this chalice may not pass from me, but I must drink it, thy will be done!“
How could Jesus not ask that question? We, “so ungrateful a race,” constantly take for granted all that Christ did for us, especially the gift of himself he left us in the Blessed Sacrament. Blessed Anne Catherine specifically describes seeing apparitions of all the offenses made against the Eucharist, whether from neglect, irreverence and omission, or from contempt, hatred and open persecution:
Were I to speak for an entire year, I could never detail all the insults offered to Jesus in the Adorable Sacrament which were made known to me in this way. I saw their authors assault Jesus in bands, and strike him with different arms, corresponding to their various offences. I saw irreverent Christians of all ages, careless or sacrilegious priests, crowds of tepid and unworthy communicants, wicked soldiers profaning the sacred vessels, and servants of the devil making use of the Holy Eucharist in the frightful mysteries of hellish worship.
In Blessed Anne Catherine’s vision, Jesus is full of sorrow that his self-gift, meant to unite mankind in one body, the Church, would become “by the malice of false teachers, the subject of separation.”
A glimmer of hope amid great sorrow
Though I have never been particularly emotional or much of a crier, I found myself quietly sobbing in the chapel. I knew that Christ would ultimately achieve the greatest victory on the cross; however, in that moment, I felt consumed with despair. How could anyone endure such suffering? And yet as I continued on, a glimmer of hope began to break through.
As his anguish continued, Jesus found a moment of reprieve in a vision of limbo, where he saw Adam and Eve, the patriarchs, prophets, the parents of his mother and John the Baptist all eagerly awaiting his death to open heaven for them. This image then gave way to the “entire army of the blessed.”
The Apostles, disciples, virgins and holy women, the martyrs, confessors, hermits, popes and bishops, and large bands of religious of both sexes — in one word, the entire army of the blessed — appeared before him. All bore on their heads triumphal crowns, and the flowers of their crowns differed in form, in colour, in odour, and in perfection, according to the difference of the sufferings, labours and victories which had procured them eternal glory. Their whole life, and all their actions, merits, and power, as well as all the glory of their triumph, came solely from their union with the merits of Jesus Christ. …
This most affecting and consoling spectacle bestowed a degree of strength and comfort upon the soul of Jesus. Ah! He so loved his brethren and creatures that, to accomplish the redemption of one single soul, he would have accepted with joy all the sufferings to which he was now devoting himself.
I felt joyful as I thought of all my favorite saints and the holy lives they led. Though the path of sanctity is never easy, these remarkable individuals gave everything to Christ. Their perseverance and faith became sources of light not only for their time but for every soul seeking hope, revealing the beauty of surrender. It was through this witness that my friend, in his most vulnerable hour, found deep comfort and peace.
Shortly after this vision, angels displayed before Christ all that would transpire in the coming hours: “Every part of the Passion was shown to him in the minutest detail. He accepted all voluntarily, submitting to everything for the love of man.”
Becoming childlike once again
By the time I finished reading this chapter on Jesus in the Garden of Olives, it was nearly 4 a.m. Tears continued to stream down my face as I sat in silence, overwhelmed by a mixture of sorrow and awe. I wasn’t just reading about Christ — I was truly with him. It felt as though I had stepped into that sacred moment, keeping watch by his side.
That same childlike faith I once had while praying the Sorrowful Mysteries with my mom came flooding back, but now with a deeper understanding and appreciation. Through the visions of Blessed Anne Catherine Emmerich, Jesus allowed me a glimpse into his heart — into his fear, his agony and his unwavering obedience. At that moment, he didn’t feel so far away or distant. He felt like a friend who trusted me enough to let me see him at his weakest and still love him there.
We don’t want to hurt those we love. And yet, how often do we forget that Jesus — our closest friend — is wounded by the very sins we so easily dismiss?
This Holy Thursday, pause and remember that his suffering wasn’t just a story from long ago. It was real. And Christ’s sacrifice is renewed at every Mass, at every consecration where heaven and earth meet again.
But take heart. This isn’t a call to guilt but a call to love. We are imperfect, yes. But we are also deeply known and loved by a God who never tires of forgiving us in his mercy, who waits for us in the confessional not with condemnation but with open arms and a pierced heart. Return to him this Holy Week. Return as a child; not naïve, but trusting. Let your heart be moved, and your friendship with Christ become real again.
