Gianna’s Agony in the Garden
A week ago Tuesday, I had a morning date with the oral surgeon. So, I was up bright and early as usual. The first item on my To-Do List every day is prayer. That Tuesday was no different.
Traditionally, Tuesdays and Fridays are days we Rosary-praying Catholics pray the Sorrowful Mysteries of the Rosary. The Rosary is part of my morning routine.
The first sorrowful mystery is The Agony in the Garden. We meditate on the hours immediately after The Last Supper, when Jesus went to the garden of Gethsemane to pray, right before Judas betrayed Him.
As I prayed, my thoughts focused on the excruciating mental, spiritual, and emotional agony Jesus must have endured simply anticipating His physical suffering and death.
And this particular morning, a more contemporary suffering seared through my mind.
Thoughts of that terrible crash were still fresh, the helicopter crash that killed Kobe Bryant and his daughter, Gianna, and those seven other poor souls. Could any of them have anticipated that this would be the last day they’d spend on Earth?
Those terrible final moments. How much warning did they have? For some reason, my mind fixed on Gianna. I couldn’t help but compare her agony to that of Jesus.
This was her agony in the garden. It was for all nine of them. On this day, three young ladies died. Yeah, the sports world lost a superstar. The world lost some accomplished men and women. Families lost loved ones.
But…
the six adults had experienced so much more in life. Things that those three young ladies only anticipated. And never got to experience.
An NTSB report said the helicopter plummeted more than 2,000 feet in a minute. What was that minute like? How do you react? How do you prepare? Do you have time to prepare?
I’m not trying to sensationalize. These are heartfelt, sincere questions.
Thank God, Kobe and Gianna attended Mass that morning. We can only hope and pray that they died in a state of grace. Only God knows for sure.
Presumably, all of us — or most of us — will experience our own agony in the garden. What’ll it be like? Some of you may already be there or possibly thought you were there. How do you prepare? How have you prepared? With dread and doubt and fear?
I struggle with doubt seemingly every day. Shouldn’t we all place our trust in Jesus? If — like me — you pray the Chaplet of Divine Mercy, you say you do.
“O blood and water, which gushed forth from the heart of Jesus as a fount of mercy for us, I trust in You.”
“Jesus, I trust in You.”
Do I — do you — will we have time to prepare? How long? A minute? An hour? A month? How many years did the prisoners in Auschwitz suffer? How many prepared? How many simply dreaded… doubted… feared?
My dad had a bad heart and other major health problems. I’ll never forget the day in 2011 when he had a stroke. We thought it was over. I’ll never forget the face of Uncle Stan, my Dad’s brother, when we raced into the emergency room. Uncle Stan was already mourning Dad.
Was Dad ready? Was he prepared?
But Dad survived that brush with death. Miraculously, he recovered the use of all his faculties. It was unbelievable.
Life returned to semi-normal for a year or so. Then, at the beginning of 2014, he was deathly ill; end of January through most of March. But he stared down death again. Five separate times! He lived two more physically challenging years.
But in the early hours of May 4, 2016, he had little warning. Had he used any of the months leading up to that day to properly prepare? We didn’t discuss it. We had superficial conversations. I know Dad had a particular devotion to the Blessed Virgin Mary.
Uncle Stan passed away in June 2019. He lingered for months and months. He had a long time to prepare and I know he did. We talked about it.
And then my beautiful Mom. Three weeks after Uncle Stan died. She wasn’t feeling well on Friday morning. She died a day later. Almost no warning, if any, in her final moments.
Did she place all her trust in Jesus?
How about you? What can you do now to prepare? In case death calls you a minute from now?
What do you say?
Follow my stories. Let’s figure this out together. Let’s learn how to prepare. God willing.
