The Gospel According to Jesus Christ Superstar, The Second Act: Gethsemane (I Only Want to Say)

After the last supper, Jesus goes with Peter, John, and James to the Garden of Gethsemane. Peter, John, and James fall asleep, leaving Jesus alone to pray.

I only want to say, if there is a way / take this cup away from me / for I don’t want to taste its poison / feel it burn me, I have changed / I’m not as sure, as when we started…

It’s a familiar line. In every gospel of the bible, Jesus looks to his Father and asks that he be released from his fate. But that is the only line we see. It’s followed by a concession. In the Gospel of Mark, he says, “yet, not what I want, but what you want.”

Except Jesus was out there for anywhere between one and three hours, depending on which gospel you read. With anywhere between one and three hours of prayer, surely Jesus had more to say?

Then I was inspired / Now I’m sad and tired / Listen, surely I’ve exceeded expectations? / Tried for three years, feels like thirty / Could you ask as much from any other man?

The sentiment is always “God gives his toughest challenges to his strongest soldiers,” or something like that. God tested Abraham’s faith by asking him to kill his son Isaac. God tests Job’s faith by utterly destroying his life. But each one came out the other side still faithful, and a better man, right?

Can you show me now that I will not be killed in vain? / Show me just a little of your omnipresent brain / show me there’s a reason for you wanting me to die / you’re far to keen on where and how, but not so hot on why

Breakdown.

From a writer’s perspective—at least, from this writer’s perspective—Gethsemane is the perfect climax to the story. Removing any argument of fiction or nonfiction, the moment when the main character is alone and, in the silence, realizes they’re about to come face-to-face with their own fate, and suddenly starts to question everything, is perfect. Jesus has been speaking about the coming events for a few days by this point. He knows what’s coming, and has seemingly been approaching it with calm and grace. But now he’s alone.

Now, it’s real.

It’s here.

And the grace is slipping.

And in Jesus Christ Superstar, it’s done so well. The actor who plays Jesus is alone on the stage, singing to the sky. There is no one there to answer his questions. He reaches the highest note of the show, a G5, when he sings “Why should I die?” And it truly sounds like a cry. He has reached his limit.
(I could talk forever about this song)

The very first performance of Jesus Christ Superstar that I watched was the filmed Live Arena Tour, with Ben Forster playing Jesus. It was life-changing. Truly. Ben Forster absolutely crushed.

See, the thing is…I know that God exists. I know that God exists. I know that God exists, but I don’t know what God exists to do. And on the night of one of his own disciples’ betrayals, the night that was to kick off days of torture, humiliation, and ultimately his death, is it possible that Jesus didn’t really know, either?

There are many inaccuracies in Jesus Christ Superstar. As my dad told me once, Andrew Lloyd Webber is not exactly a friend of the church. I can’t imagine church groups going to see the show as an educational tool. And Jesus did know that he was dying for the forgiveness of sin, to give his followers and everyone new life. But…if he’s praying for three hours, isn’t it possible that at some point he looked up to his Father and said, “but why?” But why does the forgiveness of sin have to come at such a cost? But why does it have to include pain and torture? But why does it have to come at the cost of his disciple Judas, or even Peter?

Unlike the story of Capernaum, where I struggle to wrap my head around the message we’re supposed to take from the story, Gethsemane—specifically Gethsemane from Jesus Christ Superstar—is something I can get behind.

Because I’ve felt that.

When a president uses God as an reason to invade a country of innocent civilians, when legislators whose entire job is to serve people applaud as they gut healthcare for millions, and actively seek to make it more difficult—more dangerous—for human beings to live as their authentic selves…I’ve felt that.

I suppose, if we’re going by the “strongest soldiers” sentiment, I should feel honored that God would consider me one of his strongest soldiers. But after years struggling with depression, instances of self-harm, dealing with mental and emotional abuse at the hands of someone who is meant to protect me, watching society tear itself apart through violence, racism, homophobia, it is impossible to continue without just throwing my hands up and asking “Why?”

Breakdown.

Because at the end of the day, I’m only human. I am a faithful human, and God might consider me a strong human, but I am still just a human.

And I am tired.

After all, I’ve tried for three years. Seems like ninety.

Jesus, when he was born to Mary, was human. At least, partly. Jesus, traveling and preaching and healing, was human. And he was probably tired. Judas, Peter, Mary Magdalene, all of whom walked with Jesus, were probably tired.
So why aren’t we told that part?
Why is Jesus presented to us as nice, clean, and perfect? Why do I know more about who he became than I do about who he was on the way?

It’s hard to say exactly what my mind would or would not have accepted when I was a teenager, or what it’d accept now. Everything is situational. But if the story of Capernaum—which I heard in middle school— affected me so much that I can’t even pray without thinking about how overwhelmed Jesus might have been, one can only imagine what could have happened if, at any point, someone had said, “You know, Jesus was human, and he probably got tired. Everything you’ve felt in your journey—there’s a chance he felt that, too.”