Is sacrifice the ultimate form of love?

In El Greco, Gethsemane is painted as a vision, not a report. The figure of Christ, drawn out like a flame, in crimson and blue robes; an angel descending with the cup; the disciples asleep, curled within a fold of stone as though in a womb; and far off, in the cold light of torches, the crowd of Judas already drawing near. Past, present, and future are pressed together into a single stormy night. Everything is motionless — and everything trembles with the inner strain of choice.

Here everything is decided. "O My Father, if it be possible, let this cup pass from Me: nevertheless not as I will, but as Thou wilt." This is the second great human "yes" — the echo of the Nazareth "be it unto me according to thy word," with which the New history began. But now it is spoken not in glad tidings but in mortal anguish: "My soul is exceeding sorrowful, even unto death," and "His sweat was as it were great drops of blood falling down to the ground." No one drags Him. He Himself says that He could pray to the Father, and He would give Him "more than twelve legions of angels." He is not a victim of circumstance. He chooses the cup.

And in this lies the heart of the whole theme. Objectification is what happens when you are made a thing, a means, an instrument of another's will. Its opposite is not power but the gift of oneself. A man compelled would have been turned into an object; but Christ is not compelled — He gives Himself. Freedom is never so free as in this moment, when it freely binds itself with love. The disciples sleep; God begins to fall silent. Man is left alone with his choice — and chooses.