Feb
21
Because Jesus prayed–not what I will…
Filed Under Bible, Christian Living, Prayer
And they went to a place called Gethsemane. And he said to his disciples, “Sit here while I pray.” And he took with him Peter and James and John, and began to be greatly distressed and troubled. And he said to them, “My soul is very sorrowful, even to death. Remain here and watch.” And going a little farther, he fell on the ground and prayed that, if it were possible, the hour might pass from him. And he said, “Abba, Father, all things are possible for you. Remove this cup from me. Yet not what I will, but what you will.” And he came and found them sleeping… [Mark 14:32-37]
This scene is not comfortable. Jesus is not cool here. The God-man, glorious in power, who commands the wind and waves, who can heal diseases, who has walked steadfastly to his Jerusalem date with death, lies on the ground in Gethsemane, and he is weak and overwhelmed, trembling and crushed with anguish at what lies ahead. He wants out, pleading with God to let this hour pass from him.
Let me say again how remarkable it is that Jesus prayed. There is no greater indicator of his humanity—or as Principal Donald Macleod puts it, ‘his own dependentness,’ than this. Christ the God-man simply couldn’t handle the situation that was unfolding before him. The darkness gathering around him and over him made him ‘fall apart’ emotionally. Again Principal Macleod:
“I think we must drive it and ram it home to the depths of our own consciousness that dependentness is not the sign of sinfulness. It is in fact a sign of createdness; it is a sign of humanness. It’s a reminder to us that if Jesus felt that he couldn’t bear his load, or climb the mountain, or cross the river, or overcome the temptation except in the strong crying and tears which he offered to God then how before God can we hope to go through life day by day and say to God, ‘Father, it’s OK. We can handle it.’? We have to come before God in this crushing sense of our own sheer weakness, because when Christ is praying he is saying in the most eloquent fashion possible, ‘There is no way that in my naked and unaided humanness I can carry this load; nor finish this work, nor bear this burden, nor emerge from this trial.’ That is why we have a praying Christ. He is the incarnation of the living power of God. He is the enfleshment of all the ability of God’s grace, and yet he is praying.”
Good theology reminds us that this scene is, in a critical sense, unique. Jesus is hauling a load that I cannot haul. He was becoming sin for us that we might become the righteousness of God in him. He was forsaken that we might be welcomed. We are not called to “do” Gethsemane and Calvary. However, Jesus does call us to deny elf, take up a cross and follow him. And thus we know something of the collision of our will and God’s. Most of us have faced circumstances which have made us cry out, ‘Lord, what are doing to me? Don’t you know what’s happening to me? Why do I have to go through this experience? Haven’t I always loved you and served you? Where is your comforting presence? Is this how you treat your friends, your children? This makes no sense!’ If you haven’t, then let me comfort you by saying that you will.
Martin Luther would say things like this: “I am too busy not to pray.” I have always admired that, but found myself imitating it far too little. But this scene helps get in on that belief about prayer. It suggests to me that regardless of my office as a pastor, regardless of my gifts, knowledge and experience, there is no situation I face in which I can claim spiritual independence or competence. Every load is too heavy, every obligation too great, every temptation too powerful and every privilege too tempting. Here is Christ—holy, harmless, undefiled, separate from sinners, filled above measure with the Holy Spirit, beloved of his Father, with every right to claim independent confidence—and here is Christ laid out on the ground, broken and crying to God.
When I pray, I usually do so out of habit or because I see it as a helping resource in times of testing or conflict. But why was Jesus praying here? For Jesus, prayer ends up being the battle itself. Have you ever noticed that once the Judas-led mob of officials arrive to arrest him, Jesus is ‘cool’ again–he is strong and courageous again? Once the writhing, tears and loud cries of Gethsemane had realigned him with the Father’s will, there was no turning back. He sweat great drops of blood not in the praetorium before Pilate, not before Caiaphas, not on the road to Golgotha, but in Gethsemane. There he ‘offered up prayers and petitions with loud cries and tears to the one who could save him from death’ (Hebrews 5:7). Haddon Robinson observes something about Gethsemane that I had never considered:
Had I been there and witnessed that struggle, I would have worried about the future. ‘If he is so broken up when all he is doing is praying,’ I might have said, ‘what will he do when he faces a real crisis? Why can’t he approach this ordeal with calm confidence of his three sleeping friends?’ Yet, when the rest came, Jesus walked to the cross with courage, and his three friends fell apart and fell away. [quoted in Philip Yancey, Prayer: Does It Make Any Difference?, p.86]
Did Jesus embrace the mission? Absolutely (after all, he was in on the drafting of the plan at its beginning!). Had Jesus speak repeatedly and plainly to his disciples about the mission? Indeed he did. But how painful and unappealing it appeared, how extreme it felt to him that night in Gethsemane. And so he prayed and is praying for us now. Prayer is humbling ourselves to talk openly and candidly to our great sympathetic high priest, who himself writhed on the ground and said to his God and Father, Yet not what I will, but what you will.
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