Today we are confronted with the deep, wrestling prayer of Jesus in the garden. The battle plays out in Luke 22:42: “Father, if you are willing, take this cup from me; yet not my will, but yours be done.” Verse 44 describes the moment as palpable grief: “Being in anguish, he prayed more earnestly, and his sweat was like drops of blood falling to the ground.” Jesus showed the full gamut of emotion and empathy as our incarnational Savior in this scripture. John 1:14 confirms the humanity of Jesus: “The Word became flesh and made his dwelling among us.” He dwelt with us and He suffered with us.
The last supper reminded us yesterday that the journey to the cross was His and His alone. Nonetheless, Jesus took Peter, John, and James with him deep into the darkness of Gethsemane. They seemed to be his inner circle, as they were also invited to the place where Jesus was transfigured (Matthew 17). In the garden, He told them to stay awake and keep watch, as he was “overwhelmed with sorrow to the point of death.” The importance of having others who will continue to be your companions through all the dark and hard parts of your story cannot be overstated. I wish the story would show that those close friends continued to keep watch, but alas, Luke 22:45 tells otherwise. Who among us doesn’t understand and sympathize with the frailty of disciples who fell asleep during prayer on Jesus’ most difficult night? We are inadequate in our own human capacity to meet every need, and this scripture confirms it.
Soon after Jesus’ prayer, the kiss of Judas identified him as the officers of the temple guard arrested him.
Jesus’ prayer speaks to the dark night of the soul, the pleading prayer. Ever have one of those? They start in the mind and in the middle of our anguish. Those thoughts hold us captive and disrupt our sleep. What do we do? For me, the insomnia is real and feels like a wrestling match of sorts. I want to give my worries to God, but it’s easy to hold on to them.
I connected this passage in Luke as a point of learning for me today: my anguish should always lead me to prayer; all of my deepest longings should. Languishing, anxiety-riddled thoughts are real these days. There are lots of reasons to be anxious and upset by the world around us, aren’t there?
Jesus felt the anguish in the garden in a way we will never understand. But He knew where to take his sorrow and trouble, later enduring the excruciating hours of unspeakable humiliation and physical pain. May we be reminded that God’s presence in the middle of our anguish and suffering is the place we find true rest and refuge for our souls. In this promise of Presence, where we experience His love and forgiveness, we find hope that transcends and courage that keeps our eyes fixed on Him.
As believers, we know the end of the story that leads to resurrection and newness of life. But today’s focus is different. In his book, Show Me The Way, Henri Nouwen included a prayer that seems appropriate for us as we acknowledge our own propensity for missing the point about the enormity of Christ’s sacrifice and the importance of prayer. Today, we sit before the cross. For today, we remain silent:
O dear Lord, what can I say to you?
Is there any word that could come from my mouth,
any thought? any sentence?
You died for me, you gave all for my sins,
you not only became man for me
but also suffered the most cruel death for me.
Is there any response?
I wish I could find a fitting response,
but in contemplating your holy passion and death
I can only confess humbly to you
that the immensity of your divine love
makes any response seem totally inadequate.
Let me just stand and look at you.
Your body is broken, your head wounded,
your hands and feet are split open by nails,
your side is pierced.
Your dead body now rests
in the arms of your mother.
It is all over now. It is finished.
It is fulfilled. It is accomplished.
Sweet Lord, gracious Lord,
generous Lord, forgiving Lord,
I adore you, I praise you, I thank you.
Amen.
Photo by K Mitch Hodge on Unsplash
Thank you for this deep contemplation. It confirms my human frailty and inadequacy but also shows the vulnerability and extent of His sacrifice for us. I relate to your writings; you’ve softened and acknowledged many of my disjointed thoughts. Yes, my anguish should always lead me to prayer. I love how you ended with this one.
Grateful for you. xo
Thank you for reading and responding Laurie. I’ve always felt like our hearts have been knit together because we have similar longings. I encourage you to write as well, as I feel this is a gift of yours. Blessed Easter!