Jesus went out as usual to the Mount of Olives, and his disciples followed him. On reaching the place, he said to them, “Pray that you will not fall into temptation.” He withdrew about a stone’s throw beyond them, knelt down and prayed. “Father, if you are willing, take this cup from me; yet not my will, but yours be done.” An angel from heaven appeared to him and strengthened him. And being in anguish, he prayed more earnestly, and his sweat was like drops of blood falling to the ground.
(verses 39-44)
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This is an open door into one of Jesus’ most anguished moments. In Matthew’s Gospel he tells his disciples he is “overwhelmed with sorrow to the point of death” (Matthew 26:38). We need to take this seriously. If such a statement is true of the Son of God himself, it is an incredibly intense moment. Luke describes it here as “anguish,”saying that Jesus’ “sweat was like drops of blood falling to the ground.” Ouch.
In the midst of this turmoil, Jesus prays. We won’t appreciate the prayer itself unless we embrace the emotion. So often I have heard this prayer dragged into a debate about whether or not “if-it-is-Thy-will” is an appropriate way for us to end our own prayers. Some consider it a cop-out that doesn’t take ownership of faith, but instead steps away from that dogged variety that moves mountains. Certainly, using the phrase as an escape-clause, tacked on to avoid disappointment, isn’t helpful to vital faith.
But that’s not what’s happening here. When Jesus says, “Yet not my will, but yours be done,” it’s not an add-on, or escape-clause, or even a reluctantly sighed submission. No, it’s the main prayer. It’s the heart of the matter, in the midst of anguish.
Read this way, the first part of the prayer (“if you are willing, take this cup from me”) is an expression of the true agony of the approaching moment (which, by the way, will be the central event of all human history). It will plunge Jesus into the depths of physical, psychic, spiritual and relational agony. His passionate prayer, uttered so earnestly, expresses the coming pain. But the heart of the petition is “not my will, but yours be done.”
Unflinchingly, all along, Jesus has had his sights on this goal. Just earlier in this chapter he told his disciples, “I have eagerly desired to eat this Passover with you before I suffer” (verse 15) – he knew what was coming. Again, after the meal, quoting Isaiah’s prophecy about Messiah (“he was numbered with the transgressors”), he told them, “I tell you that this must be fulfilled in me. Yes, what is written about me is reaching its fulfillment” (verse 37).
From eternity past, Father and Son have planned this out. The Son would never choose to abort.
A true parallel to this Gethsemane prayer comes in John 12:27. Anticipating the cross, knowing his hour has come, Jesus says: “Now my heart is troubled, and what shall I say? ‘Father, save me from this hour?’ No, it was for this very reason I came to this hour. Father, glorify your name!”
Ponder that statement. Lay it out, side by side, with Jesus’ anguished prayer.
It’s the same sentiment. In the midst of troubled agony, he says, “Not my will, but yours be done.”
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O Lord Jesus, this is such deep water. So much pain and anguish in the moment and in anticipation. Yet, from all eternity your commitment was always “As you will” and “Father, glorify your name.”
I now find myself “in you.” Work this same divine commitment in my own heart, regardless of the circumstance, regardless of the cost. Let these words ring also in my mind. “As you will.”
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Reflect:
Look for opportunities today to pray this prayer, from the heart: “Not my will, but yours be done.”
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Photo by Adrian Swancar on Unsplash
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