Sometimes things feel too heavy. Sacrifice weighs far more than joy and hope and rest. And our bones ache and our souls wither a bit. We were told not to become weary in doing good—but here we are.
Weary. I can’t give another inch. I don’t want to be “spilled out as a drink offering” any more. I want to relax without the weight of the world. I don’t want to be out in front of people. I don’t want to carry my burdens much less the burdens of others.
Over there in the distance is a man weeping in a garden. He looks weary. Maybe the most weary I’ve ever seen a man. He’s trembling. His inner turmoil is creeping through cracks in his forehead, falling like drops of blood onto the rocks. There is nothing calm about this man.
If you know his story then you know the reason for his sorrow. He’s about to face death, but not just any death. This is a sacrificial death. It’s the type were all your dreams are set ablaze on the altar of somebody else’s dreams. He’ll be crushed so somebody else doesn’t have to be. And nobody in history has known joy like this man. Nobody has known intimacy with God like this man. There is not one other soul who has been to the heights like he has. He’s giving up more than we could even think possible.
There has to be a brief moment when he simply didn’t want to do it. Otherwise the words, “not my will but your will” mean nothing. James Edwards is correct,
“Jesus’ prayer is not the result of calm absorption into an all-encompassing divine presence, but an intense struggle with the frightful reality of God’s will and what it means fully to submit to him.”
There isn’t “peace beyond all understanding” in this moment. It’s torrential torment.
Thankfully he’s not alone. Not quite yet. He still has a few followers that have followed him. These companions could serve as a motivator. As a solider keeps a picture of his sweetheart back home as a reminder of what they’re fighting for. These men, who he has just shared a meal and drink with, could serve as great reminders. Because it will be for such as these that he’s going to be hung on a tree—hopeless, helpless, forsaken, smitten by God.
And he goes back to check on them. He’d told them to pray. They had to have seen on his face how important and intense this moment was. This ought to be one of those sitting by the bedside as your grandmother dies moments. Where sleep isn’t even on the table. It ought to be one of those moments when everything is heightened and time slows down. They ought to be intensely praying.
And wouldn’t it be great for Jesus if he goes back in that moment and his disciples are wide awake and they meet him with those helpless and adorable puppy dog eyes. It’d be a great reminder that his sacrifice is for worthy and lovely and appreciative people. It’d be great if they too were drenched in prayer sweat. But instead they’re covered in sleepy drool.
That’s who he is dying for. This is who he is giving everything up for. People who can’t even stay awake for an hour and pray for him. They can’t give an ounce to him. His one moment where he—the omnipotent One who created everything—seems to be saying to his disciples, “Guys, I really need you right now”. He needs a friend a reason to sacrifice, and he gets nothing.
But this is another one of those great reminders that Jesus isn’t dying for them because they’re beautiful or because they’re his buds. He doesn’t get puppy dog eyes to motivate him. He gets a precursor to the abandonment that he knows is coming. In those intense moments where he is wrestling in prayer He is pleading with His Papa that somehow the Shepherd won’t have to be struck and the sheep won’t have to be scattered. The answer (oh, what a painful and crushing answer) to his prayer is found in the sleeping disciples. He will be abandoned by them. When the Shepherd is struck they will be scattered.
I want to say that Jesus could have in that moment said, “I won’t do it! I won’t be pierced! I won’t be crushed! I won’t give it all up for these sleepy losers! I’m not going to give up my life for these weak men who are abandoning me in my moment of greatest need. I won’t do it!” But the truth is Jesus couldn’t have said something like that because that’s foreign to who He is.
Yes, we are met in Gethsemane with the full-force of Jesus’ humanity. But we’re also met with the depth of his other-worldly love. It’s not a love tied to our ability to “stay awake”. And his obedience to the Father does not have a precursor of, “so long as they’re worth my sacrifice”. He obeys the Father because that’s what he does. Even if it means his death. He loves because it’s who He is.
And then you see the man get up from his anguished prayer. He wakes his disciples. And with face like flint he marches to Calvary–to die for those sleepy disciples who’ve now abandoned him in his darkest hour.
The rooster crows.
And the sleepy disciple finally awakes.
“shepherd the flock of God that is among you, exercising oversight, not under compulsion, but willingly, as God would have you…” 1 Peter 5:2
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