Matthew
26:36-46
Lent
3
March
15, 2020
William G. Carter
Then Jesus went with them to a place called
Gethsemane; and he said to his disciples, “Sit here while I go over there and
pray.” He took with him Peter and the two sons of Zebedee, and began to be
grieved and agitated. Then he said to them, “I am deeply grieved, even to
death; remain here, and stay awake with me.” And going a little farther,
he threw himself on the ground and prayed, “My Father, if it is possible, let
this cup pass from me; yet not what I want but what you want.”
Then he came to the disciples and found them
sleeping; and he said to Peter, “So, could you not stay awake with me one
hour? Stay awake and pray that you may not come into the time of trial;
the spirit indeed is willing, but the flesh is weak.” Again he went away
for the second time and prayed, “My Father, if this cannot pass unless I drink
it, your will be done.” Again he came and found them sleeping, for their eyes
were heavy. So leaving them again, he went away and prayed for the third
time, saying the same words. Then he came to the disciples and said to
them, “Are you still sleeping and taking your rest? See, the hour is at hand,
and the Son of Man is betrayed into the hands of sinners. Get up, let us
be going. See, my betrayer is at hand.”
This is a scene often portrayed in stained
glass. Jesus is in the center, kneeling with his hands clasped and his eyes
looking toward heaven. Around him, and in the foreground, three disciples lie
flat on the ground. They are fast asleep with their heads cradled on their arms.
It’s hard to avoid talking about those disciples.
Peter, James, and John are the three closest friends of Jesus. He’s taken them
everywhere and told them everything. How could they possibly fall asleep on him?
Sure, the hour is late. They had just polished off a four-course Passover feast.
Their full bellies were probably talking to their eyelids.
Not only that, all of them were in danger and
they knew it. It’s a natural human response to sleep when we are afraid. We
just want to shut everything out, close our eyes and pretend it isn’t there. If
we could, we would take a snooze and hope it was all a bad dream. Such is the
situation of Peter, James, and John.
But let’s not be distracted by the three of them,
for this is a story about Jesus. He is heartsick, sad, and sorrowful. Matthew
describes the Lord’s emotions with the same word he has just used to describe
the mood of the disciples at the Last Supper. Jesus said, “One of you will betray
me,” and they were “thrown into sorrow,” and “heavy with grief.”
When the Lord told them the truth, he was clear
and strong. Now it is his turn to face what is coming. Not openly for the
crowds to see. Not with histrionics or blubbering to call attention to himself.
No, this was an honest man facing what lay ahead. It is a profound moment, and
it’s heavy. Very heavy.
My father was a strong man, not prone to
emotional drama. He was rational and scientific, thoroughly in charge of his entire
domain. Yet I was there when he was diagnosed with a fatal disease. He broke
down and sobbed inconsolably. It was the only time I ever heard my father cry.
It was heavy, very heavy.
Jesus is facing his own death. He knows it is
coming. He has a good idea how. He’s pretty sure that it will begin with another
friend turning him in. His hands will be tied behind his back. They will make
fun of him, poke him, and do whatever they can to humiliate him. That’s just
the beginning. No doubt he had a fertile imagination, shaped by the cruelty that
the Empire wielded every day. He knew the hammer and nails were coming.
So he falls to his knees to pray, “Let this cup
pass. O Father, let this cup pass.”
This is one of the implications of the incarnation,
of God choosing to come to us as a human being. Jesus set aside the power of
create the stars and move the planets in their courses. He came down and took
on the limitations of being a person like any of us. We don’t call all the
shots in our lives. There’s so much that we cannot control. Jesus took on the
same when he pulled on human skin.
This is a great mystery. He worked miracles for
others, but he did not – or would not – work a miracle for himself. He healed
the sick everywhere else, but in Gethsemane, his own soul is sick. He could
shout at a storm in Galilee and say with all authority, “Hush up!” and the wind
and waves obeyed him. But now another storm is forming around him, and within
him, and he is powerless to stop it.
So he prays a second time, “Father, let this
cup pass.”
Now Jesus knows his destiny. He has already declared
his destiny. He told Simon Peter, “I will go to Jerusalem and be killed.” Peter
shouted, “No, not you, certainly not you, the powerful Messiah!” Jesus stared
him down, called out the devil in him, and said, “Peter, you are embracing
human values, not heavenly values.”
For what greater human virtue could there be
than saving your own skin? The human inclination is to think only of one’s self.
So we hoard all the toilet paper, stockpile all the cleaning supplies, and
never take responsibility for our own self-centered neglect.
Yet Jesus knows he must go to Jerusalem. He must.
And in Jerusalem, he will be called upon to make the ultimate sacrifice. To
drink the cup of suffering. To serve the world by giving his life as a ransom
for many. This is what he must do.
So he prays a third time: “My Father, if it is possible,
let this cup pass from me; yet not what I want but what you want.”
I hope we can hear the conflict in his words,
for it is real. Jesus is not repeating this prayer three times for our benefit,
even if it was Simon Peter who this cry in his slumber and later told the Gospel
writer. No, Jesus faces a sincere dilemma. One way to frame it might sound like
this: “Father, I know what you want, and I know what I want. Could you give me
what I want, and let that be what you want?”
We can all hope for that kind of outcome. Like
this prayer: “Father, don’t let me get sick, for I know your will for us is good
health.” Or this: “Father, flood my fears with your overwhelming joy, for your
will is to send light into darkness.” Or how about this one: “Father, do not
let me ever become self-centered or isolated, for your will is to create
compassion and human community.”
Those are very different prayers than the general
prayer, “Holy God, give me what I want!” Or this prayer from a television
evangelist, “Lord, I would like a private jet, funded by the suckers who put
their tithes in my offering plate.” Or Shel Silverstein’s “Prayer of the Selfish
Child” –
Now I lay me down to sleep, I pray the Lord my soul to keep.
And if I die before I wake, I pray the Lord my toys to break,
So none of the other kids can use ‘em.[1]
How different these prayers are from the prayer
of Jesus in Gethsemane. He asks for deliverance, but not out of greed. He sets his
wishes within the greater intentions of God, and says, “Nevertheless, not my will,
but your will be done.” Prayer is kneeling before the God who is bigger, holier,
and far more just than we are
Now, I know there are those other verses. You
know the ones. Jesus says, “Ask whatever you wish, and the Father will give it
to you.” So somebody prays, Lord, I need a set of new luggage. Lord,
I want a new boyfriend. Lord, I want you to keep me well even if everybody else
gets sick. If we pray apart from pursuing the will of God, we put ourselves
in spiritual danger.
As it is, we are already infected by an
American myth that everything turns out well, that life will land on the bright
side, that we will be blessed in ways that others will not. That kind of
thinking feeds into false privilege and over-consumption. Even worse, it is the
self-centered seedbed for human destruction.
So how does Jesus pray? How does Jesus teach us
to pray? Four words: "Thy will be done." Let
God's will be done on earth, because it is surely done around the throne of
heaven. Let life on earth be shaped to resemble the life that is already in
heaven.
If there be any question about this,
Jesus already teaches the will of God, for heaven and for earth:
- that the
broken be mended,
- that those
who mourn will be comforted,
- that
mercy will be met with mercy,
- that
those hungry and thirsty for righteousness will taste it,
- that the
meek would inherit the world God created for them,
- that
the peacemakers and the healers would be adopted as God’s own kin,
- that
the hungry would be fed, and the naked clothed, and the prisoners visited
rather than abandoned, and that the wretched of the earth will treated as
God’s own royalty.
And here’s one thing more: that all
sin would be cancelled and forgiven, and all those disrupted by sin would set
free from all the damage. That, in particular, is the will of God to be
embodied by Jesus, who goes to Jerusalem to pay the ransom and set free all who
can live in that freedom.
Today we overhear the prayer of
Jesus, in his moment of extremity: “O Father, if it is possible, let this cup
pass from me; nevertheless, not what I want but what you want.” If we hear the
Gospel, we hear what God wants. And ultimately, sooner or later, one way or
another, this is what God will achieve, for God always wins.
The miracle is that we can be part
of that heavenly intention for earth: the mending, comforting, showing mercy,
tasting righteousness, and all the rest. We choose it by choosing the will of
God over our own will. And we live it first by praying it.
A lot of people talk about having a “personal
relationship with God.” Let me tell it to you straight: that “personal
relationship” is a life of prayer. Spoken prayer, silent prayer, still prayer,
and (don’t forget it) active prayer. It’s the kind of prayer, like Jesus, that
acknowledges what it on our hearts – but in all things, pursues the will of God
and submits to it when it is discerned.
It is the prayer that asks, “Lord,
what do you want for the world and how can I be a part of it?” If we ask those
words, really ask, the promise is that that prayer will be answered.
Last month, some of our church folks met every
week to learn more about Howard Thurman, the wise teacher from the last
generation who knew God face to face. At one point, Thurman said something very
deep: true prayer has very little to do with bringing something external to
pass; rather, it has to do with the relationship between God and those who pray.
Here is what he said, “The essence of prayer is
that God answers the pray-er (the one praying), which is far more important than
answering a thousand prayers.” And God’s answer is this: “I see you. I love
you. I am with you. No matter what.”
(c) William G. Carter. All rights reserved.
[1] Shel Silverstein, A Light in
the Attic (New York: Harper Collins, 1981) 15.
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