By Judy Villanueva
And He said to them, “My soul is deeply grieved to the point of death; remain here and keep watch.” And He went a little beyond them, and fell to the ground and began to pray that if it were possible, the hour might pass Him by. And He was saying, “Abba! Father! All things are possible for You; remove this cup from Me; yet not what I will, but what You will.” (Mark 14:34-36)
Not too long ago I faced an excruciating trial. It was an ordeal I did not want to go through but I saw it coming at me like a freight train! I prayed and asked all my friends to pray that I would be relieved from having to walk through this trial. To my dismay, one of my friends, upon hearing my request said, “I’m going to pray instead, for God’s will,” to which I replied, “Don’t you dare! I really don’t want to do this!” To say “Your will, not mine” is best said on one’s face because there, at least, the body is in a submitted position even if the heart is not. To be honest, I prayed against having to bear this cross and then, kicked and squirmed all the way through it — because I did have to go all the way through it.
It’s terrifying and beautiful to enter the garden and watch Jesus grieved to the point of death. I’m not sure I’ve even touched the edge of this kind of grief but many reading this have likely entered into the heart of it. It is when deep sorrow and suffering merge and literally push us downward with a crushing weight. Each year during lent, I return to Gethsemane and quietly watch what happened there amidst the olive trees. I tend to put the Garden away after Easter, but each Good Friday I crawl over next to Jesus with my face to the ground and listen closely.
There I hear his labored breath, his sweat that falls like blood to the ground. There, I hear his desperate pleas to be relieved of the cup that awaits him. Can you hear him with his mouth pressed against the dirt? “Abba Father! Is there any other way?” That’s when I look over because I know what he will say next and I want to see his face when he says it.
“Yet not my will but Yours.”
It stuns me every time! The beauty of it breaks me. Not just His heart that trusted the Father in His darkest night, but the love that beat within Him for me and for you! I love the honesty in the garden. It helps me to witness the part of Jesus that was human like me. It instructs me on what to do and where to go when I am troubled, full of fear or weighted down with worry.
I must follow Jesus to a place called surrender and trust that God will stay with me there.
I find, as I lay with my face in the dirt next to Jesus, that I want to reach over and offer Him a consolation from the 21st century. I want to whisper back to Him, “Thank you! For not backing away from being crushed, scourged, and pierced for my transgressions — for laying it all down, for trusting the Father, for saying, ‘Not my will, but Yours.’ Thank you!”
“Thank you, Jesus, for the garden! You showed me what it is to surrender all the way. Help me to follow you to a life that yields to your will and trusts you in suffering places. Amen.”
What about you?
How does looking at Jesus face down in the garden make you feel?
Are you in a garden, a time of waiting or suffering?
God is with you.
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Worship
I know what it’s like to feel that heart wrenching sorrow in my heart. I know what it’s like to pray for my will, try to make deals, IF.
Then I pray and come back to Jesus and say Your will not mine. I tend to live that way nowadays. I like to feel that I am not leaning on myself, but on my Lord and Savior. After all, that’s what He wants and so I will do His will. I will be still and listen. I don’t want that control. I want to be held by my hand by Jesus. So I keep my right hand out and like a little girl , I walk with him in wonder. That’s how I get through every day, every minute, every second. I am being taught every waking moment. MY WILL, NOT YOURS. And I breathe a sigh of relief. Thank You Father. I need you. Thank You.
Thank you, Judy. This is so beautiful and strengthening to me.
Heart wrenching sorrow is not new to me. My first husband, my brother, my dad. Each was not something I ever wanted to go through, but in each situation Jesus was right there! It’s amazing how close he was and continues to be as I care for my mom. She has short term memory loss and mild dementia. It’s hard to see someone fade away little by little, but she never forgets Jesus and her love for him. Thanks Judy for reminding us of how each of us struggles, but can know that Jesus understands. Love to you, my friend.
Surrendering to God’s will, following after Jesus’ example in the garden feels like dying and coming back to life for me. Just like you described so well, surrender is so hard to do because for me it is the death of control, my particular plan or my version of how reality out to be. It is a searing pain in my soul, but you remind me that every time I trust in God’s will, that pain is replaced by a sweet peace.
“I love you! Come to Me! I’ve made a way.”
Jesus wants us to see his suffering, and to experience our own pain with him. He is there to comfort us and embrace us with his love and knows exactly what we are feeling and are enduring. In that shared experience, he now knows we will know trouble and hardship, but he gets up and walks towards his cross, to give us His grace, His comfort, and His mercy forever.
Happy Palm Sunday, Hosanna in the Highest!
Beautiful, Judy. You have led me to the garden in worship.
I loved rereading this. You create such a vivid description of Jesus’s struggle with the horror of the cross that I feel like I am there too!