(a sermon for March 24, 2024, Palm Sunday; last in a series, based on Mark 14:32-42)
“They went to a place called Gethsemane; and he said to his disciples, ‘Sit here while I pray.’”
Let me ask you a question this morning, friends: what does that look like to you? In other words, when you hear this story of the garden of Gethsemane, what do you see? How do envision Jesus at prayer?
Actually, I’m guessing that when most of us think of this scene in scripture, what comes to mind is something at least similar to what’s depicted in a very famous painting by the 19th century German artist Heinrich Hofmann. It’s actually the one that’s printed on the cover of your bulletin this morning; in which Jesus is posed on bended knee with his hands folded in front of him propped up on a rock; his face tilted upward looking calm and serene, illuminated by a single shaft of light shining down on him from heaven. And, as is typical of so much art that seeks to portray Jesus, his flowing robe looks clean and freshly laundered, his finely coifed hair cascades neatly over his shoulders and his beard is perfectly shaped and trimmed.
It’s an often-imitated image of the Christ that’s found in many an illustrated bible and which adorns countless stained-glass windows in sanctuaries all over the world, and for good reason: for me, at least, and possibly for you, it’s a portrayal of Jesus at prayer that’s soothing, calming and well, very appealing!
That having been said, however, the trouble with such an image is that the experience of true and authentic prayer is not always as calm and serene as what we see there; and moreover, as the gospels describe the scene, it also becomes very clear that in the waning hours of this late Thursday night, Jesus himself was as not as calm and serene as it would appear either! As Mark makes it very clear in our text for morning, from the very start of his time spent in Gethsemane, Jesus “began to be deeply distressed and troubled” and in fact, going so far as to say to Peter, James and John, “My soul is overwhelmed with sorrow to the point of death.” So, to say the very least, Jesus’ heart was troubled and heavy: in Luke’s version of this story, we’re told that Jesus was in such anguish and his prayer so earnest that “his sweat became like great drops of blood falling down on the ground.” (Luke 22:44) a phenomenon that doctors today acknowledge can and does happen in moments of severe stress and unbearable agony.
Even the garden setting of this story tends to be a bit misrepresented in our minds. Gethsemane, you see, was the true “Olive Garden;” in fact, the Hebrew word Gethsemane is best translated as “olive press,” which describes perfectly what this place looked like: a grove full of olive trees that were knotted and gnarled and pressing in from every direction, with roots sprawling from tree trunks and clawing deeply into rocky soil. In daylight, it probably did appear to be a dense and lush oasis amidst the desert landscape; in the dark of night, however, it would have the look and feel of a dark jungle, a place that would inspire more fear than comfort.
In short, Gethsemane was for Jesus anything but a soothing time and place of quiet prayer! Max Lucado, in his book, And the Angels Fell Silent, describes the moment beautifully: “That’s him,” he says. “Jesus. In the grove. On the ground. The young man. The one in the sweat-soaked garment. Kneeling. Imploring. His hair is plastered to his wet forehead. He agonizes.” You see, friends, you and I, we look upon Gethsemane as the epitome of spiritual comfort and peace, when in truth of fact, for Jesus this place was the setting for his dark night of the soul!
And this was because Jesus knew. Jesus knew what was about to happen; Jesus knew he was going to the cross; Jesus knew he was about to die, and the struggle he was feeling regarding all of this was very real indeed.
And so, Jesus prayed. Jesus prayed… for another way out.
I think that this is the thing we most misunderstand about Gethsemane. So often in delving into the Passion story, we are tempted to cast Jesus in such a light that makes everything very heroic; as though Jesus moves through it all like a character in some play, unscathed by the agonies and cruelties of his crucifixion; almost like a biblical version of Superman. But that’s not what’s happening in Gethsemane. In the words of pastor and author Robb McCoy, “Here we have Jesus tormented and upset. We have him begging his Father to let him pass from the cross. It makes us uneasy. It seems strange to think of Jesus having fears and doubts. It makes us wonder how close he was to turning… In this moment of Jesus in Gethsemane… for a moment we wonder, with bated breath, what he will do.” And it’s unsettling!
But I would also suggest to us all this morning that this is what makes Jesus real to us; it is what makes him the most human; the most vulnerable; and ultimately, the most courageous in our eyes. And it is what strengthens you and me in our own spiritual walks of faith, even and especially when that walk leads on to the cross.
I dare say that there are many of us in this room today who can recall times spent in Gethsemane: moments in our lives when the reality of our situation was right there before us, and the sheer agony of it had simply brought us to our knees; all because there was nowhere else we could go! The Rev. Dr. Martin Luther King said it very well in a sermon he preached in 1957: “There is hardly anyone,” he said, “…who has not at some time been pushed to the rugged edges of life. There have been times that all of us felt that a cloud of despair had come to blot out the joyous glitter of a distant star of hope. So often we have been left standing amid the surging murmur of life’s restless sea. We have been frustrated and disillusioned, bewildered and on the brink of despair. There have been times that we [have all] felt like giving up.”
Oh, yes. We have all know times such as these; I know that I have been, more than once, in fact. And in the Garden of Gethsemane, so did Jesus. But what Jesus knew in that hour of unspeakable anguish and grief – an anguish over something deeper and more hopeless than ever before in human history, that of “the Son of Man [being] betrayed into the hands of sinners” – is that in the midst of such times, choices have to be made.
And so Jesus prayed.
To go back to the words of Robb McCoy, Jesus “sat there in Gethsemane and he prayed. [Yes,] he prayed for another way out. He prayed in anguish. He prayed as a man who could feel pain, who would be hurt by betrayal, who would be scarred by the scourge, and would bleed when nails were driven into his arms and legs. He prayed as a man who knew that if he would follow God’s will, he would be charged, convicted, mocked, humiliated, abandoned, and nailed to a cross.”
But, writes McCoy, “knowing all of this full well he prayed, ‘Not my will, but yours.’ And he rose and stood up for all that he had lived for. Stengthened by his prayer and with the power of the Holy Spirit he stood, and he went to the cross… [not] as a lamb to the slaughter, for a lamb knows not where it is going. He went as a man who had decided to follow God.”
This story of Jesus’ prayer at the garden of Gethsemane is an important reminder, most especially as we once again begin this “Holy Week,” that Jesus chose to go to the cross; that it was not a foregone conclusion that this “rebel Jesus” be executed by the powers-that-be, nor was it merely an act of resignation “cloaked [by] false robe of piety” on Jesus’ part. No, this was pure agony, in which Jesus essentially was laying himself bare before God, before eventually coming to the choice to surrender all to God’s will and purpose. What we’re talking about here is true and perfect faith, beloved; and it’s embodied in what’s often referred to in this passage as “the perfect prayer,” words that tell us just about everything we need to know about Jesus: “Yet not what I will, but what you will.”
And in that regard, it’s definitely worth noting here that at some sure and certain moment after those words were spoken in the middle of that long, dark “Maundy” Thursday, Jesus is aware and knows the hour is now at hand; and in knowing that, suddenly the anguish is gone from his eyes; his breathing is calmer and more measured; his fists are no longer clenched, and his heart fights no more. “Rise!” he says to the disciples who have been sleeping through these hours. “Let us go! Here comes my betrayer!”
Gethsemane reminds us that Jesus chose to go to the cross, and that because Jesus chose to go to the cross, his victory over sin and death – our victory over sin and death – was already done. To borrow a line from Max Lucado, ultimately “the final battle was won in Gethsemane. And the sign of conquest is Jesus at peace in the olive trees.” In many was Easter begins there in that dense and gnarly garden of Gethsemane; and that’s important to remember as we face Maundy Thursday’s betrayal and desertion, and then, of course, Good Friday’s cross and our Lord’s passion.
But there’s another thing that’s important to remember as well. All through these weeks of Lent, we’ve been exploring the kinds of “spiritual renovations” necessary to bring us into a closer relationship with God; but all that having been said it does seems to me that ultimately, for that relationship to happen, a choice has to be made. And Gethsemane reminds us that just as Jesus, even in his own agony, made the choice to go to the cross, so also do we have Gethsemanes of our own, in which we are given choices to make. But you see, the good news is that we don’t have to made those choices alone, but in the company and the care of the one who has already borne the weight of the world and our lives on his shoulders.
If I can quote Robb McCoy just one more time: “We can [choose to] follow the way of the world – we can be selfish, we can look out for number one, we can work hard to get what we deserve, we can acquire more stuff, we can ignore the outcast, we can condemn the poor, we can tread on the orphan and the widow, we can judge the sinner, and we can build our nice comfy walls which no one will breach accept those we deem worthy. Or we can [choose to] follow Jesus. We can pray to God, “Not my will, but yours,” and mean it.”
This morning we’ve waved palm branches and shouted our hosannas unto “the one who comes in the name of the Lord.” We’ve sung songs of joy and victory today that will only be exceeded by the sounds of joy and victory we’ll be singing next Sunday! We’ll call one another to shouts of alleluia and we’ll proclaim the news that Christ is risen indeed… and we’ll gladly follow Jesus wherever he leads. But the question is, will we choose to follow Jesus now? Will we choose to go where Jesus is going even now that the Palm Sunday parade has dispersed and the adoring crowd becomes an angry mob? And will we choose to walk the way with Jesus especially when that way becomes difficult? Will we choose to take up our own crosses to follow him?
It’s a choice that is ours, and ours alone, to make; but we are not alone in the choosing… Jesus will be with us. My prayer for each one of us as Palm Sunday becomes Holy Week is that we’ll spend a little time in Gethsemane, so to choose… prayerfully, wisely, and above all, faithfully; after the manner of Jesus himself, the one who truly is Lord, to the glory of the Father.
Thanks be to God!
Amen and AMEN!
© 2024 Rev. Michael W. Lowry. All Rights Reserved.
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