We begin a new series this morning called “Prayers from the Pit.” This series explores the prayers of Jesus. Not what Jesus taught about prayer. Not just the references to his practice of prayer. But his actual prayers. There are ten of these prayers.
As we’ll see, all ten of Jesus’ prayers were spoken during times of pain. They were times when Jesus was in a pit. Thus, the series is called “Prayers from the Pit.”
While there are ten prayer of Jesus, this series will only last four Sundays. Why? First, I covered some of the prayers of Jesus in an earlier series awhile back. In addition, I’ve written a new book on this material in which I’ve reworked that previous material. Thus I’m going to share on these four Sundays content that I’ve not shared previously and leave the rest of the reworked content in the book. I do hope you’ll consider picking up a copy at next Sunday’s book signing.
Coinciding with this series will be a call to congregational prayer that begins next Sunday. On Sundays 9/11, 9/18, and 9/25, and during the days in between those Sundays, the Highland staff and elders are calling you to pray about Highland. Not because something’s wrong. But because so many things are right. Specifically, we’re calling you to pray about our future. God has done many big things through Highland in its 83 year history. But what’s the next big thing God is calling Highland to? What new ministries, initiatives, projects, or steps does God wish Highland to take as we near our 90th anniversary? We’ll be asking you to pray about this and share your thoughts with us on a prayer board in The Commons during those Sundays.
As we begin this series on praying like Jesus, I’d like to begin with prayer…
Neglecting Complaint in the Pursuit of Courage
A few weeks ago I took my son Jacob to a movie called “Soul Surfer.” The movie is based on a true story about a young girl whose arm is bitten off by a shark while she is surfing with friends. The scene of the shark attack is riveting. But one thing is highly unexpected. The young girl never complains. During the attack and immediately afterwards person after person remarks how amazing it is that this young girl never complains. She doesn’t scream. She doesn’t faint. She doesn’t act hysterical. She remains focused and resolute to make it back to the shore and to survive. Her arm is torn from her body by a shark and in the midst of the attack and in its immediate aftermath she never complains!
We admire courage, don’t we? It is often a quality we pursue in our own lives or for the lives of our children. But we don’t admire complaint. We don’t want to be labeled as complainers and we don’t want our children to complain. We applaud the courageous. We condemn the complainers. We want to be like that girl in the movie.
And this perspective often finds its way into our prayers. We’d much rather demonstrate courage in a prayer than complaint in a prayer. We’re far more likely to make bold and fearless promises in prayer than we are to moan and groan and gripe in prayer.
In fact, according to Richard Beck—a professor at Abilene Christian University—many of us pursue a prayer life in which we never complain.[1] For many of us, complaint is completely absent from our prayers. Specifically, Beck writes that some of us operate with a model of prayer in which “faith” or “faithfulness” is one end of the continuum and “lament” or “complaint” is at the opposite end. Thus, if we want to be faithful to God and pray with faith, we have to be as far away from lament and complaint as possible. And, if we do lament or complain in our prayers, it’s a sign that we don’t have faith and we are not faithful Christians.
But if this model of prayer was correct, we would expect to find only positive and praise-filled prayers falling from the lips of Jesus. We would expect to find only courage and never complaint in the prayers of Jesus. But that is not what we find.
Of the ten prayers of Jesus, three are laments or complaints. There are at least ten times when the Gospels give us the actual words that Jesus prayed in a prayer. Of these ten prayers, three are easily characterized as laments or complaints.
Either this means Jesus is unfaithful and doesn’t pray with faith, or it means that our model of prayer is wrong. The latter seems more likely. These portraits of Jesus in prayer as one who groans and moans force us to consider an alternative paradigm for prayer. The fact that Jesus complains in three of his ten prayers should force us to consider that complaint is not just appropriate in prayer—it is required in prayer. It is the ultimate sign of a healthy prayer life. Complaint and lament were an undeniable part of Jesus’ prayers. They should be an undeniable part of ours as well.
The Gethsemane prayer of Jesus illustrates how courage and complaint can actually co-exist in one prayer:
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.” And taking with him Peter and the two sons of Zebedee, he began to be sorrowful and troubled. Then he said to them, “My soul is very sorrowful, even to death; remain here, and watch with me.” And going a little farther he fell on his face and prayed, saying, “My Father, if it be possible, let this cup pass from me; nevertheless, not as I will, but as you will.” And he came to the disciples and found them sleeping. And he said to Peter, “So, could you not watch with me one hour? Watch and pray that you may not enter into temptation. The spirit indeed is willing, but the flesh is weak.” Again, for the second time, he went away and prayed, “My Father, if this cannot pass unless I drink it, your will be done.” And 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 again. Then he came to the disciples and said to them, “Sleep and take your rest later on. See, the hour is at hand, and the Son of Man is betrayed into the hands of sinners. Rise, let us be going; see, my betrayer is at hand.” (Matt. 26:36-46 ESV)
This prayer finds Jesus in a deep and dark emotional state. Notice the descriptions from Matthew:
- Jesus is “sorrowful and troubled” (Matt. 26:37).
- Jesus confesses being “very sorrowful, even to death” (Matt. 26:38).
- Jesus falls on his face (Matt. 26:39).
- Jesus prays not once, but three times for the cup to pass (Matt. 26:44). It’s the only prayer we know of which Jesus repeated multiple times.
Matthew’s peers agree with his assessment of the emotional state of Jesus. Mark describes Jesus as “greatly distressed” (Mk. 14:33). Luke, the doctor, diagnoses Jesus as “being in agony” and observes that his sweat became like great drops of blood falling down to the ground” (Lk. 22:44). Jesus is experiencing intense feelings of despair and discouragement.
Even the name of the place in which this spiritual wrestling match takes place reveals the depth of his despair. The word “Gethsemane” suggests an “oil press” where olives are squeezed until what is inside them spills out.[2] In the same way, Jesus is now being squeezed until what is within him now spills out.
And the ultimate source of Jesus’ agony is “this cup”—“let this cup pass.” Elsewhere, Jesus speaks of his impending death on the cross as a “cup” to be drunk (Matt. 20:22). The cup image is rooted in the biblical picture of God’s “cup of wrath.”[3] It is a terrible thing to contemplate consuming the wrath of God. And this cup—the cross—has become a circumstance which Jesus now desperately wishes were different. He does not like what he is facing. He’d rather be somewhere else. He’d rather do something else. He’s literally dying for some way out of this situation.
And what does Jesus do? Does Jesus put on a brave face? Does he play the role of the courageous warrior who laughs in the face of suffering? No. Jesus complains. In the truest biblical sense, Jesus complains. Not once, but three times. Three times Jesus prays:
“My Father, if it be possible, let this cup pass from me!”
“My Father, if it be possible, let this cup pass from me!”
“My Father, if it be possible, let this cup pass from me!”
Three times Jesus groans: “I am despondent! I cannot stand this circumstance! I do not want things to be this way!”
And this appearance of complaint in a prayer from Jesus is so contrary to certain expectations that some through the ages have dismissed the Gethsemane prayer. They’ve argued that Jesus could not have prayed this prayer. The Son of God would not have stooped to such complaining.
Yet New Testament scholar Craig Keener writes that this prayer must be considered genuine because it meets “the authentic criterion of embarrassment.” That is, no Christian would have contrived this prayer. No Christian would have made up this account. Why? Because it could have brought embarrassment upon the Christian faith. The portrait of Jesus facing death anxiously is vastly different from the image of pagan heroes like Socrates or Jewish heroes like the Maccabean martyrs who all faced death calmly.[4] Jesus deeply dislikes his circumstances and desperately begs God to change them. He does not courageously pretend nothing is wrong. Instead, he is honest with the Father about his feelings.
One summer many of us followed the saga of Sky—the eleven-year-old son of Chris Seidman. Sky had been hospitalized for weeks with meningitis, staph, and a vicious rash. On day forty-five, Sky was, in Chris’ words, “in a rage.” He was filled with anger and despair. He couldn’t stand his present circumstance. What was Chris to do? Was Chris supposed to tell his son, “Grow up! Buck up. Embrace this opportunity to grow. Be courageous. Be strong”? Was Chris supposed to tell his son to put on a brave face? Here’s what Chris did. He said, “I told him he could let God have it.” And Sky did. Chris wrote that he stood beside Sky while the boy hollered at God. Later, Chris wrote this: “Confessing one’s doubts about God to God is still an expression of faith in God.”
This is part of what the Gethsemane prayer teaches us. In a culture in which courage almost always overshadows complaint, the Gethsemane prayer teaches us the important role of true lament. Jesus models for us how to say to God the kind of things we may have thought we never could say. The fact that Jesus complains in his this prayer should force us to consider that complaint is not just appropriate in prayer—it is required in prayer.
And that’s never been more significant culturally than it is as we march up to the tenth anniversary of 9/11. For a number of Americans, this will be a difficult anniversary. They will relive the death and destruction of that day. How should they pray on that day? Jesus shows us how. Complain. Lament. Be honest with the Father about your feelings.
Neglecting Holiness in the Pursuit of Happiness
But there is even more to the Gethsemane prayer. It not only addresses the tendency for courage to overshadow complaint. It also addresses the way we so often pray for happiness—the kinds of things we believe will fulfill us, rather than for holiness—the kinds of things God might wish to do in us or through us.
Philip Yancey writes about a Japanese friend who visited him in the United States.[5] The friend told Yancey that he was shocked by the directness of our prayers. The American who prays, he told Yancey, “resembles a person who goes to Burger King and orders a ‘Whopper well-done, but hold the pickle and lettuce—with extra ketchup, please.’” By contrast, the friend told Yancey, the Japanese are “more like the tourist who walks into a foreign restaurant unable to read the menu. He finally communicates, with gestures and reference to a phrase book, that he would like the house specialty.” In other words, he cannot ask for what he really wants so he just tells the host to bring what he thinks is best.
There is something direct about our prayers in America. Directness is isn’t always wrong. It can be very appropriate in the right circumstances. But our directness often results from the fact that our prayers have one focus: our happiness. Too often prayer is about me getting exactly what I want in exactly the way I want it. It is me seeking what I believe will fulfill me. And one thing I know is that pain and suffering will never fulfill me. I would never ask for those things in prayer.
Yet in the Gethsemane prayer we find something wonderfully different. Jesus not only prays, “Let this cup pass. Let this cup pass. Let this cup pass.” Jesus also prays, “Your will be done. Your will be done. Your will be done.” Jesus is praying for something that will not bring happiness. He’s inviting the pain of the cross into his life. Why? Because he believes that through this suffering God’s will, God’s plan, God’s story will be furthered. Though Jesus laments, ultimately what matters most to Jesus is not his happiness but holiness. At its root, holiness is about being set apart for God’s purposes. Holiness has to do with what God wants to do in and through a person. And though Jesus was not happy about this and complained about it, in the end, what mattered most was being set apart for God’s use—even if it involved suffering.
If happiness was Jesus’ primary goal, the prayer would have ended after the third “Let this cup pass.” Instead, it continues: “Your will be done. Even though it will be painful, your will be done.” Jesus’ “your will be done” is him saying no to personal happiness and yes to God’s plans and purposes, even the most painful ones. Ultimately, the Gethsemane prayer is about learning to say yes to God, even when it hurts. It’s about embracing the pain which may be necessary in order for God’s plans and purposes to be fulfilled.
The Gethsemane prayer challenges us to acknowledge the role that suffering plays in the purposes of God. John Ortberg recently wrote about participating in a survey on spiritual formation.[6] He and thousands of others were asked to identify a time in life when they grew most spiritually and to identify what contributed to that growth. He writes,
“The number one contributor to spiritual growth was not transformational teaching. It was not being in a small group. It was not reading deep books. It was not energetic worship experiences. It was not finding meaningful ways to serve. It was suffering. People said they grew more during seasons of loss, pain, and crisis than they did at any other time…One line of thinking is that adversity can lead to growth. Another line of thinking is that the highest levels of growth cannot be achieved without adversity. It may be that somehow adversity leads to growth in a way that nothing else does.”
Ortberg then asks us to imagine that we’re going to have a child. Imagine—you’re about to have a child! And God hands you the script of your newborn child’s life. He lets you see everything that will happen in her life before she lives one day of it. We read that she will have a learning disability in grade school. Reading, which comes easily for some, will be difficult for her. In high school, she will make many good friends. But one of them will die of cancer. After high school, she will get into her college of choice, but while there, she’ll lose a leg in a car crash. The loss will send her into deep depression. A few years later she’ll get a fantastic job but then lose that job in a recession. She’ll get married, but then go through the grief of separation.
Imagine that God hands you this script for your child before she is born. Now imagine that he hands you an eraser. He says, “You have five minutes to edit out anything you wish.” You have five minutes to change the script any way you want. You can remove anything you don’t like from that script. What would you do? Our gut reaction might be to erase all the pain—the reading disability, the loss of the friend to cancer, the car accident, the recession, and the marital separation. We’d probably want to erase all the suffering. Yet upon further reflection, we might ultimately leave it in. We might say, “Your will be done.” Why? Because we might realize that true, deep, lasting spiritual formation might not happen without that pain. We might remember that it was some of the pain in our own lives that allowed God to work most powerfully in and through us. We might finally recognize that it’s holiness and not merely happiness which matters in life.
The Gethsemane prayer reminds us that the greatest work of God—Jesus on the cross—only happened because Jesus said yes to pain in his prayer. Every time we are on the brink of season of suffering and we pray “Your will be done” we acknowledge that some of the greatest work of God in us or through us may lie only through that pain.
The Power of Praying to Father
What enabled Jesus to pray as he did in the Garden? How could Jesus say “Let this cup pass” and “Your will be done”? In his volume Praying With Jesus George Martin argues that Jesus’ view of God as “Abba, Father” gave him the ability to utter this prayer.[7] The Gethsemane prayer is the only prayer in which Jesus addresses God as “Abba.” Mark provides the details:
And going a little farther, he fell on the ground and prayed that, if it were possible, the hour might pass from him. And he said, “Abba, Father, all things are possible for you. Remove this cup from me. Yet not what I will, but what you will.” (Mk. 14:35-36 ESV).
Jesus could honestly scream “Remove this cup from me!” because he could also cry “Abba, Father.” Jesus could boldly state “Your will be done” only because he trusted in God as “Abba, Father.” May our hope in God as “Abba, Father” lead us to embrace and practice the Gethsemane prayer of Jesus. May we too learn to pray, “Let this cup pass” and “Your will be done.”
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Bottom of Form
[1] Richard Beck, ”The Psychology of Christianity: Part 5,” (7/12/2010), http://experimentaltheology.blogspot.com/.
[2] “Gethsemane,” D. R. W. Wood and I. H. Marshall, I. H. (1996). New Bible Dictionary Third Edition, (IVP, 1996), 407.
[3] Ps. 11:6; 60:3; 75:8; Is. 29:9-10; 51:17, 21-23; Jer. 25:15-29.
[4] Craig S. Keener, A Commentary on the Gospel of Matthew (Eerdmans, 1999), 633.
[5] PhilipYancey, Prayer: Does It Make Any Difference? (Zondervan, 2010), 107.
[6] John Ortberg “Don’t Waste a Crisis” Leadership Jan. 31, 2011, www.christianitytoday.com
[7] George Martin, Praying With Jesus (Loyola Press, 2000), 96.
