Not What I Will

On the night he was betrayed, Jesus took his disciples to a place called Gethsemane, an olive grove across the valley from the city. He left most of them at the edge, took Peter, James, and John further in, and told them that his soul was overwhelmed with sorrow to the point of death. Then he went a little farther, fell to the ground, and prayed that if possible the hour might pass from him. Abba, Father, everything is possible for you. Take this cup from me. Yet not what I will, but what you will.

He prayed it three times. Each time he returned to find the disciples asleep. Each time he went back and prayed the same thing, the honest request and the honest surrender together, until the men with torches arrived.

Here is what James's letter has been pressing all week, lived out by the Lord himself. Ask, and ask honestly. Jesus did not hide his desire from the Father. He asked for the cup to pass. But he asked without double-mindedness, having already decided that the Father's will would stand. He humbled himself, and the Father lifted him up, three days later, from the tomb. And he did it all under trial, which he counted, Hebrews says, as joy set before him. When you pray this week, pray like this. Say what you want. Then say what he wants. And mean the second one.