Luke 22:39-46 *
In the name of Christ Jesus, dear friends:
At the center of tonight’s sermon text is a prayer, a
well-known petition uttered by Jesus in the
These words require little explanation. Jesus knew what was about to happen. Jesus didn’t want it to happen. Jesus asked his Father to prevent it from happening. But as much as Jesus pleaded with his Father, he also trusted him. If his sacrificial death was the only way to save sinful mankind, so be it. “Your will be done.”
If we look only at the prayer itself, we might get the impression that this was easy for Jesus, that he was simply going through the motions. We might be tempted to forget that Jesus was a real human being, with real feelings and emotions.
That is why it is important for us to examine the inspired words of Jesus alongside the inspired words Luke records about Jesus. When Jesus prayed, he was on his knees. When Jesus prayed, he was in great anguish. When Jesus prayed, his sweat was like drops of blood falling to the ground.
We can learn a great deal about our Savior by studying his words (and we will), but Jesus also has much to teach us through non-verbal communication. Therefore, we will want to pay close attention to his posture, to his expressions, even to his sighs. And when we do we will be able to see glory, the hidden glory of the cross…
IT IS HIDDEN IN THE SAVIOR’S SIGHS
I. Hidden in a sigh of
determination
II. Hidden in a sigh of
disappointment
I want you to listen very carefully to the next thing I say (breathe in and out deeply). Did you catch that? Let me say it again (breathe in and out again). Even though it doesn’t consist of a single syllable a sigh says something. The simple act of breathing in and out can mean a number of different things depending on the circumstances. Here are a couple examples from the recent snow storm over the weekend.
A woman is trying to get home before the roads get any worse. Even though she is driving cautiously the car begins to fishtail, and before she knows it her vehicle is spinning out of control. The car finally comes to a stop in the median facing the wrong way. Her heart is pounding. Her hands are shaking, but she is okay. And as soon as the woman is able to process what has just happened she lets out a huge sigh of relief.
A man wakes up and looks out the bedroom window. At least six inches have fallen overnight. If he wants to get to work on time, he will need to quickly clear off the driveway. Five minutes later he is outside shoveling, and slowly but surely the pavement reemerges from beneath the thick blanket of snow. Before he goes inside to get ready for work, the man pauses to survey what he has accomplished and breathes a quiet sigh of satisfaction.
Another man is taking a walk with his friends after the evening meal. They notice that his look is more serious than usual. He leads them up a hill outside the city to a place they have been many times before. Once they arrive he tells them: “Pray that you will not fall into temptation” (40), echoing the words of a prayer he had taught them years before.
The man then leaves the group and goes a little further to pray by himself. And kneeling down the Son of God pours out his soul to his heavenly Father: “Father, if you are willing, take this cup from me; yet not my will, but yours be done” (42).
Luke tells us that Jesus was in anguish (literally “in agony”) as he prayed. And he had every right to be in anguish because he could see into the future. He knew that his enemies would torture him. He knew that his disciples would desert him. He knew that his own Father would forsake him. But he also knew that all things are possible with God, and that is why he prayed for the cup of suffering to be taken from his lips.
How do we know that Jesus wasn’t having second thoughts? How can be sure that he wasn’t planning to abandon his disciples in the garden and abort his divine mission? His prayer is all the proof we need. “Yet not my will, but yours be done.” This was a prayer of humble submission. This was a prayer of unwavering trust. This was a prayer of perfect obedience. This is the kind of prayer that can make the rest of us feel guilty.
How often do you pray like Jesus? When was the last time you said a prayer like this? “God, if it is a part of your divine plan that I suffer pain and persecution, if it is your will for my life to be filled with headaches and heartaches, that’s okay with me because I trust you. I trust that you have everything under control, and I trust that you always have my best interests in mind.”
Or do your petitions often sound more like a list of demands? “God, I need to you give me this. God, I want you to get rid of that. God, I really want to trust you but I have to admit there are times when I’m not so sure. I guess what I’m really trying to say is, ‘Not your will, but mine be done.’”
We would never say anything like that, but we act like it. When God looks into our hearts he can see that we don’t always trust him, that we don’t always submit to his will. It was our selfishness that put Jesus in the Garden. It was our stubbornness that caused Jesus to get down on his knees and pray. It was our sin that made Jesus sweat drops like blood on Maundy Thursday and bleed drops of blood on Good Friday.
We aren’t perfect like Jesus. We will never be able to pray perfectly like Jesus, but we can thank him for his prayer. We can thank Jesus for accepting his Father’s will. God didn’t remove the cup, but he did send an angel from heaven to strengthen him.
And when I replay that scene in my mind, when I picture Jesus praying in the garden, I can see something else. I see the Savior of the world breathing a deep sigh of determination as he rises to complete his soul saving mission.
With his prayers answered, with his strength renewed, with the glow of enemy torches getting closer and closer, Jesus went back to his disciples. And when he did he found them sleeping. Luke doesn’t report how many times this happened (three times according to Matthew and Mark), but he does tell us why it happened. The disciples were exhausted from sorrow (45).
Why were these grown men so sad? Why were they so emotionally drained that they couldn’t even watch and pray with Jesus for an hour? Was their sorrow for Jesus or for themselves? Were they sad because Jesus’ predictions were coming true or because they were unsure about their own future? Were they thinking to themselves “Poor Jesus” or “Woe is me”?
If the disciples really wanted to follow Jesus, they had a funny way of showing it. He had changed their lives. On at least one occasion he had saved their lives. And the one time he asked for something from them, they let him down.
When Jesus looked down at his sleeping disciples he couldn’t help but let out a sigh of disappointment, but not even that bitter disappointment could dissuade him. In fact, the faults and failings of the disciples reminded Jesus why he set aside his divine glory in the first place.
He had to be arrested. He had to be judged. He had to be flogged. He had to be sentenced to death for a crime he didn’t commit. Jesus had to give up his glory, Jesus had to give up his life to make up for all those times when his followers disappoint him, when we use God’s name in vain and when we fail to call on God’s name in prayer, when we decide that it is more important to be comfortable than faithful, when we give in to temptation again and again and again.
Even as his disciples rested Jesus resolved that he would not rest until he had obeyed every command, fulfilled every prophecy, atoned for every sin. The Lord was on a divine mission and he didn’t rest until that mission was completed.
And when it was finished, when Jesus announced to the world,
“It is finished” (John
The Place of the Skull was an unholy place where terrible criminals died gruesome deaths. Hardly the kind of place a person would expect to find glory. But if we look closely, if we look carefully at Jesus’ cross, it’s there.
Jesus obeyed his Father perfectly. Jesus gave up his life willingly. By his sinless life and sacrificial death Jesus gave glory to God, and in so doing he has given each of us the hope of eternal glory.
For Christians the glory of heaven cannot be separated from the shame of the cross. When we think about how much Jesus suffered for us and how much Jesus loves us, we want to thank him. We want to be like him. We want to give glory to God by accepting his will, by obeying his Word, by carrying our own crosses, by considering it a privilege to suffer for the sake of his name.
We do these things because we know that our present
sufferings are not even worth comparing with the glory that will be revealed in
us (Romans