No Longer My Own

Mark 14:32-42

February 21, 2016 • Mount Pleasant UMC

About this time last year, we were very vividly learning the meaning of the word “wait.” Our new appointment to Mount Pleasant had been announced and so had the new pastor who was coming in after me, and we were caught in between. We were making trips to Terre Haute, living in Portage and trying to figure out exactly where we were most days! We were in the process of buying a house here, but hadn’t started packing there yet, knowing that we still had to live there until June when we would move here. We were waiting, and learning how hard it can be. But you know that. You know about waiting. There are not too many things harder to do than to wait. One author says, “Waiting can be the most intense and poignant of all human experiences” (Vanstone, qtd. in Garland, NIV Application Commentary: Mark, pg. 553). Sometimes we’re waiting for something good, like the birth of a new baby or the beginning of a new job. And in times like that, we wait with anticipation and joy and impatience, like we did a year ago. We assume that which we’re waiting for is going to be good and we can’t wait to get to it. But then there are times when we fear what is coming, times when we are waiting and dreading what is to come. We wait in a doctor’s office to have an illness checked out. We wait by the phone for a diagnosis or the results of a test or the results of the job interview. We wait anxiously to hear if our loved one was in the pile-up on the interstate. Or we wait as we prepare to do something we don’t really want to do. In those times, we wait between hope and dread, almost torn between two different anticipations. There are not too many things harder than waiting, especially when we’re hoping for the best but preparing for the worst.

Today is the second Sunday of Lent, and during this season, we are walking through the last day of Jesus’ earthly life as we consider how that day, those 24 hours, changed the world forever. Last week, in worship and in our small groups, we began with the Thursday night meal, the last meal Jesus shared with his disciples, and we talked about how he took the Passover meal and transformed it into something new, something that would define and shape his disciples, a practice we call holy communion. That night was initially a celebration around the table, and for a few hours there would have been joy and laughter, but that night quickly turned into a time of waiting. After the meal, somewhere around midnight, Jesus and his disciples headed out to the Mount of Olives. From where they were in the city, this would be a leisurely walk (about 20 minutes or so) past the Temple grounds and along the Kidron Valley. When we were in Israel in 2012, a group of us wanted to take that walk, but our guide said he didn’t think it was that safe these days. In Jesus’ day, it would have been fairly deserted, so it was a quiet place Jesus could share many things on his heart, many important things he wanted to tell these friends of his. In John’s Gospel, it’s a long conversation; four chapters are devoted to it. Mark only tells us a small part of what happens, but it’s critical to understanding what comes next. Jesus predicts how all the disciples will abandon him, and Peter, bold, mouthy Peter, steps up to tell Jesus he’s wrong. “Even if all fall away,” Peter says, “I will not” (14:29). Now, can you imagine being one of the other disciples and hearing Peter say this? What does he mean? Does he think he’s stronger than us? Peter once again is speaking before he thinks, and Jesus once again has to put him in his place pretty quickly: “Before the rooster crows twice you yourself will disown me three times” (14:30). Peter, you won’t last the night. You will fall away with all the rest of them.

So Jesus and the disciples arrive at a place called Gethsemane at the far end of the Kidron Valley. Gethsemane, we’re told, was a place Jesus and the disciples often gathered (John 18:2). The name Gethsemane meals “oil press.” It was a place where olives were crushed, squeezed, turned into oil. So Gethsemane is not just a garden. Today, in the area known as Gethsemane, there is a cave or grotto where oil presses have been found, and this is probably the place where the disciples and Jesus came into the area. It’s the entrance to the area, and Jesus left most of his disciples there. “Sit here while I pray,” he tells them (14:32). On into the garden, Jesus takes with him Peter, James and John, and today there is a garden area that contains olive trees which some say are 3,000 years old; so when Jesus was here, they were a mere 1,000 years old—just young saplings! Somewhere in this garden, Jesus leaves the other three disciples and tells them, “Stay here and keep watch” (14:34). And then, Jesus himself goes a bit further; Luke says he went a “stone’s throw” away (Luke 22:41), and he falls down on the ground to pray. Today, that “stone’s throw” away is surrounded by a church, the Church of All Nations, and inside that church is a stone on which, tradition says, Jesus prayed late into the night.

Now, there are some important things to keep in mind as we explore this night of prayer. First of all, notice who it is Jesus takes with him beyond the entrance: Peter, James and John. Peter has just been boasting that he would never deny Jesus, that he will never fall away. He’s going to stick with Jesus no matter what. And James and John, not that long ago (back in chapter 10), had been asking for positions of power and privilege in Jesus’ kingdom. They swore to him that they were able to endure whatever he was going to endure. They were up to the challenge; they could, they said, “drink the cup” Jesus was going to drink (10:35-40). So now Jesus takes them with him and “gives them a chance to back up their words” with their actions (Garland 539). He invites them into the garden and asks them to “keep watch” with him. He asks them to be awake, alert, because something bad is about to happen. And they fail him miserably.

The second thing to notice is the mood that settles over the story at this point. Neither Luke nor John mention Jesus’ emotional state at this point. Matthew only says Jesus was “grieving,” but Mark (the first of the Gospels) doesn’t mince any words. Mark says Jesus “began to be deeply distressed and troubled” (14:33), and the word he uses there indicates the strongest possible degree of horror and suffering. Jesus is struggling. His emotional state might be described as depression; that’s really what Mark is saying here (Garland 539, 548). And that points to Jesus’ humanity. The book of Hebrews says Jesus is able to sympathize with everything we go through, every suffering we endure, because he’s been there (cf. Hebrews 4:14-16). And in this moment, as Jesus faces his impending death, he suffers. He is deeply distressed and troubled. He’s falling apart (Wright, Mark for Everyone, pg. 198). We somehow think Jesus ought to be more like the story of Socrates, who willingly drank the poison that was handed to him and showed no emotion whatsoever. That was considered virtuous by the ancient Greeks, and that’s the mindset that has been handed down to us. Take what comes, accept it, move on. But that is not a Hebrew way of thinking, and that is not the way Jesus approaches his own death. He enters his suffering not “stoically but biblically, with loud lament” (Garland 539). Jewish lament is not quiet, polite prayer. It is loud, full of complaint, a pouring out of the heart to God, begging God to change his mind (Garland 540). And with such loud prayer, you have to wonder how the disciples fell asleep! Loud lament such as we see in Gethsemane and all through the psalms is not prayer that lacks trust; instead, it’s a prayer that trusts God enough to know that anything can be said, anything can be prayed, and God can take it. So Jesus, overwhelmed with sorrow at the thought of what is to come, laments in Gethsemane. He prays, he cries, and he begs.

That brings us to third thing about this text, where we want to spend the rest of our time this morning—Jesus’ prayer. Mark tells us Jesus’ posture of prayer was different this night. Normally, Jewish prayer was done standing with your hands lifted toward heaven, and you would pray aloud. In Luke 18, Jesus tells a story about the Pharisee and the tax collector and their prayers. The Pharisee, Jesus says, stands up to pray and says his prayer so everyone can hear. None of this private, quiet prayer for a first-century religious person. On normal days, you stood, raised your hands and prayed aloud. Now, if a person was in particular distress, they might bow their head, which is what the tax collector does in Jesus’ story in Luke 18. He looks down because he’s very aware of his sin, and hesitant to look up toward heaven. He bows his head. But if you’re lamenting, if you’re in deep distress, you might lie prostrate and pray face down. In 2 Samuel 12, when King David’s son is ill, the author says David spends his nights praying “lying on the ground” (2 Samuel 12:15-23), begging God to save the child. That’s the same mood that prevails in Gethsemane. This night, Jesus adopts that lamenting posture of prayer. He falls to the ground and prays (Garland 539). He begs the Father.

Mark also tells us Jesus goes away three times to pray, and at least the first two times he prays the same thing (Mark doesn’t tell us what he prays the third time, but we can assume it was much the same). “Abba, Father,” Jesus prays, “Everything is possible for you. Take this cup from me. Yet not what I will, but what you will” (14:36). The cup James and John said they were willing to drink, the cup of suffering—Jesus asks for that cup to be taken away from him. He knows what is ahead. He knows that within a few hours he will be tortured, humiliated, and subjected to one of the worst forms of death ever devised by human beings (cf. Hamilton, 24 Hours, pg. 41). And he doesn’t want to do it. I don’t think Jesus is just putting on a show here for the disciples. Luke tells us he prayed so intensely on this night that his sweat was like drops of blood (Luke 22:44). Jesus is struggling. Jesus is lamenting. Jesus is praying like he’s never prayed before. And as we watch him struggle this night, in Gethsemane, we begin to see like never before that Jesus knows how we feel, because he’s been there.

You’ve been in that place, haven’t you? You’re faced with a choice. You’re faced with having to do something you don’t really want to do. Not on the scale of what Jesus faces, but you’ve been in a place where you’ve struggled with something you know God is calling you to do and you don’t want to do it. And you’ve been in Gethsemane, a time of waiting, a time of struggle. I’ve been there many times, but several years ago, I received a message from someone I thought I knew fairly well. The message was short, abrupt, and said, in essence, “I am angry with you and we need to meet.” So, I quickly arranged for the meeting, because I don’t like that sort of thing hanging around, but the only time our schedules coincided was a few days away. And so I spent those days playing out in my head how the conversation might go, trying to figure out exactly what I had done, why this other person was angry, loosing sleep over the possibilities. I was in Gethsemane, but ironically, I did pretty much everything but pray about it. And when I did pray, finally, I prayed just the first part of Jesus’ prayer. “How about you get rid of this problem, God? How about you make this person go away, or at least make the problem go away? You can do anything, God” (aren’t we good about remembering that when we can’t do anything about the situation?) “You can do anything, God, even make this problem go away.” Isn’t that the way we usually pray? “Just take it away!” But Jesus’ prayer doesn’t end there.

Jesus’ prayer goes on: “Yet not what I will, but what you will” (14:36). Not what I will; what YOU will. What YOU want. Jesus, in his prayer, gives himself over to the will and desire and plan of his heavenly Father. And you’d think Jesus could pray that once and be done, but that’s not what happens. As I said, Mark tells us Jesus goes to pray three times. But at the end of that third time of prayer, he comes back to the disciples resolute, determined. “Rise!” he says. “Let us go! Here comes my betrayer!” (14:42). In Gethsemane, Jesus moves from “I don’t want to do this” to “I will do whatever it takes to be obedient.” Paul later described Jesus’ attitude this way: “Being found in appearance as a human being, he humbled himself by becoming obedient to death—even death on a cross” (Philippians 2:8). Hebrews describes it this way: Jesus “offered up prayers and petitions with fervent cries and tears to the one who could save him from death, and he was heard because of his reverent submission. Son though he was, he learned obedience from what he suffered” (5:7-8). We often pray until we think we’ve caused God to do what we want, until we change God’s mind. In Gethsemane, Jesus prayed until he was ready to do the Father’s will, until he was prepared to be who the Father wanted him to be.

Have you been to Gethsemane? Have you had your own Gethsemane? In those times of waiting, in those times of struggle, in those times of not wanting to do what you know you are called to do, how do you respond? Jesus’ model for us is to lament and to pray until our own desires, our own preferences, our own plans are put aside for the sake of God’s kingdom. “Not what I will,” Jesus prays, “but what you will” (14:36). We pray something like that at the beginning of the year. When we share in our covenant service, when we renew our commitment to Christ, we use a prayer written by John Wesley, the founder of Methodism. Do you remember the words we prayed on the first Sunday of this year? “Let me be your servant, under your command. I will no longer be my own. I will give up myself to your will in all things…Lord, make me what you will. I put myself fully into your hands: put me to doing, put me to suffering, let me be employed for you, or laid aside for you, let me be full, let me be empty, let me have all things, let me have nothing. I freely and with a willing heart give it all to your pleasure and disposal” (Book of Worship 291). That’s a huge prayer. That’s a prayer not only for New Year, but for Gethsemane—for the times when we are pressed down, beaten, lamenting and wondering what comes next. Have you been to that Gethsemane?

But we won’t be ready to pray that unless we’re already praying. Jesus turned to prayer in Gethsemane not only because this was a familiar place but because prayer was a familiar practice. Jesus prayed constantly, not just at a time of crisis like many of us do. How’s your prayer life? Let this video clip spur you toward honest evaluation; take a listen.

VIDEO: “War Room: Lukewarm Coffee”

How’s your prayer life? Jesus’ model for us was that we learn to pray by praying. We don’t need more seminars on praying. We don’t need more books on praying. We just need to start praying. Now, I don’t know about you, but the model for me when I was younger was that the longer you prayed, the more spiritual you were thought to be. It was as if praying for an hour or two or whatever was some sort of mark of deep spirituality. And I’ve never been good at that. My mind wanders too much. As the hymn writer said, “Prone to wander, Lord, I feel it!” But I do recognize that Paul tells us to “pray continually” (1 Thessalonians 5:17). Now, simply studying Paul’s life will tell you that he did not literally do that; he didn’t bow his head and close his eyes and pray every waking moment. Paul made tents. Paul preached. Paul traveled. Paul had conversations. So Paul obviously means something different than just spending long, extended periods in prayer. What Paul is getting at is our attitudes. Are we tuned in to what God is saying? Is our life of prayer such that it’s our first inclination, whether things are going good or bad? Is our heart attitude adjusted toward heavenly things so that everything that happens is an occasion for prayer, for conversation with God? John Wesley described the goal for prayer this way: “Whether we think of; or speak to, God, whether we act or suffer for him, all is prayer, when we have no other object than his love, and the desire of pleasing him. All that a Christian does, even in eating and sleeping, is prayer.”

But there is a need, as well, for specific times of prayer, and in the life of our church, we try to provide one Sunday evening a month that is dedicated to prayer and praise. That evening is tonight, and if you haven’t been part of this time before, perhaps tonight might be a chance for you to come and pray with your brothers and sisters. No one is going to ask you to pray out loud; much of what we do on these evenings is making space for God to speak and move in our lives. In addition to that, we have a weekly gathering on Wednesdays at 12:30 p.m. in the Chapel to pray for the requests that come in. We’re also going to be launching a 31-day season of prayer as we prepare to move back into the sanctuary, asking God to give us the right heart and attitude in this important time; there will be more information about that soon. But here’s the bottom line: it’s vital that we become people of prayer in the life of our church, as well as in our own personal devotional lives.

The practice of the early church was patterned, not surprisingly, after the Jewish rhythms of prayer. In Psalm 55, we find this pattern of prayer: “As for me, I call to God, and the Lord saves me. Evening, morning and noon I cry out in distress, and he hears my voice” (55:17). Evening, morning and noon—three times a day. You remember, we said last week that the Jewish day begins at sundown and runs to sundown the next day, so the rhythm that’s described in Psalm 55 is one of praying at each juncture of the day. Evening, morning and noon. If we think in terms of that Jewish rhythm, we pray in the evening and review the previous day, giving back to God what went well and what went wrong, and asking for rest for the day ahead. We pray in the morning to commit the waking portion of the day and all that we have to do to God. And we break at noon to pray again, to refocus and recenter our day, our activities, our life. Evening, morning and noon—three times a day, we turn our thoughts and commit our day to God. Very likely, that or something very like it would have been the pattern of Jesus and the disciples. Now, what difference does that make? It makes every difference, because when we begin to pray in that way, even if they are short prayers, our relationship to God shapes our day rather than our day shaping our relationship to God. And it also means that when we come to those times of Gethsemane, prayer becomes our first inclination, just as it was for Jesus.

Our prayers don’t have to be long. We can use a line from a hymn or song: “I am thine, O Lord.” “Lord, there is no one like you.” “Holy Spirit, you are welcome here.” Or a verse from Scripture: “The Lord is my shepherd, I shall not want.” You could pray the covenant prayer I mentioned earlier that we gave you on those red cards: “I am no longer my own. Put me to what you will.” Or you can give thanks for what has happened that day and what will yet happen. Prayer ultimately isn’t about getting what we want; it’s about being shaped into the likeness and obedience of Jesus. The point is this: whatever you pray will shape your spirit and enable you to face those times of Gethsemane when they come. Because they will come. There will come times when you are flat on your face, begging God for things to change. There will come times when life is not pleasant and there seems to be no good choice. There will come times…and there will come times when the answer we get is not what we hoped and prayed for. Don’t believe the lie that if you pray in a certain way or for a certain length of time or if you get enough people to pray, God has to answer your prayer in the way you want. Gethsemane forever proves that such a beliefs is a lie. Jesus prayed in the garden, but he didn’t get the answer he wanted, and if even Jesus received “no” as an answer to what is perhaps his most agonized and intense prayer, we shouldn’t be surprised when we, too, sometimes receive that answer (Wright 198). But that doesn’t mean God isn’t working. That doesn’t mean God has forgotten you. Jesus rises from his place of prayer, full of confidence and full of conviction that he was in the center of his Father’s will. When God the Father said “no” to Jesus, he was actually doing his most powerful work ever. Jesus received that assurance as he prayed in the garden. For us, as we cultivate a life of regular prayer, we can have that same confidence. In the midst of our Gethsemanes, we can know that God is working, God is moving, and salvation is on the way. Let’s pray.