Scared to Death

Mark 14:17-26; Psalm 23

April 2, 2026 (Maundy Thursday) • Mount Pleasant UMC

When evening came, he did not want to be in the valley. It was dark enough here during the day, but sometimes he had to lead the sheep through it. And at night, it was really dark. Nahal Faran it was named; most people just called it the “Valley of the Shadow of Death.” Jerusalem was one way; Jericho was the other, but because of the way the hills were situated around it, sunlight rarely if ever reached the depths of the valley. The gorge was too narrow and the surrounding rock faces were too steep. Walking through it, even with sheep in search of water, was usually a dark experience.

And so it had happened that one day, sitting along the edge of the stream as the sheep drank, the shepherd boy David had been praying and thinking about the ways God was working in his life. He knew how many of his fellow shepherds avoided this valley, and that meant when he came here it was usually pretty quiet. He loved this place, not because of the darkness but because in this place he always had a strong sense of God’s presence. As he listened to sheep rustle and lap at the water, a song began to rise within him. He sang out loud with none but the sheep to hear it for the first time: “The Lord is my shepherd, I lack nothing. He makes me lie down in green pastures, he leads me beside quiet waters, he refreshes my soul. He gives me along the right paths for his name’s sake.” He paused and looked around. “Even though I walk through the darkest valley, I will fear no evil, for you are with me” (Psalm 23:1-4a). Yes, God was with him even here. He thought about the song for a moment more; it seemed to need something. He’d work on it, but now it was time to move the sheep along. Evening was coming and, like I said, he didn’t want to be in the valley when it got really dark.

When evening came, Jesus and the disciples entered the room for the final meal (16:17). The disciples didn’t know it was the final meal; to them, it was just another Passover meal, albeit a day early. Probably the third one these men have shared together. They didn’t know, but Jesus knew. Jesus was headed with his face set (cf. Luke 9:51) into the valley of the shadow of death. It was a place he knew well; he had featured it in his famous parable about a good Samaritan (Luke 10:25-37), a parable the disciples still remembered all too well. Who tells a story about a “good” enemy? Well, Jesus did. But tonight was all about them, the faithful, the ones who were chosen. They were the privileged few to spend this evening with their master, and even though they didn’t know it, they were the ones who were going to walk into the valley with him.

Step one into the valley. In Mark’s Gospel, which we read from this evening, Jesus doesn’t waste any time. They begin to eat and Jesus stops any conversation with these words: “One of you will betray me” (14:18). Can you imagine what that did to the mood in the room? We know from the other Gospels that it was rather contentious anyway. Luke (22:24-30) tells us they were arguing about which one of them was the greatest and John (13:1-17) tells us Jesus put a stop to that argument by washing their feet. All of them. Twelve men, twenty-four smelly feet. Simon, Thaddeus, Matthew, Bartholomew, Peter…and Judas. Then the meal was served and conversation likely began again as they reclined with freshly clean feet. That’s when Jesus drops the bomb: “One of you will betray me.” One of the people whose feet I just washed will turn me in to the officials. He will be paid in exchange for my life. He will profit as I am arrested. One of you will betray me.

There are very few things that hurt like betrayal. The spouse who thought everything was going well, and then the divorce papers show up along with the news of an affair. The co-worker who seems to want to collaborate and then presents your ideas as their own and steals the promotion you should have gotten. The friend who takes what they know about you and uses it to their own advantage, who shares the things you said in confidence widely and loudly. The lawsuit, the theft, the destruction of a reputation and questioning of integrity. Few things hurt like betrayal, which is why the psalmist writes, “If an enemy were insulting me, I could endure it; if a foe were rising against me, I could hide. But it is you, a man like myself, my companion, my close friend, with whom I once enjoyed sweet fellowship at the house of God, as we walked about among the worshipers” (Psalm 55:12-14). These have been Jesus’ closest friends and now one of them has made arrangements to sell him out for thirty pieces of silver. “One of you will betray me” is the first step into the valley of the shadow of death and it reminds us that Jesus understands when those things happen to you and to me. He’s been there. And he willingly walked into that valley.

Step two into the valley. Mark doesn’t tell us when Judas left, but John (13:30) tells us it was after he had taken a piece of bread from Jesus. Was that the bread that Jesus had called “his body”? We don’t know, but I sort of imagine that it was. “You prepare a table before me in the presence of my enemies [my betrayer and the soldiers]. You anoint my head with oil; my cup overflows” (Psalm 23:5). It’s a Passover meal (minus the lamb) so there would have been some standard things on the table: bitter herbs, unleavened bread, wine, horseradish and honey. So Jesus takes the bread, breaks it and tells them it is his body. And then he takes one of the cups of wine in the midst of the liturgy, and he says, “This is my blood of the covenant, which is poured out for many” (14:22-25). I highly doubt that anyone at the table understood, but we know Jesus was speaking about his death (or warning them about his death) that would happen the next day. And in doing so, he gave us a practice that would not just remind us of that death but would, in fact, help us experience his presence. The bread and the cup, his body and blood, the presence of Jesus among us. “I will fear no evil, for you are with me” (Psalm 23:4). The practice of communion reminds us of that.

Step three into the valley, this time in a literal valley. Mark (14:26) says at the end of the meal they “sang a hymn” and then headed toward the Mount of Olives. The traditional site of the last supper is on a part of Mount Zion, the oldest part of Jerusalem, and to get to the Mount of Olives requires a long, uneven walk down the mountain and into the Kidron Valley. In Mark’s account, the conversation is rather short, only 5 verses (14:27-31). But John fills in details that the other Gospels don’t give us because the conversation there takes four chapters—117 verses. And it rambles and circles and sometimes Jesus doubles back to a topic he began talking about several verses before. It reads just like a conversation in the dark over rough terrain would sound (cf. Card, John: The Gospel of Wisdom, pg. 167). He tells them, “I have much more to say to you, more than you can now bear” (John 16:12). This is not a casual, leisurely walk. There are things Jesus wants these followers of his to know and he is running out of time. There is an urgency in his tone, a seriousness that they probably have not encountered before. This is the moment. They are in the valley, literally and figuratively. Jesus doesn’t want them scared, but he does want them focused. They will soon walk through the valley of the shadow of death. This conversation takes them from Mount Zion all the length of the Kidron Valley to a place called Gethsemane—the oil press, the place of crushing, a place they prayed often (cf. John 18:2). The darkness is deep now.

Step four into the valley. A garden. If historians are right, the olive trees that grow there now were only sprouts on this night of all nights. It’s astounding to look at trees that Jesus might have prayed near on this night. They enter the olive grove and Jesus leaves most of his followers at the gate, takes three of them—Peter, James and John—with him a bit further in. “My soul is overwhelmed with sorrow to the point of death” (Mark 14:34), he says and then leaves the three by themselves so he can pray alone. We have only a few words that he prayed, and since Mark’s Gospel is largely the remembrances of Peter, I’m guessing what we have recorded is what Peter overheard before they fell asleep. “Abba, Father,” he prays, “everything is possible for you. Take this cup from me” (14:36). What “cup” is he referring to? In the Passover meal, there are four symbolic cups of wine. At some point, perhaps during Jesus’ time or perhaps not (we don’t really know), a fifth cup was added, the Cup of Elijah, a cup that represented God’s wrath over the people’s disobedience (cf. Vanderlaan, The Path to the Cross Discovery Guide, pgs. 231). Some believe that Jesus may have been referring to this cup when he prayed these words. Take the cup of wrath away from me; spare me the cross, spare me the abandonment, spare me the death. Take this cup from me. And I can’t imagine that was a short part of the prayer. In some way, the Son seems to be wrestling with the Father at this moment. From eternity past, the Father, Son and Holy Spirit had always been in perfect harmony. Yet at this moment, something has changed. Take this cup from me!

And then, the resolution. The prayer is answered, it seems. The Voice that had spoken so many times before must have spoken again to the heart of Jesus on this darkest of nights: “You are my Son, whom I love; with you I am well pleased” (Mark 1:11). Jesus experienced the Father as his shepherd and he, too, knew the truth of the words David sang: “Your rod and your staff, they comfort me” (Psalm 23:4). That, then, is how he could finally pray: “Yet not what I will, but what you will” (16:36). In the darkest valley, facing impending death, Jesus found the strength to move even deeper into that shadowy place because of the presence of his Father. In our darkest moments, only the presence of the living God will allow us to be scared to death and confident of his peace all at the same time.

Our temptation is to rush forward in the story, to focus on Jesus defeating death once and for all when he was raised on Sunday. Kate Bowler wrote about a church she visited on Good Friday who began by saying, “Aren’t you glad we serve a risen savior?” (https://katebowler.substack.com/p/eastering-the-crap-out-of-lent). And we do, that’s true. But I want to urge you not to hurry. Sit with Jesus tonight in the upper room, in the valley, in the garden. Watch him wrestle with the Father, because if we’re honest, we all know we’ve been there. The sting of betrayal. The hopelessness of the future. The fear of death. We’ve sat with David and with Jesus in the darkest valley, the valley of the shadow of death. We know that prayer: “Take this cup from me!” Don’t rush ahead because if we do we will never really know the peace and the hope found in David’s words: “I will fear no evil, for you are with me” (Psalm 23:4). If we hurry ahead to claim the promise without knowing the struggle, going toward the cross, we can’t really affirm Jesus’ last prayer: “Not what I will, but what you will” (16:36). And that’s where he wants us to end up. In the garden: more of you, less of me. I may be scared to death, but if you are with me, I know I can face whatever comes because everything is possible for him.

Tonight, let’s sit with Jesus in the valley of the shadow of death, knowing that he will be with us always. The bread and the cup remind us of that truth and he has proven it over and over and over again. He is faithful; above all else, he is faithful, to the very end. “Surely goodness and love will follow me all the days of my life, and I will dwell in the house of the Lord forever” (Psalm 23:6). Amen.