[Machine transcription]
Grace, mercy, and peace to you from God our Father and from our Lord and Savior Jesus Christ. Amen. From St. Matthew, chapter 26. Then he said to them, “My soul is very sorrowful, even to death. Remain here and watch with me.”
Was Jesus a real human being? Well, of course he was. Practically everybody believes that, right? Well, not so fast. Some of the biggest doctrinal battles in the early years of Christianity were over whether Jesus really was both God and man in one person. Some thought he only appeared human, but wasn’t really. Today’s text ought to put that idea permanently to rest. Someone who is not a human being like us couldn’t possibly experience the things that Jesus did that night in the Garden of Gethsemane. There, Jesus feels both the grief of the battle and the peace of victory as only a human being can.
The grief of the battle is what Jesus felt even before the cross. It begins with the disappointing behavior of his closest friends. In just a few hours, Jesus would go through unimaginable humiliation, torture, and death. He will do this for the sins of the whole world, for you and for me, and for his disciples, Peter, James, and John. Amen. There in the garden, fully aware of what was about to come, Jesus wants his friends near him. And one of the characteristics of being human is that we do yearn for the support and companionship of beloved friends and family during those joys and sorrows of life. We don’t want to be totally alone, but we don’t necessarily want everyone there either. We do want someone, perhaps two or three there. Amen. And Jesus is just as human as we are. He wants Peter and James and John there to watch with Him.
And what are they to watch for? Not the enemy, as if Jesus somehow needs to be warned so that He can escape. That wasn’t it at all. Jesus has no intention of escaping. Perhaps Jesus wants them there to watch so that they can see the spiritual and emotional pain that He is going through for them so that they might better appreciate His saving work. Also, He may want them to watch so that they can feel something of what He feels, as close brothers might, and maybe pray for Him as He prays and weep with Him when He weeps. But they’re too busy sleeping. Part of Jesus’ battle, then, is that redeeming sinners is ultimately something He’s going to have to do alone.
Moreover, the grief of the battle includes Jesus’ contemplation of the cruelty to which He is soon going to be subjected. An inhuman treatment to offenders was all part of life back in ancient times. Public floggings, stonings, execution by arrows, sword, or crucifixion were commonplace in that world. Jesus had probably personally seen this sort of brutality. And we know from the Scriptures that He had even once Himself come to the rescue of a woman who was about to be stoned. It must have been awful in that day to witness that sort of brutality, to hear the screams of the victims and feel and hear the thuds of the arrows and the stones. And yet it’s far worse to contemplate oneself being the victim.
Both Son of God and man, Jesus is fully aware of what will soon happen to him. Surely he’d read in Isaiah of what awaited him, words such as these: “I gave my back to those who strike, and my cheeks to those who pull out the beard. I hid not my face from disgrace and spitting.” And again from the Psalms: “In just minutes, the fulfillment of these prophecies and many more will begin. And they will go on and on throughout the night, into the morning, past noon the next day, ending only when Jesus’ last breath would leave His mortal body about three o’clock that afternoon.”
Every detail of what lay ahead, second by second, is vividly in the mind of Jesus. No wonder He prays, “‘My Father, if it be possible, let this cup pass from Me.'” Not just once does Jesus pray this way, but three times. This is all part of the battle, the inner struggle of Jesus as He faces the cross, pleading with the Father to find some other way. And this is as much a battle with temptation as was the contest with the devil out in the wilderness. Jesus had won the first one. Now he’s in the second, an even greater battle, because it involves not just contemplating the physical agony ahead, but also enduring the wrath of God and the separation from his heavenly Father.
That is the cup of which Jesus speaks. The cup of God’s wrath appears throughout the Bible, from the Old Testament to the Gospels and even to the book of Revelation. In the same chapter of Isaiah mentioned earlier, are words Jesus would have known quite well. “Thus says the Lord your God, who pleads the cause of His people: Behold, I have taken from your hand the cup of staggering, the bowl of my wrath you shall drink no more.” Never again would God make His people drink the cup of His wrath, Isaiah promises.
And why is that? It’s because Jesus Christ is about to drink it for them. This cup is the suffering and death of Jesus. It is the wrath of God that Jesus endures for all of us sinners. And only Jesus can drink that awful poison and save us. At the Last Supper, the disciples had drunk of Jesus’ cup too, partaking in the sacrament and thus sharing in the saving work of Jesus. By partaking in the cup, this suffering and this death of Jesus and the wrath of God that He endured, the payment for their sins would not be accounted to them, and they would be saved. But it’s not just for them. It’s for all of us as well.
The cup of God’s wrath is before Jesus as He prays and as His disciples sleep. In a profound mystery, God will be separated from God on the cross. Jesus Christ, both God and man, one undivided person, will be forsaken by God his Father. The one through whom all things were made, the light of the world, the very author of life, will die. It is impossible for you and for me to comprehend this, but in the garden, as he prays, Jesus comprehends it fully, and it’s horrible to contemplate. He sweats drops of blood as he prays. Let’s read it. Next time his prayer is slightly different. “My Father, if this cannot pass unless I drink it, Your will be done.”
Everything Jesus knows from the Scriptures points to this. That it is His Father’s will that He drink of this cup of wrath. That doesn’t prevent Him from asking, because Jesus does not pull rank with His omniscience here. It’s still all in the Father’s hands. But there’s a certain peace in Jesus’ prayer. It is all in the Father’s hands. He is at peace with His Father’s will. He has faith that if He drinks of God’s wrath, ultimately, the victory will be won.
The peace of victory is what Jesus felt when this battle in Gethsemane was over. Jesus is at peace in his heart with his Father. The devil has been defeated once again. The cross still lay ahead, but Jesus will triumph at the empty tomb. So he gets up from the ground where he has been praying and weeping and sweating and bleeding with the same calmness and serenity that we see him carry all the way to Calvary. It’s the peace of victory that Jesus has even as this dreadful hour approaches.
He returns to the disciples and they are there still sleeping. The disciples deserve a good scolding. Three times Jesus has tried to keep them awake to watch with Him, but to no avail. And now, there remains no time for sleep. But soon there will be. The time is coming near when Jesus will have to drink that cup of God’s wrath. But after that, in the near future, there will be a time of peace and of rest forever. The victory only comes after the battle, but as it comes, Jesus has won the battle with temptation once again.
He’s reconciled to the fact that the cross is unavoidable. He will die, but His death will save the world from sin and death and the devil. And so, as of Easter morning, no believer ever need worry again or lose sleep again. The victory has been won. Those sleeping disciples don’t know it yet, but they are now safe. With Jesus’ victory will come for them peace, a time in which they can take their rest.
The disciples sleep while Jesus engages the enemy in mortal combat. Their lives are in danger, but they don’t seem to realize it, and they’re helpless to do anything about it anyway. So Jesus engages temptation and the devil all alone. He weeps, prays, sweats and bleeds all by himself. He struggles, but intervenes. But in the end, he submits himself to the Father’s will. Then, when it’s all over, the battle won, he wakes his disciples. They have no idea what it is that they’ve slept through, but the plan of redemption has been set in motion. All is going to be okay.
There’s a story about a great battle in the First World War that raged on for several days. Around the clock, shells were exploding and bullets were flying. Craters covered the entire landscape. There didn’t seem to be a living thing anywhere. Not a blade of grass, nor even a tree that hadn’t been shot away. The battle-weary soldiers huddled in trenches and in shelters. Then suddenly, the shooting stopped. The rumblings of the heavy guns died away. The smoke cleared. The gunfire started. There was an eerie silence. Then, breaking this silence, a lone bird started singing. Where it came from or how it managed to survive all the chaos and destruction, no one knows. But there it was, singing. Singing. Tremendous suffering and death still lay ahead, but that singing bird was a promise to the end of that war, a promise that one day things would be all well again.
Jesus’ words to the sleeping disciples are somewhat like the hopeful song of that bird. “I’ve won the battle,” He could say. “The war will soon be over. In the future, you will sleep. Take your rest in peace.” That peace is the peace of victory. Wars do come and wars do go. Peace does not last here on earth. Yet Jesus’ victory gives us total peace, real peace, that peace which surpasses all human understanding.
Even when things like terror strike our country and we must go into battle, the peace of Jesus remains. As he said that first Easter evening when he appeared to his disciples in the upper room, “Peace be unto you.” That’s what Jesus’ resurrection gives, his peace. Sin, death, and the devil are defeated. Peace with God has been won for us. It began with Jesus’ victory over temptation in Gethsemane. It was secured for us at the cross, and it was guaranteed by the empty tomb.
It’s applied to you and to me every time we drink from the cup. Not the cup of God’s wrath, but the cup of our Lord Jesus Christ at His supper in faith. Tonight, in the assurance of Christ’s victory, may you sleep peacefully and take your rest. Amen.
Let us pray.
Lord Jesus, we can scarcely fathom the depths of suffering that you endured in the garden while your friends slept. The agony of the cross, separation from your Father, the cup of God’s wrath you would drink for the sins of the world. All of this unfolded before you as you prayed and your brow dripped with bloody sweat. Thank you that you did not flee from this burden, but willingly took it upon yourself, that we might be spared the punishment that our sins deserve, and thus live forever in God’s peace. In your holy name we pray. Amen.
