Shouldering the Weight of the World

Mark 14:32-42

It is the darkest night—ever. You are barely able to make out the slumped silhouettes of about a dozen men while they plod across the valley as if being led to their own execution. When they reach a modest grove of olive trees, most sit down, their hunched shoulders pulling them toward the ground almost as if against their will. Four men move on silently deeper into the trees. Moving stealthily, you are able to get close enough to hear their hushed voices.

One says to the others, “My soul aches with grief to the point of dying. Stay here and watch while I pray.”

The remaining three exchange bewildered, frightened glances before they reluctantly sit with their backs against the trunks of some trees. One—the One who has been speaking—moves even further into the olive grove so He can be alone. The remaining three, burdened by the night’s events and the dire predictions, close their eyes to pray...and none of them are aware of when they cross that line from praying to unconsciousness...and soon they are asleep.

The other One, however, collapses amongst the roots and the rocks. With His face in the ground, He breaks the uneasy silence with a horrific, guttural groaning. “Father! Daddy!” The silence is thick. “Daddy, I know You can do anything...anything!” His plaintive praise is met head-on with nothingness. There is no thundering voice, no Spirit coming from heaven like a dove, no reassurance whatsoever. Nothing. This One is alone; more alone, perhaps, than even He realizes. Undeterred, He continues, “Take this cup that is brimming with sin and suffering and death from Me. I may not be able to bear it.” Still, more silence. His moaning now is more agonizing, as if some dreadful, monumental battle is waging in the depths of His soul and body. For nearly an hour you hear no recognizable words. You briefly consider approaching this figure, but think better of it, fearing this struggle of life and death.

After what seems a breaking point, you hear a submissive whisper, “It’s not what I want. It’s what You want...that’s what I want.”

In the surrender, you sense relief...and for the first time in over an hour, the muscles in your shoulders relax and the eased tension causes an audible sigh. Fearing He heard you, you hide completely behind the rock from where you’ve been watching everything unfold.

When you are finally brave enough to look again, the One is gone. You hear muffled voices in the distance, on the edge of the trees, and you find yourself flying to get within earshot. The One has returned to the three He left behind. “Are you asleep?” He asks as they quickly try to stir to life. “Couldn’t you keep watch for an hour? You must stay alert and pray so that you will not fall into temptation. Your spirit may be willing, but your flesh is still weak.” He is disappointed...as He realizes how alone He actually is.

With those stinging, but sympathetic words, He returns to the cold darkness. He prays again. He prays the same prayer as though He’d never prayed it before. Despite the night chill, sweat pours from His body just as if He were engaged in mortal combat. Going back to check on the three, He is not surprised to find them snoring. This time they could muster no excuses for failing their Friend.

The third trip into the depths of the olive grove is quiet. The prayer, although just as anguished, is silent. The answer from heaven is silence. He knows, however, that this silence is the answer. It’s not the answer He asked for. It’s not the answer He hoped for. It is simply the answer.

When He wakes His friends for the third time, fiery orange torches are already snaking across the valley toward them. Fear and distress envelope the sleepers, but not Him. The dread in His voice has been replaced by a calm, reassuring peace. The time has finally come, and for the next three days all creation will hold its breath.

You could accurately call this night “the Second Temptation”

-early in Jesus’ ministry, Satan tempted Him to chase after

popularity, to take a shortcut, to get glory without sacrifice

--three years later, nothing has changed—Jesus is tempted to walk

away from the Father’s will, to discover His own, easier path

-it’s a temptation many of us face every day

--perhaps nothing appears more lucrative than to walk away from

our commitments...to pursue the false freedom Satan offers

---abandon your family

---leave your church

---turn your back on God and His ridiculous rules

---walk away from your responsibilities

----after all, these people, these things are only holding you

back from being all you could be—you deserve better!

--it’s a lie

---and many people find that out only after it’s too late

----all those things that tie you down are the same things that

keep you grounded

---after walking away, they realize they haven’t found the

freedom they thought they wanted...instead they’ve lost the

support and security they need

-perhaps you need to hear that word clearly this morning à don’t

walk away from your God-given responsibilities

--not only are others depending on you, but you will be forced to

pay a price you are neither willing nor able to afford

Jesus, too, could have walked

-with a word, He could have summoned an army of angels to wipe

out the hatred, greed, and self-righteous religion that sought His life

--with a word, He could have traded the rough wood of the cross

for the comfort of the throne that rightfully bore His name

--with a word, He could have left us sinners to fend for our pitiful,

wretched selves...which, of course, is exactly what we deserve

-but He didn’t...instead, He prayed

You also could accurately call this night “the Second Silent Night”

-where was God when Jesus was pre-living the anguish of death?

-why was God silent when His only Son cried for His Daddy?

Jesus shows us that the silence is not to be feared or avoided

-most of us have not learned that lesson, however

--we go to great lengths to eliminate silence—television, radio,

CDs, iPods now form the soundtrack of our lives—anything to

keep us from dealing with what the silence may bring

--we’ve come to believe that silence is more than awkward; silence

means we’re lost and alone

But Gethsemane shows us that God is present in the silence

-yes, Jesus struggled with it...at times it appeared to threaten His

relationship with His Father

--but the truth is, God uses silence to build our trust in Him

---will we still trust Him even when we cannot see Him?

---will we still trust Him even when we cannot feel His presence?

---will we still trust Him even when we do not know where He is

leading us?

---will we still trust Him even when we cannot hear His voice?

Gethsemane also reveals often silence is itself the answer to our

prayers

-for us, that’s probably the most difficult aspect of that night

--we usually mistake silence for abandonment or for disinterest

--instead, God often intends for silence to draw us closer to Him

Marilyn Chandler McEntyre à Somewhere on the dusty shelf of books I read to my children when they were young is a little volume called “A Hole Is to Dig.” Each charmingly illustrated page declares the purpose of something: "A pile of leaves is to jump in." "A mud puddle is to slide in and go 'Oodlee-oddlee-oo!'" And so on.

The reasoning is sound, if you're a child. The world is made for our general entertainment; it gives us things to do and pleasures to revel in. There's something rather poignant about reading the book as an adult, having developed a much more pragmatic sense of the purposes of things like holes (to fill in before someone trips and sues you) or piles of leaves (to put into plastic bags before the Thursday pickup) or mud (to scrape off shoes before walking on the carpet).

The same pragmatism that turns a tired and jaundiced eye toward holes and mud seems to...[be] reflected in churches...[when it comes to] the purpose of silence. Silence, it seems, is to be filled….

Perhaps it would help us to hear more regularly the story of Elijah on Mount Horeb, waiting for the Lord to pass by. The Lord, you remember, was not in the great wind, or the earthquake, or the fire, but...in the "sound of sheer silence." The church's long history... seems to suggest that there is some knowledge of God that can come only in stillness—silence large and long and intentional enough to open a sacred space for the Holy One to enter.

Sir Paul Reeves prayed à

God, grant me to be silent before You—that I may hear You;

[to be] at rest in You—that You may work in me;

[to be] open to You—that You may enter;

[to be] empty before You—that You may fill me.

Let me be still and know You are my God.

Gethsemane also sheds light on God’s goal for our prayers

-if you had to reduce “God’s goal for my prayers” to a single word,

what would you suppose that is?

--I’ll admit, sometimes it seems God’s goal is to frustrate us or to

wear us down or to keep us guessing

-but...Gethsemane teaches us that God’s goal for our prayers is to

lead us to surrender

--in praying we, of course, outline our needs, our wants, our will

---“If it is possible, take this cup from Me,” Jesus pleaded

----there is absolutely nothing wrong with this request

-----but Jesus wasn’t finished praying

---“Yet not what I will, but what You will.”

----that is the voice and heart of surrender, of sacrifice, of

willing submission to a higher authority

----it is also the voice of love, hope, and trust

-to get us to that place...to get us to that prayer...God often replies

with—guess what?—silence

--and when we surrender our will and He conforms it to His,

our prayer is truly answered and God’s purposes are fulfilled

Gethsemane also stands as a reminder nothing has been or ever can

be the same since that moment

-that is the ultimate effect of prayer—radical change

--we are no longer the same

-in Christ’s willingness to drink the cup, He died a thousand deaths

--Read 1 Peter 2:22-24

---Jesus bore our vile, deadly sins in His perfect, yet beaten

and bloodied body...shouldering the weight of the world

--and because of His prayer that led Him to the cross, we are no

longer the same—we cannot be

---in light of Christ’s sacrificial surrender, listen to what Peter

goes on to say about us à Read 1Peter 2:21, 25

Per Nilson à My, Bjorn, was sick. I took his temperature, and it was 102.5. The Children's Advil came out. He slugged down the appropriate dose for his size. Forty-five minutes later the fever was down to 100.

Just before bed, I checked his temperature again. It was back up. More Advil. I checked again 45 minutes later; now it was 103. Concerned, I asked Bjorn to drink more water. He obliged, but he was clearly struggling.

At 12:30 A.M. the thermometer was shaken down and placed under the tongue of my lethargic son. His skin was hot. His affect dulled. 104.

I called the urgent care facility at the local medical center. They said, "Bring him in as soon as possible."

My wife, Mary, took Bjorn while I stayed home with our younger son, Kristian. While she started the van, I got Bjorn ready. I jostled him. He awoke. I told him we were going to the doctor. He looked at me with weary, wondering eyes and said, "Am I going to die, Daddy?"

I’m going to interrupt his story because I want you to imagine again that moment when the Son asked, “Am I going to die, Daddy?” And with a broken heart, the Father lovingly answered, “Yes.”

That moment was Gethsemane.