“My Father, if it is possible, let this cup pass from me; yet not what I want but what you want.”
We’re getting to the Passion of Jesus. I’m reminded of my visceral feelings every time I read or see “To Kill a Mockingbird”. Every time, I have a secret hope that they will do the right thing, that Tom Robinson won’t be wrongly convicted. Every time he is. And so it is with reading the Passion. Every time, I have this sense of dim hope, that the story won’t play out with the betrayal, torture and execution. Every time it is. I know the story doesn’t end there, but it is an odd human trait that I hold out hope.
If it is possible, let this cup pass from me, Jesus prays while his disciples sleep. Jesus knows what is in store, or at least knows the broad outline. He has been telling his disciples that he will be betrayed and handed over to die on the cross. And still he prays to God that the cup could be passed over. He holds out hope.
He returns to his disciples and finds them sleeping, is saddened and disappointed and asks them again to stay awake while he prays. If it was the middle of the night, if they’d already fallen asleep once, if Jesus was God incarnate, I wonder if it was plausible for him to even remotely think they’d stay awake. But he held out hope that they would.
The next time he goes away to pray, his prayer drastically changes, and I don’t think I’ve ever noticed that. The first time he prays that the cup passes him by. The second two times he prays that if the cup cannot pass, God’s will be done. It’s as if he’s given up the notion that the cup can pass him by and has acknowledged that it cannot. Given that, Jesus prays, God’s will be done. He’s made a slight shift, from hoping that the cup can pass, to praying that God’s will be done, given that it likely cannot.
We hold out hope that things will turn out the way we want them to. I want to hold out hope like Jesus, and pray that if things don’t turn out the way I want, I’m willing to acknowledge and have assurity that God’s will be done.
In my world, it’s easy to hold out hope for a miracle cure for an as-of-yet incurable brain disorder. To hope that arguing people of God will make peace. That children won’t be hungry or abandoned or hurt. To hope the pandemic will stop ruining my loved ones’ plans. I don’t think I’ll ever stop hoping. But I need to be equally committed to the second half of this. If my deep hope cannot happen God, your will be done.
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