It was a difficult time. Everyone could feel the pain. So unexpected. The young lad was in his prime, and to see life snuffed out just like that.....
        Many people gathered to support the family in their pain - lots of tears, hugs and quiet conversations around the picture memory boards. Occasionally folks would steal glances at family members. I heard someone say, "She’s doing so well. She’s not even crying. So strong."

        And then there was the chap struggling with an incredibly difficult work situation. Tension you could cut with a knife. Imminent threat of termination. Totally unrealistic performance expectations. And because of age some real concerns about ongoing employability. We tossed around the various possibilities; shared some of the memories of difficult experiences. He became visibly shaken at one point. Broke down as the enormous nature of the whole thing washed over him. And then – as though someone turned off the tap, he caught himself, gave a huge, slobbery honker into a napkin and sat up. "Sorry. I know I shouldn’t be like this. I’m a Christian. I know I should behave better. Sorry for being such a whimp."

        What do you say in such a situation?
        How ARE you supposed to behave when, as a believer, you face these kinds of pressures? Realistically – how? Or, even beyond realistically, if you were the ideal believer, with an enormous gift of faith – how do we handle, how could we handle, how does God expect us to handle all these tough moments of life?

        As we come closer to the time of Good Friday and Lent, we have an opportunity to have that question answered for us in a most unmistakable manner. For we see God Himself facing pain, deep mind-searing pain and tension over what’s coming in the future. The Son of God - how strong was He; especially in those moments when no one else was around?
        How did He deal with times of trauma that threatened to crush Him?

Let’s read together and enter the experiences of Jesus Christ -

He’s had a very intimate time with His closest friends and followers - the Last Supper, where they shared the most sacred meal in the Jewish faith - Passover. He prayed with them and for them at that time.

But now they move beyond that, into the darkness of the Mt. Of Olives and a garden known as Gethsemane. It’s going to be a tough night. So a quick statement - "Pray that you will not fall into temptation." And then off for some time alone. Not right out of sight, but far enough away to be quiet among the grove of trees in the garden.

We read the terse description of His inner pain.
He drops to his knees to pray – Jews never kneel to pray. They stand. But Jesus simply couldn’t. He almost collapses. Too heavy.
The heavy prayer.
The angel.
More prayer.
In Matthew we read Jesus say to his disciples, "The sorrow in my heart is so great that it almost crushes me...." Like olives put in a press to squeeze out the oil, so our Lord is squeezed and pressured, till he sweats what look like drops of blood. Hematidrosis - where one’s sweat and blood actually mix because of tremendous strain and stress causing undue pressure on the muscles, skin and blood vessels.

His struggle was unique because what He was to endure was unique - the greatest spiritual battle ever seen in the Cosmos was about to begin as He, Jesus, would take on all the forces and powers that Hell could muster against Him. He, Jesus, would be abandoned by His Heavenly Father -- without His Holy Fatherly presence for the first time in all Cosmic history. He would be dumped on with the payback and punishment for the sin of all humanity.
        On Him.

There would be physical pain of torture and murder.
There would be social pain as all who loved Him run away.
There would be emotional pain as all would jeer Him and cheer His death.
There would be spiritual pain as He faced Hell..... alone.

The Bible is clear enough about Jesus’ ability to look ahead that we know He was well aware of what was coming. Something that, most of the time, we don’t have.... thankfully.
        Time kept moving.
        Those of you who have faced life-threatening surgery have perhaps a hint of what that can be like to watch it come. A month before you can face it. A week before, you start to wake up at night and think about it some. The day before........ And then when you enter the hospital......
"Father, if you are willing, take this cup from me....." (V.42)
        Cup was standard bible imagery for anger or suffering.
        It becomes particularly symbolic on this night because of where Jesus has just been – the Passover supper, where He passed round a cup and said, "Drink of it, all of you. This is my blood, which is for you."

Jesus is feeling a pull, a temptation to try and bail out from the task ahead. Somehow, could there be – a way out, some other option? Or could there be some way things could be toned down?

"....yet not my will, but yours be done." (V.42)
These words, in a time with no one watching, are the same words that had been spoken months before, in a very public place and a much calmer time, to His followers -
        Your kingdom come,
        Your will be done,
        On earth as it is in heaven.
                (Matthew 6:10.)

"Your will be done..."
The Heidelberg Catechism gives a paraphrase of those words this way,

"Help us and all people to reject our own wills and to obey your will without any back talk. Your will alone is good. Help everyone carry out the work they are called to as willingly and faithfully as the angels in heaven." (Q/A 124)

"Now an angel from heaven appeared to Him, strengthening Him."
        Apparently this wasn’t any fancy, overwhelmingly powerful bright light and glory type angel appearance, because the disciples remain zoned out in their zombie state just a stone’s throw away.
        Perhaps the angel was visible only to Jesus.
        Perhaps He only experienced it in a quiet, inner way – a reassuring sense that He was not alone, a quiet heavenly arm around his shoulders not saying anything but just being there for Him.
        You know how that is, right? It can be SO good to have someone there who knows when it’s right to stay quiet and just hold you. Hang on tight.
                I wonder if that isn’t what the angel does.

"And being in anguish......" says v.44.
        In anguish – there are two ways you can read the word used here in the ancient Greek manuscripts. The word could refer to deep, inner pain and trouble. It could also refer to an overwhelming focus and burden of concentrating on the task ahead – like, for example, an athlete experiences while stepping out into the championship round of some very significant competition.
        We really can’t tell which it is. And I think that the Holy Spirit is quite content leaving it this way. I really believe that there is probably a mixture of the two going on inside Jesus.
                He knows what He’s got to do. And He prepares hard for it.
                But He also experiences HUGE stress and tension over it.

And with that, we’re told, He prays more earnestly.
What thoughts do you think Satan would be trying to plant in His mind right now?
        "Run! There’s still time to escape. No one will see you. If you stay, I’m going to get you."

Earlier in His ministry Jesus had taught His followers - "Ask and it shall be given you. Seek and you shall find. Knock and the door shall be opened to you." (Lk 11:9).
        So Jesus asks. And His Father in Heaven gives the last minute strength that will be needed to cross the threshold and enter the last lap of this ordeal. Doesn’t mean that it was easy. Jesus asks – but He still had to personally make the decision to stay. He still suffers the pain. He still is abandoned.
                But He doesn’t collapse under it all.
                He is given the strength to hang in during the hard times.
                        - Marathon runner endurance strength.

Can you see how tough this was for Jesus?
The divine Son of God – didn’t smile benignly under the trees without a tear on his holy face, quietly waiting for Judas. He didn’t stand like some rock, without so much as a finger quivering.
        When a human being – unbeliever, believer, or Son of God – when a human being faces tough times it affects them body, emotions, soul.

And we don’t do anyone favours by trying to swallow that stuff, pretending it doesn’t exist.
        Because it does.
        And we have to face it.
        Driving it right under, denying it, or covering it up only opens doors for all kinds of sicknesses and other broken responses to show up somehow in our lives.

Is there, though, some difference in the way a believer or an unbeliever deals with the horrors, the tough challenges and the pain that life invariably dumps on every one of us?

In Psalm 56, verses 3-4 we read:
        When I am afraid, I will trust in you.
        In God, whose word I praise,
        In God I trust; I will not be afraid.
        What can mortal man do to me?

When I am afraid – fear comes, whether you are a believer or an unbeliever.
        Those moments when the present or the future looms large and threatening. When you’re not sure that you’ll be able to make it. Or when memorizes and traumas from the past are triggered by situations today.

Marva Dawn points us to French theologian Jacques Ellul, who helps us to see that followers in the footsteps of Jesus live neither as pessimists, nor as eternal optimists. Rather, we live as realists. Christian realism, says Ellul, balances in a healthy sense the reality of pain and trouble in life with the trusting hope in the truth of God’s ultimate victory over sin and evil in all their forms.
[in M.Dawn I’m Lonely Lord, How Long? P.59]

The Hebrew construction of Psalm 56 actually reads, "In the day when I am afraid, I will trust in you."
        The trusting in God’s ultimate power and strength go hand in hand with the fear. They are present at the same time. The one does not exclude the other – which, unfortunately, is a truth often forgotten as we heap loads of guilt on ourselves and others with this strange notion that believers are, or must be, strong as oaks, never bending and waving as willows.

        It is precisely to the Lord that we can admit our fear, and open up about our anxieties and inner tensions, temptations and pains. And as we do, we’ll find that we’re given the strength to deal with them and to somehow move ahead. Heaven’s comforting power somehow shows up into our lives.... even when no one else can see it; and even if there still will be really hard moments and more tears, more fears ahead.
        We won’t be facing them alone.

        Marva Dawn suffers from a significant number of disabilities in her life, including struggles with blood sugar and low blood pressure. One day, as she was preparing to lead a bible study in a church to which she had been invited to teach, she felt overwhelmed with a dizziness and weakness far worse than normal. She also felt herself begin to panic. Huddled down on the kitchen floor she opened up to the Lord, "Lord, I am afraid of what is going on in my body right now. I don’t know why it is malfunctioning like this, and I’m scared about it. But I do know that you are a God who takes care of your people, and I know that you are here to help me with this. Teach me to trust you even though what I feel right now is fear." [op cit p.60] The panic began to drain away. She was able to think, and began to deal with the situation in a manner that allowed her to give her lecture a couple of hours later.
        Small example, perhaps, but it makes the point.

        When I am afraid, I will trust in you.
        In God, whose word I praise,
        In God I trust; I will not be afraid.

......whose word I praise.
        Think today about the ultimate Word of God. The Bible calls Jesus THE Word of God – His final and great word to humanity displaying His love and care and depth of devotion; how far He was willing to go on our behalf.

Hebrews 4.15-16 says:

For we do not have a high priest who is unable to sympathise with our weaknesses, but we have one who has been tempted in every way, just as we are - yet was without sin. Let us then approach the throne of grace with confidence, so that we may receive mercy and find grace to help us in our time of need.

In the season of Lent we turn to Jesus, who has been to the deepest level of human struggle and torment. Deepest pain, tension, and anguish.
        We turn to Him without any masks or pretense of being super strong people – or robots that don’t feel. And in the very times of our fears, our challenges, our pains and our uncertainties, when we can’t even hold ourselves up, we drop to our knees and pray. We expose ourselves, just as we are, to our Saviour. We reveal all to our Heavenly Father.

And then we’ll find that,
        somehow,
Perhaps in spectacular ways
Perhaps in ways that even we can barely notice -
        He’ll come through in holy, heavenly real ways for us.

The cross, where He went the full distance for us, stands as witness of that.