As I jump into my car to pick up my kids after school, I whisper a quick prayer. I ask God for protection as I drive—and for a parking spot. I greatly dislike (to put it politely!) driving. Where we live in India, obnoxious trucks, teetering buses, cars, three-wheeled autos (tuk-tuks in some countries), zipping motorcycles, and a myriad of bikes, people, dogs, and meandering cows zig-zag their way through potholed roads. A Tuesday morning trip to the grocery store is wilder than any Disney World thrill ride. And, if there’s one thing I “dislike” more than driving, it’s finding a parking spot and then attempting not to embarrass myself while I valiantly try to parallel park. Hence, the “arrow” prayers that I shoot up to God before I hit the pedal.

While arrow prayers are awesome (and much needed), are we also creating space in our lives for what we can call, “agonizing” prayers?

As we read week 2 of our “Rid Me of Myself” Lent devotional, can we stop for a moment in the Garden of Gethsemane where Jesus prayed in deep agony of heart?

After the Last Supper, Jesus withdrew to the Garden to pray. A few of His disciples—Peter, James, and John—sat a little ways off, while Jesus “fell with His face to the ground and prayed.” (Matthew 26:39).

This wasn’t an arrow prayer. This was a prayer of deep distress and profound anguish.

Three times, Jesus cried out to His Father. His prayer was so powerfully intense that His sweat fell like drops of blood.

“My Father, if it is possible, may this cup be taken from me.”  (Matthew 26: 39a)

Jesus’ cry was real and raw. He revealed His sorrow to His disciples—and to us. By capturing this moment through Scripture, He invited us to experience His stunning vulnerability.

He had come to die. But before death, the most sorrowful, alienating, isolating moment would come: separation from the Father. On the cross, as Jesus embodied our depravity, He would cry, “My God, My God, why have You forsaken me?” (Matthew 27: 46). As He enfolded our sin and shame, He would become estranged from His Father.

And, so, He cried out in the Garden for the cup of suffering to be removed from Him.

But then He continued.

“Yet not as I will, but as you will.” (Matthew 26:39b)

His prayer of agony becomes a prayer of acceptance.

Yes, Jesus was real and raw as He cried out to His Father—but He was also reverent and humble before Him.

Jesus lets us sit in among olive trees in the Garden of Gethsemane and witness His deeply personal distress. Like the olives in that orchard that would be crushed for oil, He would be crushed and poured out so we could be healed from our brokenness.

Friend, what is your cry of agony? You can be real and raw before God because Jesus Himself reveals His vulnerability to us. But can we also move from that place of agony to a place of acceptance? Can we be both real and reverential before God? Can we express our pain and embrace His design?

May we go to Him with arrow prayers. But also with prayers of agony and prayers of acceptance, with prayers of suffering and prayers of surrender.

In our own strength, we cannot. But just as an angel came down to strengthen Jesus, the Holy Spirit empowers us when we are crushed.

We can trust the God who chose to be pressed down and poured out for us—even unto death.

Bring it Home

What are some circumstances where I’m holding back from saying, “Yet, not my will, but Yours be done”?

What stops me from placing my trust in a God who poured out His life for me?

Lean In

Lord Jesus, As I hear Your cries of agony from the Garden of Gethsemane, I realize I only comprehend a muffled version of what You prayed. I cannot ever fully understand the depth of Your sorrow and the power of Your submission. Thank You for showing me what real humility looks like. As I cry out to You in my sorrows, fears, and troubles, may I also behold the Cross. May I find my rest in You. Amen

 

 

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