The Agony of the King
Introduction: The Cost of the Crown
We live in a soft age, an age that worships comfort and despises suffering. Our therapeutic culture wants a manageable Jesus, a smiling Jesus, a Jesus who affirms our choices and helps us with our self-esteem. We want a king, to be sure, but we want a king who ascends to his throne without any unpleasantness. We want the resurrection without the crucifixion, the crown without the cross, the triumph without the agony. We want a gospel of glory, but we have no stomach for a gospel of suffering.
But the gospel is not a self-help program. It is a story of blood and iron, of a great war fought and won in a garden and on a hill. And here in Gethsemane, which means "oil press," we are brought to the very heart of that battle. Here, the grape of God's own Son is crushed, so that the wine of our salvation might be poured out. This is not a moment of weakness or doubt. This is not Jesus having a crisis of faith. This is the God-man, in the fullness of his humanity, staring into the abyss of the cup of God's wrath and, in perfect, obedient love, choosing to drink it for us.
The scene in Gethsemane is one of the most profound in all of Scripture because it reveals the true nature of Christ's work. He did not die as a martyr, swept up by circumstances. He went to the cross as a willing, sovereign king, having already fought and won the decisive battle here, on His knees, in the dirt. He fought not against the Romans or the Jews, but against the temptation to abandon the Father's will. And in His victory, He secured ours. If we do not understand Gethsemane, we will never understand the cross.
The Text
Then they came to a place named Gethsemane; and He said to His disciples, "Sit here until I have prayed." And He took with Him Peter and James and John, and began to be very distressed and troubled. And He said to them, "My soul is deeply grieved to the point of death; remain here and keep watch." And He went a little beyond them, and fell to the ground and began to pray that if it were possible, the hour might pass from Him. And He was saying, "Abba! Father! All things are possible for You; remove this cup from Me; yet not what I will, but what You will." And He came and found them sleeping, and said to Peter, "Simon, are you sleeping? Could you not keep watch for one hour? Keep watching and praying that you may not come into temptation; the spirit is willing, but the flesh is weak." And again He went away and prayed, saying the same words. And again He came and found them sleeping, for their eyes were very heavy; and they did not know what to answer Him. And He came the third time, and said to them, "Are you still sleeping and resting? It is enough; the hour has come; behold, the Son of Man is being betrayed into the hands of sinners. Get up, let us go; behold, the one who betrays Me is at hand!"
(Mark 14:32-42 LSB)
The Grief of the God-Man (vv. 32-34)
The scene opens with Jesus and His disciples entering the garden. He is preparing for battle, and He brings His lieutenants with Him.
"And He took with Him Peter and James and John, and began to be very distressed and troubled. And He said to them, 'My soul is deeply grieved to the point of death; remain here and keep watch.'" (Mark 14:33-34)
He takes the inner circle, the same three men who witnessed His glory on the Mount of Transfiguration. This is a crucial connection. The men who saw Him shining with the uncreated light of the Godhead must now witness Him in the depths of human agony. The glory and the suffering are two sides of the same coin. You cannot have the transfiguration without Gethsemane. You cannot understand His deity without grappling with His true humanity.
The language here is shockingly strong. "Distressed," "troubled," "deeply grieved to the point of death." This is not mere sadness. This is a profound, soul-crushing horror. What is the source of this agony? It is not simply the fear of physical pain, though the cross was an instrument of unimaginable torture. It is not the fear of betrayal or abandonment by His friends. The horror that gripped the Son of God was the prospect of bearing the sin of the world and, in doing so, enduring the undiluted wrath of His Father. He who knew no sin was about to become sin for us (2 Cor. 5:21). The one who had existed in perfect, eternal fellowship with the Father was about to cry out, "My God, My God, why have you forsaken Me?" This is the terror. This is the grief unto death. He commands them to "keep watch," to enter into this spiritual battle with Him through prayer. It is a simple command, a call to fellowship.
The Cup and the Will (vv. 35-36)
Jesus then goes a little further, to wrestle with God alone. His posture and His prayer are the pivot point of human history.
"And He went a little beyond them, and fell to the ground and began to pray that if it were possible, the hour might pass from Him. And He was saying, 'Abba! Father! All things are possible for You; remove this cup from Me; yet not what I will, but what You will.'" (Mark 14:35-36 LSB)
He falls to the ground. This is the posture of a man utterly spent, in complete submission. And then He prays. Notice the elements. He cries out, "Abba! Father!" This is the Aramaic term of deepest intimacy, like "Daddy." Even as He faces the prospect of becoming the object of wrath, His relationship with the Father is unshaken. He is, and always will be, the beloved Son.
He affirms the Father's sovereignty: "All things are possible for You." Jesus is not questioning God's power. He knows God could devise another plan. This is not a prayer of doubt. It is a prayer that brings the terrible necessity of this plan into sharp focus.
Then comes the request: "remove this cup from Me." What is this cup? Throughout the Old Testament, the "cup" is a powerful metaphor for the wrath of God against sin (Ps. 75:8; Isa. 51:17; Jer. 25:15). This cup contained the full measure of divine fury against every lie, every lust, every murder, every act of rebellion ever committed by His people. And Jesus, in His perfect holiness, recoiled from it. His human will, in its created perfection, naturally shrank from this unnatural burden of filth and death.
But then comes the resolution, the words that save the world: "yet not what I will, but what You will." In the first garden, the first Adam said, "Not Your will, but mine." He reached out his hand in rebellion and plunged the world into sin. Here, in this second garden, the last Adam says, "Not My will, but Yours." He reaches out His hand in obedience to take the cup of wrath, and in doing so, He purchases our redemption. This is active, willing, perfect obedience. This is the heart of the atonement.
Willing Spirits, Weak Flesh (vv. 37-40)
The contrast between the wrestling Savior and His sleeping followers could not be more stark. Their failure serves to highlight the magnitude of His solitary achievement.
"And He came and found them sleeping, and said to Peter, 'Simon, are you sleeping? Could you not keep watch for one hour? Keep watching and praying that you may not come into temptation; the spirit is willing, but the flesh is weak.'" (Mark 14:37-38 LSB)
While the Son of God sweats blood in prayer for the sins of the world, His chief disciples are asleep. He singles out Peter, addressing him by his old name, "Simon." This is the man who, just hours before, boasted that he would die for Jesus. And he cannot even stay awake for Him. Jesus' question is a tender but piercing rebuke. An hour of prayer was too much to ask.
His diagnosis, "the spirit is willing, but the flesh is weak," is not an excuse for their failure. It is a statement of fact about the human condition after the fall. It is a pastoral warning. Our good intentions, our spiritual desires, are not enough to overcome the gravitational pull of our fallen flesh. Without constant vigilance and prayer, we will fall into temptation every time. Their sleepiness is a physical manifestation of their spiritual weakness. They are about to face the greatest test of their lives, and they are sleeping through the preparation.
He goes back to pray, and comes back to find them sleeping again. Their failure is total. They are so deep in their stupor they "did not know what to answer Him." This is crucial. It demonstrates that our salvation is in no way dependent on our efforts. We contribute nothing but the sin that makes the cross necessary. Jesus accomplishes this work entirely alone.
The Hour Has Come (vv. 41-42)
The third time Jesus returns, the tone shifts. The wrestling is over. The decision is made. The King is resolved.
"And He came the third time, and said to them, 'Are you still sleeping and resting? It is enough; the hour has come; behold, the Son of Man is being betrayed into the hands of sinners. Get up, let us go; behold, the one who betrays Me is at hand!'" (Mark 14:41-42 LSB)
"It is enough." The time for prayerful struggle is over. The time for decisive action has arrived. The Father's will has been embraced, and the Son has been strengthened to see it through. "The hour has come." This is the hour for which He came into the world, the climax of redemptive history.
And then He says, "Get up, let us go." Where are they going? They are not retreating. They are not running. He is leading them out to meet His betrayer. He is marching toward the cross. He is not a passive victim being dragged to His death. He is a sovereign King, in complete control, going to His coronation. He knows Judas is there. He knows the soldiers are there. And He goes to them. This is not the picture of a man defeated by grief, but of a warrior-king, resolved and victorious, advancing to claim His throne through sacrifice.
Conclusion: The Solitary and Sovereign King
What do we take from this sacred scene? First, we must see that our salvation was accomplished by Christ alone. While our representatives slept, our Champion fought. We were not partners in this work; we were the dead weight He carried. Our salvation rests entirely on His perfect obedience in the face of unimaginable agony.
Second, Gethsemane provides the pattern for our own suffering. When God calls us to drink a bitter cup, the way of faith is not stoic denial. It is honest, heartfelt prayer. We are free to cry out to our Abba Father, to ask for the cup to be removed. But true faith always lands where Jesus did: "Nevertheless, not my will, but Yours, be done." True strength is found not in resistance, but in submission to the good and perfect will of God.
Finally, we see our King. He is not a reluctant victim. He is a resolved victor. He won the war in the garden before He ever went to the cross. He leaves Gethsemane not in defeat, but in sovereign command, marching forth to disarm the rulers and authorities and to triumph over them by the cross. He drank the cup of wrath so that He could offer us the cup of salvation. He endured the agony so that we might enter into His joy.