Fear
Jesus left the city and went to the Mount of
Olives, as he often did, and his followers went with him. When he reached the
place, he said to them, "Pray for strength against temptation." Then
Jesus went about a stone's throw away from them. He kneeled down and prayed,
"Father, if you are willing, take away this cup of suffering. But do what
you want, not what I want." Then an angel from heaven appeared to him to
strengthen him. Being full of pain, Jesus prayed even harder. His sweat was
like drops of blood falling to the ground. (Luke 22:39-44)
It’s a picture of
Jesus that puzzles a lot of us. Maybe it’s because we've never seen his face
like this before. Jesus smiling, yes; Jesus weeping, absolutely; Jesus stern,
even that. But Jesus anguished? Cheeks streaked with tears? Face flooded in
sweat? Rivulets of blood dripping from his chin? A face full of pain? That’s
not our usual picture of God’s son.
Because you
remember the night, right? “Jesus went out to the Mount of
Olives, as he often did, and his disciples went with him. When they got there,
he told them, ‘Pray that you won’t be tested.’ Jesus walked on a little way
before he knelt down and prayed, ‘Father, if you will, please don’t make me
suffer by having me drink from this cup. But do what you want, and not what I
want.’ Then an angel from heaven came to help him. Jesus was in great pain and
prayed so sincerely that his sweat fell to the ground like drops of blood.”
(Luke 22:39-44)
The Bible I
carried as a child contained a picture of Jesus in the Garden of Gethsemane. In
that picture, Jesus’ face was soft and his hands calmly folded as he knelt
beside a rock and prayed. Jesus seemed peaceful. But just one reading of the
Gospels destroys such a serene image. Mark says, "Jesus fell to the ground."
(Mark 14:35) Matthew tells us that Jesus was "very sad and troubled . . .
to the point of death." (Matt. 26:37-38) And according to Luke, Jesus was
"full of pain." (Luke 22:44)
Equipped with
those passages, how would you paint the scene now? Jesus flat on the ground?
Face in the dirt? Extended hands gripping grass? Body rising and falling with
sobs? Face as twisted as the olive trees that surrounded him? What do we do
with that image of Jesus? Simple. We
turn to it when we look the same way. We read it when we feel the same way. We
read it when we feel afraid. Because isn't it possible that fear was one of the
emotions that Jesus felt? You could even argue that fear was Jesus’ primary
emotion. He saw something in the future so fierce, so foreboding that he begged
for a change of plans. "Father, if you will, please don’t make me suffer."
(Luke 22:42)
What causes you
to pray that kind of prayer? Boarding an airplane? Facing a crowd? Public
speaking? Taking a job? Taking a spouse? Driving on a highway? The source of
your fear may seem small to others. But to you, it freezes your feet, makes
your heart pound, and brings blood to your face. That's what happened to Jesus.
He was so afraid that he bled. Doctors describe this condition as hematidrosis.
It’s a documented medical condition where, because of severe anxiety, it causes
the release of chemicals that break down the capillaries in the sweat glands. And
when this occurs, sweat comes out tinged with blood. Jesus was more than
anxious; he was afraid.
Fear is worry's
big brother. If worry is a burlap sack, then fear is a concrete trunk. It doesn’t
budge. It’s remarkable that Jesus felt that kind of fear. But how gracious that
he told us about it, because we tend to do the opposite. We gloss over our
fears; cover them up. We keep our sweaty palms in our pockets, and our nausea
and dry-mouth a secret. Not so with Jesus. We don’t see a mask of strength, but
we do hear a request for it – for strength. "Father, please don’t make me
suffer." The first one to hear Jesus’ fear was his Father.
He could have
gone to his mother. He could have confided in his disciples. He could have
assembled a prayer meeting. All of those responses would have been appropriate,
but none were his priority. He went first to his Father. We, on the other hand,
tend to go everywhere else first. First to the bar, or to the counselor, or to
the self-help book, or to the friend next door. Not Jesus. The first one to
hear his fear was his Father in heaven. A millennium earlier David was urging
the fear-filled to do the same: "I will fear no evil." (Psalm 23:4) How
could David make such a claim? Because he knew where to look. "You are
with me; your rod and your staff, they comfort me." (Id.) Rather than turning to the other sheep, David turned to the
Shepherd. Rather than staring at the problems, he stared at the rod and the staff.
Because he knew where to look, David was able to say, "I will fear no
evil."
I knew a guy who
had a fear of crowds. When surrounded by large groups, his breath got short,
panic surfaced and he began to sweat like a sumo wrestler in a sauna. Fortunately,
but curiously, he received some help from his golfing buddy. The two were at a
movie theatre, waiting their turn to enter, when fear struck again. The crowd
closed in like a forest. He wanted out, and fast. His buddy told him to take a
few deep breaths. Then the friend helped manage the crisis by reminding him of
the golf course. "When you’re hitting your ball out of the rough, and you’re
surrounded by trees, what do you do?" "I look for an opening."
"You don't stare at the trees?" "Of course not. I find an
opening and focus on hitting the ball through the opening." "Alright,
then do the same in a crowd. When you feel that sense of panic, don't focus on
the people; focus on the opening." Good counsel – in golf, and in life.
Rather than
focus on the fear, focus on the solution. That's what Jesus did. That's what
David did. And that's what the writer of Hebrews urges us to do. "Let us
run with endurance the race that is set before us, looking unto Jesus, the
author and finisher of our faith." (Heb. 12:1-2) The writer of Hebrews was
not a golfer, but it sounds like he was a jogger because he talks about a
runner and a forerunner. The forerunner is Jesus, the "author and finisher
of our faith." He is the author – that is to say he wrote the book on
salvation. And he is the finisher – he not only charted the map, he blazed the
trail. He’s the forerunner, and we’re the runners. And, as runners, we’re urged
to keep our eyes on Jesus.
I'm not much of a
runner now, but I used to be. These days, more mornings than not, I just can’t seem
to drag myself out of bed and onto the street. But when I did run, I didn’t run
very fast. And compared to marathoners, I didn’t run very far, either. I ran because
I didn’t like cardiologists. Still don’t. So now I walk the dog instead – same
prescription, slower pace. Truth be told, that’s not as often either. But aside
from the shear boredom of running, I think I quit because my body groaned. It
didn’t want to cooperate. My knees hurt. My hips got stiff. My ankles complained.
One time, a passerby laughed at my legs and that made my ego hurt. In other
words, things hurt – all over.
And as things began
to hurt, I knew that I had three options. I could: (1) go home; (2) meditate on
my hurts until I imagined I was having chest pains; or (3) keep on running. At
the time, my trail ran east which gave me a front-row seat for God's morning
miracle. And if I watched God's world go from dark to golden, guess what? The same
happened to my attitude. The pain passed and the joints loosened and, before I knew
it, the run was half over and life wasn’t half bad. Everything seemed to
improve as I fixed my eyes on the sun. Thinking about it now, I’m not exactly
sure why I quit; maybe it was the move to a new community, older age, or maybe I
just got lazy. But I digress.
Wasn't that the
counsel of the Hebrew epistle – “looking unto Jesus"? What was the focus
of David? "You are with me; your rod and your staff, they comfort
me." How did Jesus endure the terror of the crucifixion? He went first to
the Father with his fears. He modeled the words of Psalm 56:3: "When I am
afraid, I put my trust in you." So do the same with yours. Don't avoid
life's Gardens of Gethsemane. Enter them. Just don't enter them alone. And
while you’re there, be honest. Pounding the ground is permitted. Tears are
allowed. And if you sweat blood, you won't be the first. Do what Jesus did –
open your heart. And then be specific. Jesus was.
"Take this cup," he prayed. Give God the
number of the flight. Tell him the length of the speech. Share the details of
the job transfer. He has plenty of time. He also has plenty of compassion. He
doesn't think your fears are foolish, or silly. He won't tell you to "buck
up," or "get tough." He's been where you are. He knows how you
feel. And he knows what you need. That's why we should punctuate our prayers like
Jesus did – “If you’re willing . . . ." Was God willing? Well, yes and no.
He didn't take away the cross, but he took away the fear. God didn't still the
storm, but he calmed the sailor. Who's to say he won't do the same for you?
"Do not be anxious about anything, but in everything, by prayer and
petition, with thanksgiving, present your requests to God." (Phil. 4:6)
Don't measure
the size of the mountain; talk to the One who can move it. Instead of carrying
the world on your shoulders, talk to the One who holds the universe on his.
Hope is just a look away. So, what are you looking at?
Grace,
Randy
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