Hope is Just a Look Away

 

Hope is Just a Look Away

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 quite 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? An angel sent to the rescue? That’s not our usual picture of God’s son.

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 that image of serenity. 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 Gethsemane 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 ponder 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 the freeway? The source of your fear may seem small to others, but to you it freezes your feet, makes your heart pound and blood rushes 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. For himself? For his disciples?

We don’t know for certain, but 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 just the opposite. We gloss over our fears or 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. Even an angel was sent. "Father, please don’t make me suffer." And the first one to hear Jesus’ fear was his Father.

He could have gone to his mother, of course, or confided in his disciples. He could have even assembled a prayer group. All of those responses would have been appropriate, but none of them 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 or WebMD. Not Jesus. The first one to hear his fear was his Father. A millennium earlier David was urging the fear-filled to do the same: "I will fear no evil." (Psalm 23:4) How could David even 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. And because he knew where to look, David was able to say, "I will fear no evil."

I had a friend who feared 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, he received some rather curious help from one of our golfing friends. The two were at a movie theatre waiting their turn to enter when fear struck. The crowd closed in like a forest, and he wanted out. Our friend told him to take a few deep breaths and then 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," he responded. "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 – both in golf and in life.

Rather than focusing 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 – Jesus wrote the book on salvation. And he’s the finisher – Jesus not only charted the map, but he also 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. I still don’t. So now I walk the dog instead – same prescription but at a slower pace. Truth be told, that’s not as frequent either. But aside from the shear boredom of running, 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 even 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 I had three options. I could: (1) go home; (2) meditate on my hurts until I imagined I was having chest pains – cue the cardiologist; 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 as 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 the lesson stuck: fix your eyes on the Son.

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, or his disciples being scattered? 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 Gethsemane’s. Enter them but 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 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 when Jesus asked? Well, yes and no. God didn't take away the cross, but he took away the fear. God didn't still the storm, but he calmed the sailor. And 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 your 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 own. Hope is just a look away. So, what are you looking at? Your fears, or your Father?

Grace,

Randy