March 30, 2025
The Hardest Prayer to Pray
Luke 22:39-65
During Lent, our worship series has been going slowly through the last week of Jesus’ life, with Luke 22 as our guide. Today’s reading is somewhat long, and heavy. The Taizé song “Stay With Me” was written as a musical accompaniment to this text. Before I read we will sing this together, and then sing it again when the reading is finished.
Refrain: Stay with me, remain here with me; watch and pray…
Luke 22:39-65
39 He came out and went, as was his custom, to the Mount of Olives, and the disciples followed him.40 When he reached the place, he said to them, “Pray that you may not come into the time of trial.”[g] 41 Then he withdrew from them about a stone’s throw, knelt down, and prayed, 42 “Father, if you are willing, remove this cup from me, yet not my will but yours be done.”[[43 Then an angel from heaven appeared to him and gave him strength. 44 In his anguish he prayed more earnestly, and his sweat became like great drops of blood falling down on the ground.]][h] 45 When he got up from prayer, he came to the disciples and found them sleeping because of grief, 46 and he said to them, “Why are you sleeping? Get up and pray that you may not come into the time of trial.”[i]
47 While he was still speaking, suddenly a crowd came, and the one called Judas, one of the twelve, was leading them. He approached Jesus to kiss him, 48 but Jesus said to him, “Judas, is it with a kiss that you are betraying the Son of Man?” 49 When those who were around him saw what was coming, they asked, “Lord, should we strike with the sword?” 50 Then one of them struck the slave of the high priest and cut off his right ear. 51 But Jesus said, “No more of this!” And he touched his ear and healed him. 52 Then Jesus said to the chief priests, the officers of the temple police, and the elders who had come for him, “Have you come out with swords and clubs as though I were a rebel?53 When I was with you day after day in the temple, you did not lay hands on me. But this is your hour and the power of darkness!”
54 Then they seized him and led him away, bringing him into the high priest’s house. But Peter was following at a distance. 55 When they had kindled a fire in the middle of the courtyard and sat down together, Peter sat among them. 56 Then a female servant, seeing him in the firelight, stared at him and said, “This man also was with him.” 57 But he denied it, saying, “Woman, I do not know him.” 58 A little later someone else, on seeing him, said, “You also are one of them.” But Peter said, “Man, I am not!” 59 Then about an hour later still another kept insisting, “Surely this man also was with him, for he is a Galilean.” 60 But Peter said, “Man, I do not know what you are talking about!” At that moment, while he was still speaking, the cock crowed. 61 The Lord turned and looked at Peter. Then Peter remembered the word of the Lord, how he had said to him, “Before the cock crows today, you will deny me three times.” 62 And he went out and wept bitterly.
Refrain: Stay with me, remain here with me; watch and pray…
This is the word of the Lord.
Thanks be to God.
There are moments in life when the ground shifts beneath our feet, when certainty collapses, when we face – to use the biblical image – a cup that we desperately wish would pass from us. It can be the diagnosis we didn’t expect. The relationship we can’t mend. A loss we can’t reverse. Just the future we cannot control.
How do we respond in those times? Where do we turn? How do we pray?
The New Testament scholar NT Wright, who wrote the book many of us are reading in small groups this Lent, says this: “When we…find the ground giving way beneath our feet, as sooner or later we shall, Gethsemane is where to go. That is where we find that the Lord of the world, the one to whom is now committed all authority, has been there before us.”
Jesus in Gethsemane
Our passage from Luke 22, where we find Jesus in Gethsemane, invites us into a pivotal moment—maybe the most decisive moment in Jesus’ earthly journey. The Passover meal has ended. The disciples have been warned of what’s coming. The weight of the divine hour, the appointed time, presses down with increasing urgency.
Jesus goes to the Garden of Gethsemane to pray, “as was his custom.” This wasn’t a panic response to facing the cross—prayer was already woven into the rhythm of his life. It was his custom.
And he turns to his disciples with unmistakable urgency: “Pray that you will not fall into temptation.” You see, the hour of testing comes not only to him, but also comes to them, and it does and will come to each one of us.
Jesus teaches us, when the hour of testing comes, to pray.
Then Jesus withdraws “about a stone’s throw” from them. How far is that? A stone’s throw is close enough for companionship yet far enough for communion with God. This little detail, which you might overlook, speaks to the way our hardest conversations with God require both community and solitude; we need support and space; to be alone in the company of others.
Then comes verse 41, with another detail we might easily overlook: “He knelt down and prayed.” Throughout the gospels, we rarely see Jesus’ physical position specifically mentioned. But here, Luke wants us to see Jesus on his knees. What does this signify? He is kneeling as a sign of his humility, it is an embodiment of his faithfulness and obedience.
And then the prayer itself—the hardest prayer any person will ever pray: “Father, if you are willing, take this cup from me; yet not my will, but yours be done.”
This is raw, unfiltered honesty—Jesus doesn’t pretend his cup is easy when it’s hard. He names it desire clearly: “take this cup from me.”
In doing so, he blesses our own expressions of fear and reluctance. If Jesus could admit his desire to avoid suffering, you and I never need to pretend that faith requires us to welcome pain or be stoic in loss. Our faith does not require a stiff upper lip.
And then comes that pivotal word that changes everything: “Yet.” “Take this cup from me, yet…” That single word bridges the gap between human limitation and divine possibility, between despair and trust. Despite knowing what lies ahead, Jesus entrusts his life to God’s goodness and steadfast love. Jesus chooses trust over despair and faithfulness over self-preservation. When he rises from the garden, as his friends have fallen asleep, Jesus is ready to face the cross.
You know, what happens in this garden is the real turning point of Holy Week and we almost always miss it. Nearly everything that happens after this happens to Jesus. But in Gethsemane, Jesus doesn’t just resign himself to suffering—he decides to trust in God’s ultimate love. He decides to accept God’s mysterious purpose.
Our Small Gardens of Decision
Jesus’ prayer in Gethsemane embodies the prayer he taught us to pray “thy will be done…” But here he gives us not just a liturgical recitation but a living faith—his embodiment is a model for our lives. The cup Jesus faced was unique, but the prayer belongs to all of us. “Not my will, but yours be done” – echoes into our lives, and helps us find our footing when the ground shifts beneath our feet.
Six months ago, when Hurricane Helene tore through our area, many of us found ourselves in our own gardens of anguish. As our state faced its worst natural disaster in history, familiar landmarks disappeared overnight. Homes were destroyed. Lives were lost. The ground literally shifted beneath us. And as is often the case with disasters, those with the fewest resources suffered most deeply. Communities that were already struggling economically, still today face the most difficult paths to recovery.
In the months since, we’ve heard so many stories of people facing impossible choices: whether to rebuild or relocate, how to move forward when insurance falls short, how or whether to start again, and how all of us can ensure the most vulnerable aren’t left behind.
Each choice is a small garden of decision—a moment requiring honesty about our loss, acceptance of what we cannot control, recognition of how connected we are to each other, and a decision to trust God’s ultimate goodness and care. It’s been six months of testing times.
But storms aren’t the only forces that shift the ground we stand on.
For some, the ground shifts with a medical diagnosis. The doctor takes a deep breath before speaking, and suddenly life divides into before and after. The tests show cancer. The scan reveals a degenerative condition. The result isn’t typical.
In an instant, we face our cup—our own desperate desire for healing alongside the reality that some things cannot be controlled, only faced.
For others, the garden appears in family crisis. A marriage unravels despite years of counseling. A child struggles with addiction despite every intervention. A parent’s mind deteriorates despite the best care. We want to fix, to solve, to restore—but sometimes the cup we hold means accepting what we cannot change while deciding to be faithful in how we respond.
And sometimes, our Gethsemane involves the society around us. Political division, economic uncertainty, cultural shifts—these larger forces can leave us feeling helpless, and untethered.
We see the injustice in our communities—children without adequate food or education, families unable to access healthcare, cuts to funding that imperils important aid, aggressive deportations that harm innocent neighbors.
These realities can feel overwhelming, leaving us wondering what we can do when the problems seem too large for one person to make a difference. The institutions we relied on and the assumptions we took for granted prove fragile, and we must find our footing on shifting ground.
The common thread in all these experiences is the painful recognition of our limitations. We cannot control outcomes, only our response. We can’t always force the world to conform to our plan; we can only decide how we will live within it. This is where the hardest prayer becomes necessary—and even transformative.
Praying the Hardest Prayer
How do we pray when facing our own gardens of anguish? How do we find words when the ground shifts beneath us? Jesus shows us the way.
First, we can invite others to “stay awake” with us. Notice that Jesus didn’t face Gethsemane alone. He deliberately brought disciples into that sacred space of struggle. Even though they fell asleep, he wanted them there. In our desperate moments, we need others to hold space for our struggle, even if they do it imperfectly.
Who have you invited into your garden? The church at its best is a community that stays awake with those in pain, that witnesses suffering without trying to explain it away. Sometimes the greatest ministry we can offer is simply bearing witness, refusing to look away.
Second, we must begin with honest lament before we can ever move to trust. Jesus didn’t start with “thy will be done.” He started with “take this cup from me.” He named his desire, without embarrassment or spiritual pretense. God honors true emotion more than polite, sanitized prayers that conceal our real feelings.
Authentic faith doesn’t require us to pretend that all is well with us or the world. The Psalms teach us this through their unfiltered expressions of anger, doubt, and despair. The prophets teach us to cry out when the widow and orphan are neglected, when the stranger is not welcome, or when the poor are exploited.
Our prayers can and should include not only personal pain but also righteous anger at structures and powers that diminish human dignity. Jesus embodies this honesty. Authentic faith makes room for both the cry of protest and the whisper of pain.
Third, we find strength in seeing that Christ, kneeling in the garden, has been where we are. When your doctor delivers devastating news, when your family fractures despite your best efforts, when your future security crumbles—Jesus has experienced similar anguish. Not just theoretically, but tangibly, sweat-like-blood tangibly. There is no garden so dark that Christ has not walked it before us.
And there, finally, Jesus shows us the courage of choosing to trust God. Faithful trust isn’t passive resignation—a fatalistic shrug that mutters “whatever will be, will be.” Faithful trust is an active alignment with God’s purposes.
It’s trusting that God’s good future extends beyond our immediate circumstances, even when they include suffering we would never choose.
It’s believing that God’s vision of shalom—of comprehensive peace with justice—remains our calling and our work even when the work is hard and slow.
Choosing to trust God is not a passive resignation, but an active trust in a redemption we cannot see and a love that will never let us go.
When Jesus prayed “not my will but yours,” he was not surrendering to evil or suffering itself, but placing himself in the loving hands of God.
Similarly, as people of faith in Christ we aren’t surrendering to cancer or divorce or disaster or political chaos. We don’t accept these things as good or right or inevitable. Rather, we trust the God who goes before us, who gives us strength for the journey and good courage to face the test – the God whose final word is not despair but resurrection.
Conclusion
As I close, I want to ask you to imagine holding a cup in your hands. This is your cup—the situation you’re facing that you wish would pass from you. Perhaps it’s a medical diagnosis, a fractured relationship, financial insecurity, a lost child, persistent grief. Perhaps it is witnessing brokenness in our world, injustice that feels so entrenched.
Whatever your cup contains, name it silently before God with specific honesty. Allow yourself to pray with Jesus: “Father, if you are willing, take this cup from me…from us…”
Now imagine Christ’s hands underneath yours. Hear his voice joining with yours: “Yet not my will, but yours be done.”
There is a strange peace that comes, not from getting what you want, but from pinning your hope on the love that will never let you go. The hardest prayer—”not my will but yours”—can become the foundation of faith.
May you and I find the courage to pray as Jesus prayed. And when we know the fellowship of his sufferings, as we will, may we also discover the joy of his resurrection.
Amen.
Rev. Patrick W. T. Johnson, Ph.D.
First Presbyterian Church
Asheville, North Carolina