During the days of Jesus’ life on earth, he offered up prayers and petitions with loud cries and tears to the one who could save him from death, and he was heard because of his reverent submission. Although he was a son, he learned obedience from what he suffered and, once made perfect, he became the source of eternal salvation for all who obey him…. (Hebrews 5:7-8)

It doesn’t take much imagination to link this description of Jesus’ mission and ministry to events in the Garden of Gethsemane. Matthew, Mark, and Luke are pretty similar in their descriptions of what transpired. All agree that Jesus, in the midst of great pain and sorrow, prayed something to the effect: My Father, if it is possible, may this cup be taken from me. Yet not as I will, but as you will. Luke adds the interesting observation that: An angel from heaven appeared to him and strengthened him.

Even John, whose highly structured “priestly prayer” (John 17) seems quite different from what is found in the Synoptic Gospels, has Jesus responding to his arrest in the next chapter with the words: Shall I not drink the cup the Father has given me?

Clearly, Gethsemane was a pivotal moment with cosmic consequences. Jesus was facing
something symbolized by a “cup,” and sought permission to avoid it. Such permission was not given, and Jesus obediently “drank from the cup.” Too bad this moment is not given greater attention in Baptist traditions. We tend to skip from Christmas to Easter—from celebration to celebration—without reflecting on the dark night of the soul that Jesus faced. It is an even greater loss that Gethsemane rarely enters our theology from a Trinitarian perspective and has little or no impact on our life of faith. Obviously, the preacher whose sermon was recorded as Hebrews thought it was very important.

In what way was Jesus’ faithfulness tested in Gethsemane? What is the meaning of his
“obedience?” And what does that have to do with his “perfection” and becoming the “source of eternal salvation?” Is this whole scene not a sham if Jesus Christ really partakes in the divine nature in a unique way?

Let me say, as clearly as possible, where I am going. From a human angle, Jesus of Nazareth surrendered to victimhood. But from a divine perspective, Jesus the Christ put his faith (as evidenced by his “obedience”) in the other two persons with whom he had “danced” since before the beginning of time!

Jesus was not some super being that from his own intrinsic resources somehow hidden away in that stone-cold body, was able to single-handedly overcome death. The New Testament tells us God raised Jesus, he did not raise himself. (Acts 2:26, Romans 4:25, 1 Corinthians 4:25, and others). Jesus really died on the Cross. And in dying, put his future life into the hands of God (into thy hands I commend my spirit). God proved to be trustworthy, and raised Jesus to resurrected life. Jesus’ resurrection necessarily involved the other two persons of the Trinity. It is for that reason that Jesus prayed to the one who could save him from death.

Why did Jesus seek permission to have the cup pass? Because he had the freedom to reject it!!!

At Gethsemane, the future of the cosmos (and even more, as I will argue later) hung in the
balance. Would Jesus be obedient or not? Would Jesus submit to the will of God (the other two persons of the Trinity) and drink the cup of death, or would he assert his freedom and go another way. In this sense, Jesus’ faithfulness was being tested in the Garden even more intensely than it had been tested in the wilderness after his baptism.

All the giants of faith came through such testing (many recorded in Hebrews 11). You could make the case that this is a major theme in the story line of the Bible.

But this was not the kind of testing I experienced at the hands of Mrs. Cruise, who wanted to discover how much algebra I knew so she could assign a “C” or a “B” (the best she would allow). It was more like that stormy day in the northern Everglades over 30 years ago. I had a compass and a slip of paper with a series of headings on it. Could I walk the course I had been given, or would I radio for a helicopter?

The test of faith is not about facts and figures. It is not about understanding and creativity. It is not even about a feeling good experience. There is only one question: Will we choose to obey God? I don’t think any of us like such testing. It is offensive our freedom and self-identity. Why test?

Eugene Peterson says: “The way of faith requires repeated testing so that we can discern
whether we are dealing with the living God or some fantasy or illusion we have cooked up in a mulligan stew of lust and anger, envy and sloth, pride and greed.”

I find that helpful. The test is not about God’s punitive or capricious nature. The test is not
about my moral uprightness or my doctrinal understanding. The test is about whether I am
being obedient to God, and not to my own illusions dressed up like God.

Every religion—Christianity included—is a potential incubator for false faith; pseudo-faith that runs the gamut from self-satisfaction (even in our uncertainty) to self-mutilation (even in our humility). It is easy to have faith in a “god” who gives us whatever we want; affirms anything that we do; submits to our standard of expectation; is corrected by our logic; or is judged by our interpretation of circumstances. Obviously, testing is essential.

However, in testing, God often is not testing us (and we are not testing God). God sets the stage for us to test our own faith against the living God; to discern whether we are following the God of Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob, or the poor imposter we have created from our own imaginations.

Peterson suggests that sacrifice plays an important part in this discernment: “Sacrifice exposes spiritual fantasy as a masquerade of faith.”

No call to sacrifice is more startling, more offensive, than the call for Abraham to sacrifice Isaac as recorded in Genesis 12. Peterson approaches and unpacks the story in a powerful way. It was a journey of faith. “When we engage in an act of faith we give up control.” Abraham gave up control, and the preacher in Hebrews held him up as an example.

In a sense, Jesus in Gethsemane is like the three-day trek of Abraham and Isaac to Mount Moriah, only it is compressed into a single evening and is more consequential. Interestingly, Jesus was in the role of Abraham (pilgrim), Isaac (intended sacrifice), and even the ram at the same time. Unlike Isaac, Jesus did not get a reprieve from the altar. He chose to say “yes” rather than “no.” And everything changed.

Jesus may have been abandoned by his all-too-human disciples, but he was not alone in
Gethsemane. I suspect there was more than an angel (a “messenger”) present. The two other persons of the Trinity were present to strengthen Christ in his resolve.

There was more at stake than the mere redemption of humankind. The risk was even greater than the calling, urging, luring of all creation into its destiny as the Kingdom of God. What was at risk was the very integrity of the complex personhood of the Trinity. One of the persons was at risk of choosing their own way, apart from the wisdom / direction of the other two persons. The Trinity could have been ripped asunder. What a startling thought! This had not even occurred to me until the night I was thinking about this essay. In all my theology classes, no one ever suggested the possibility. God could have disintegrated into a mini-pantheon of competing divine persons. The ancient Christian heresy that the god of the Old Testament was different from the god of the New Testament would have come to pass.

How momentous was Gethsemane! The real struggle was not on the Cross on the Friday we call “Good.” The real struggle was in the darkness of Thursday evening, as a solitary figure prayed and wept bereft of human companionship; abandoned by all but the “angels.” God in Trinitarian fullness understood what was at stake. The divine persons we call “Father” and “Spirit” had put their faith in this enfleshed one—one of their own, being of their being, substance of their substance. This was a gambit far beyond the one with Job. The danger was greater than Abraham, Moses, and David all rolled into one. But greater was the promise as well.

The old Greek Orthodox term for the “dance” used to describe the relationship within the Trinity is perichoresis. In Gethsemane, Jesus rejected a solo performance, and chose instead to continue the complex threesome dance, by his submission.

It is beyond my comprehension. Looking at it like the first time I stood on the edge of the Grand Canyon, or saw the Aurora Borealis dancing across the night sky in northern Canada, Gethsemane totally eclipses the wildest imaginings of any code, conspiracy or secret gospel. “Sometimes, it causes me to tremble….”

(Some will notice that I have been deeply affected by Eugene Peterson’s The Jesus Way, even when I did not quote him. However, please don’t blame him for my imagination.)

Printer-friendly edition of this Column | Current Thoughts Archive

 

 

© American Baptist Churches of the Great Rivers Region
Permission to copy for noncommercial use is granted

Please visit us at  www.abc-grr.org