And he says to them, My soul is full of grief even unto death; abide here and watch.
He is in the garden with His disciples, hours before the cross, and He puts His anguish into words. The verse raises two questions at once: what was pressing on Him so heavily, and why did He ask men to stay near Him at all?
Scripture speaks of the Lord in the same terms it uses of us. It names His body, His soul and His spirit. This verse names His soul.
Christ is Man, and so in every detail Scripture speaks of Him in language it would use of a man — always apart from sin, and holy by His very nature. It speaks of His body, as in Matthew 26:12 and Hebrews 10:5. It speaks of His soul, as in Mark 14:34 and John 12:27. It speaks of His spirit too, as in Mark 2:8 and Luke 23:46. All these speak of Him in Manhood, the Son having become Man.
The weight was not the prospect of physical pain. It was the power of death itself.
There all that was before the blessed One came upon His spirit. He began to be sorrowful and very heavy. He felt as man what He had to undergo. It was not mere pain or suffering. The power of death weighed upon His spirit. It weighed on Him as man, yet with a weight no man could measure. Yet with what calm simplicity He tells it out! We ought to know it, though it may be beyond our knowledge.
Commentators name what the cup was, and rule out lesser answers.
He did not shrink from death. The agony was not because of the physical sufferings He knew He would face. Nor was Satan, as some foolishly teach, ready to kill Him. All such statements are dishonouring to Him. He was not in danger of death in Gethsemane. What was the cup He dreaded? The Sinless One, who knew no sin, would soon be made sin for us. God's face, on which He had always looked, would soon be hidden.
The sorrow here is anticipation, not the thing itself.
In Gethsemane, He was anticipating the cross; at Calvary, He was actually enduring it. In Gethsemane, "there appeared to him an angel from heaven, strengthening him"; at Calvary, He was forsaken by all. There was no angelic ministry there. In Gethsemane He addresses God as "Father," and so enjoys the full communion of that relationship. But at Calvary He cries, "My God, my God, why have you forsaken me?"
Here He asks others to stay near Him in His suffering. He never asks it again.
When the cross came, there was no such call to disciples to watch with Him. He was alone, absolutely, essentially, for us — that is, for our sins — with none of men or angels in any way or measure near Him.
Note: Kelly follows Matthew's account of the same moment, which reads "watch with me." Mark records only "Remain here and watch."
The men He called to watch had already seen His glory before this night.
They had already been the chosen witnesses of His glories on the mountain. Now they are given the opportunity to share His sorrows in the garden. No one could share the actual forsaking on the cross. But in what He felt in His soul as the cross drew near, others can have a part, in their measure.
What He asked was small, and He did not get it.
When He comes to the disciples He finds them sleeping. Think of it! The Master praying, and the servants sleeping. In that moment of sorrow beyond compare, the Master is in agony before God, showing perfect human dependence. The servant is asleep. Such is human nature. Peter slept on the mountain where the Lord's glory shone out. Now he is sleeping in the presence of His sorrow.
He met death as our substitute, and the result reaches the believer's own dying.
For Him, as our holy substitute, death meant bearing the penalty of sin. That is why He can say, "My soul is very sorrowful, even to death." He has borne that penalty, and so He has robbed death of its terrors for the believer. Stephen can rejoice in the prospect of death, and Paul can say it is far better to depart and be with Christ.
- Soul. The words are those of a real man; Scripture names His body, soul and spirit exactly as it names ours, sin apart.
- Sorrow. What crushed Him was not the pain ahead. It was the power of death pressing on His spirit, felt as man, with a weight no man can measure.
- Cup. He dreaded being made sin, and His Father's face hidden. He did not dread death, and Satan was not about to kill Him.
- Alone. In the garden He could still say "Father," an angel strengthened Him, and He could ask men to watch. At the cross He cried "My God, my God, why have you forsaken me?" with no one near.
- Result. He bore the penalty of death, and so took away its terror for the believer. Stephen could welcome death, and Paul could call departing far better.
And, going forward a little, he fell upon the earth; and he prayed that, if it were possible, the hour might pass away from him.
Gethsemane is the garden where Jesus prayed on the night He was arrested, and this verse gives the plainest picture of what He did there: He moved away from His closest disciples, went down on the ground, and prayed. The question it raises is why the One who came to die would ask that the hour pass from Him at all.
Many sorrows pressed on Him that night, but one stood behind them all.
It was a deep sorrow to the Lord that the nation were plotting to put Him to death. One of His twelve disciples was about to betray Him. Another was going to deny Him. All of them would fall away because of Him. But in Gethsemane the Lord faces a far deeper sorrow: what He was about to endure at the cross, when, made sin, He would be forsaken by God. Faced with this great sorrow, as in every other trial of His perfect life, He gave Himself to prayer. But whatever relief prayer may bring, its first effect is to make the trial felt more keenly. Prayer brings every circumstance into the presence of God, where each one is seen for what it truly is.
Mark alone records the posture, and the other accounts add what he leaves out.
Matthew has told us that He prayed three times in Gethsemane (Matt. 26:38-44). For His position, falling on the ground, Mark's statement is the plainest testimony (Mark 14:35). Luke alone tells us of His sweat like blood and of the angel who came to strengthen Him (Luke 22:43-44). He knew the power of darkness in all its might, so He can now fully enter into the trials of His people.
The contrast with His followers that night was stark.
The Master praying, and the servants sleeping! The Master is in agony before God, showing perfect human dependence, in that moment of sorrow beyond compare, while the servant sleeps.
The prayer has an "if" in it. He prays to a Father who can do anything — so why was the hour not taken away?
Face down on the ground, He prays in trusting faith to His Father, with whom all things are possible. Yet He adds that the Father's will, not His own, should be done. So what was possible did not decide the matter. Of course He could have avoided the cross. But then the solemn question of sin could never have been settled, and sinful people could never have been saved.
So what made this hour unlike every other suffering He had borne?
He prays that the hour may pass from Him, if it is possible. He had borne every cup of suffering from the hand of sinners without complaining. His Father's favour was enough for Him! But this cup was to be made a curse. The just One would be made sin. He who had always been in the Father's bosom, the object of an infinite love, would find Himself forsaken by God. Because He was devoted to God, He wished to draw back from this if He could. But if we were to escape the penalty of sin, He had to bear it for us.
The shrinking and the submission are not in tension. Both belong to who He is.
It was part of His perfection to shrink from the cross. So He can say to the Father, "All things are possible for you. Remove this cup from me." But it was just as much part of His perfection to submit to the cross and carry out the Father's will. So He can add, "Yet not what I will, but what you will."
That He could pray this way at all says something about His humanity.
It would not have been perfection if He had not felt it in this way. It was impossible that He who was life could desire such a death from His Father — from God in wrath against Him. That would have been hardness, not love. He had a real soul, a truly rational human soul, not just a spark of life. He could not have prayed this if it were true, as some have claimed, that the divine nature in our Lord took the place of a soul. He would not have been perfect man had He not taken a soul as well as a body.
- Sorrow. Betrayal, denial and desertion were real griefs. The far deeper one was being made sin and forsaken by God.
- Prayer. He met that sorrow with prayer. Prayer brings everything into God's presence, so it made the trial felt more, not less.
- Ground. Mark alone records Him falling on the ground. It is the plainest picture of a dependent Servant, while the disciples slept.
- Possible. All things were possible to the Father. But avoiding the cross would have left sin unsettled and sinners unsaved.
- Perfection. It was perfection to shrink from the cup, and perfection to drink it. That is the prayer of a real human soul, submitted to the Father's will.
And he said, Abba, Father, all things are possible to thee take away this cup from me; but not what *I* will, but what *thou* [wilt].
This is Gethsemane, with the cross still ahead. His words here hold two things together: complete confidence in His Father's power, and a plea that His Father would take away what is coming.
The first word is not Greek. "Abba" is Aramaic, the everyday language of the region, and it stands next to the Greek word for Father. One writer explains where these two words appear together:
'Abba' appears three times in the New Testament, and 'Father' always follows it. Translators copied 'Abba' over instead of translating it; a translation would read 'Father Father.' In the Greek, the 'Abba' is Aramaic and the 'Father' is Greek... The only place where the Lord Himself says it is Mark 14:36. And the Spirit in the hearts of believers puts the very words He used into their lips. Some suggest that in the two words the Jew and the Gentile each say 'Father' in his own language.
One writer points out who records this word, and where the Lord's service had brought Him:
It is Mark who tells us that He said, "Abba, Father." Mark writes of Him as the perfect Servant. His path of service had brought Him to this dark hour... To whom could He turn? Only to Him whom He served with that holy and perfect devotion and in whom was all His trust. He put the whole matter into His hands... It describes a relationship in which knowing a perfect love draws out perfect trust.
He had suffered from men before without once asking to be spared. This cup was different:
In His life of obedience Jesus suffered the hostility of sinners. He never turned away from them, and He never demanded that such a cup be taken away from Him. Why this one, then? Because this was not just the cup of the sin of men, or of Satan's malice, but the cup of the wrath of God. In what He had to suffer before from men, He had the joy of doing His Father's will. But in this cup, the cup of wrath, there was not one drop of sweetness... And why could the cup not pass? Here is the reason. God cannot bear with sin. And since Jesus Himself was made sin for us, God's wrath had to fall on sin.
Some read His shrinking as weakness. One writer says the opposite. Not feeling it would have been the flaw:
It would not have been perfection if He had not felt it this way. It was impossible that He who was life could desire such a death from His Father — from God in wrath against Him. It would have been hardness, not love. He felt it perfectly, as before God His Father, and still He gives up His human will completely to the Father's... He had a real soul, not just a spark of life.
He states His Father's power as fact, and then asks. What the Father could do was not the deciding question:
Face down on the ground, He prays in trusting faith to His Father, with whom all things are possible. Yet He adds that the Father's will, and not His own, should be done. So what was possible did not decide the matter. Of course He could have avoided the cross. But if He had, the solemn question of sin could never have been settled, and sinful creatures could never have been saved.
The closing words show that He had a will of His own. That is not a crack in His perfection:
He was not one who had no will of His own, as people sometimes say. He had a will as a true man, but He subjected His will to the will of the Father. He never exercised His will in independence. He would not have been a perfect man if He had had no will.
The same two words appear twice more — no longer on His lips:
But — wonderful thought — it is no longer our blessed Lord Jesus who uses this word of closeness. It is those whom His precious blood has redeemed. It is those who have received the adoption of sons.
That cry says something about the Spirit, and about the Lord in that hour:
This shows what the "Spirit of His Son" is. It also shows that the Lord at that moment was consciously enjoying His relationship with the Father, whatever agony He was passing through.
- The cry — "Abba" is Aramaic, "Father" is Greek; the Lord says it once, in the garden, and hands the whole matter to the One He served.
- The cup — not human hatred, which He never asked to escape, but the wrath of God, in which there was not one drop of sweetness.
- The shrinking — to take this cup without feeling it would have been hardness, not love; His recoil shows a real human soul, not a failing one.
- The limit — all things were possible to the Father, but if the cup had passed, sin could never be settled and no sinner saved.
- The gift — He held a real will and never used it apart from His Father; now the Spirit cries "Abba, Father" in the hearts of those His blood has redeemed.