What happened in the Garden of Gethsemane?

The Lord's dependence as man is then displayed in the most striking manner. The whole scene of Gethsemane and the cross, in Luke, is the perfect dependent man. He prays: He submits to His Father's will. An angel strengthens Him: this was their service to the Son of man. Afterwards, in deep conflict, He prays more earnestly: dependent man, He is perfect in His dependence. The deepness of the conflict deepens His intercourse with His Father. The disciples were overwhelmed by the shadow only of that which caused Jesus to pray. They take refuge in the forgetfulness of sleep. The Lord, with the patience of grace, repeats His warning, and the multitude arrive. Peter, confident when warned, sleeping at the approach of temptation when the Lord was praying, strikes when Jesus allows Himself to be led as a sheep to the slaughter, and then alas! denies when Jesus confesses the truth. But, submissive as the Lord was to His Father's will, He plainly shows that His power had not departed from Him. He heals the wound that Peter inflicted on the high priest's servant, and then permits Himself to be led away, with the remark that it was their hour and the power of darkness. Sad and terrible association!

The next scene, in the garden, equally perfect in its display of Jesus, and most humbling in its exhibition of the choicest of the apostles, shows us the picture, not of holy calm in the full knowledge of all that awaited Himself and His disciples, but of anguish to the uttermost, and of death realized in all its horrors as before God (vers. 36-46). What an insight Gethsemane gives us of Him, Jehovah-Messiah though He was, as the Man of sorrows and acquainted with grief! Who ever saw affliction as He? Not only had Jesus to know the depths of the cross in atonement as none other could; bow His head under the full, unsparing judgment of God when made sin for us; but He underwent beyond all others the anticipative pressure of death on His soul as the power of Satan, feeling it perfectly, and the more deeply by taking it from His Father's and not from the enemy's hand. It was the "strong crying and tears" to His Father now, as afterward to God as such when it was a question of actual sin-bearing on the tree. "And He took with Him Peter and the two sons of Zebedee, and began to be sorrowful and very heavy. Then saith He unto them, My soul is exceeding sorrowful, even unto death: tarry ye here, and watch with Me" (vers. 37, 38). 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 (morally speaking) — alone, when God forsook and hid His face from Him on whose head met all our iniquities. Here, in Gethsemane, it was pleading as a Son with His Father, when "He went a little farther, and fell on His face [prostrate in His earnestness], and prayed, saying, O My Father, if it be possible, let this cup pass from Me: nevertheless, not as I will, but as Thou wilt" (ver. 39). He watched, and prayed, and entered not into temptation, though tempted to the uttermost. But He finds the disciples asleep: they could not watch with Him one hour. "The spirit indeed is willing, but the flesh is weak"; and so it was again and again with them, till He bade them sleep, but warned them that the hour was at hand, as the traitor drew near.

Mark how in this Gospel there is more development of His sufferings than in any other. "Being in an agony he prayed more earnestly." The more He felt the depths of that dreadful cup which He was to drink, the more earnestly He prayed. With us, too often, the trouble that fills our minds turns us away from God; but "He prayed more earnestly." The agony brought Him to God; and that is just the right thing. "And his sweat was as it were great drops of blood falling down to the ground. And when He rose up from prayer, and was come to his disciples, he found them sleeping for sorrow, and said unto them, Why sleep ye? Rise and pray, lest ye enter into temptation. And while he yet spake, behold a multitude, and he that was called Judas, one of the twelve, went before them and drew near unto Jesus to kiss him; but Jesus said unto him, Judas, betrayest thou the Son of man with a kiss?" There you have in the disciples man in his infirmity; in Judas, man in his hatred and wickedness; and in Christ, man in his perfectness. The poor disciples were sleeping for sorrow while He was praying "more earnestly, being in an agony." When we come to the cross in this Gospel, we find no trace of the agony. He had gone through it in spirit in Gethsemane, and is then above it all.

It is the perfectness of His mind when His being a victim is in view that is here specially brought before us. He takes all the disciples with Him to Gethsemane; and then, telling them to tarry there while He went on farther and prayed, He takes Peter, and James, and John, who had also been with Him on the mount of transfiguration, and afterwards had the place of pillars farther on; and 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, not mere pain or suffering, the power of death weighed upon His spirit, weighed upon it as man, yet with a weight no man could fathom. Yet with what calm simplicity He tells it out! We ought to know it, though it may be beyond our knowledge. "My soul is exceeding sorrowful, even unto death." His need was there, and told out to hearts that ought to have felt it and watched earnestly, occupied with Him. He looked for this, some one to have compassion. "Tarry ye here and watch with me." Blessed Saviour! what ought a heart to have felt to whom He said it? Oh how should it have watched, but alas! what are we?

201 He went on to be alone there with His Father about that which with Him only He could enter into, and which must be altogether with Him. He was perfect in referring it to His Father, and referring it alone. There the solemn question must have its solution. There alone it could, and there alone His perfectness could bring it. He fell on His face and prayed, saying, "O my Father," in supplicating earnestness, "if it be possible, let this cup pass from me." He should feel it fully and He did: submission would not have been perfect else, but then His obedience and submission were perfect: "nevertheless, not as I will, but as thou wilt." In the perfect sense of the cup to be drunk, and the holy desire to avoid it, the piety of soul which desired it (for it was all the repulsion of sin from God, and what our wretched souls had fallen into - what man was as departed from God, which He must take upon His soul, if indeed He had to drink it, if He undertook our cause, and it was a holy desire to shrink from such a judgment and being made sin, even as bearing it before God), yet with perfect submission and obedience to His Father, whatever His will was, and to His Father He brings it there where it ought to be brought, alike perfect in desiring not to drink it, and obediently submitting to drink it if it was His Father's will; and this was His second utterance, "If this cup may not pass away from me except I drink it, thy will be done." The no reply now to His first demand leaves His soul in the unclouded perfectness of the second and third, for He was with His Father in full and solemn sense of what it was, but with Him - He is occupied with it. How could it be otherwise? It ought to have been so. The disciples sleep, leaving Him alone with God. Where else could He have now been with such a work, such a cup, before Him? Now it is over, one can linger round this scene to learn His perfectness and love, the love we shall enjoy in brighter days when we shall see Him as He is - when He shall see of the travail of His soul and be satisfied. Yes, it was well; it was only right that He should be alone with His Father then. It could have been nowhere else, and He went naturally there, if I may so speak, for all His thoughts were perfect.

Finally, we have to consider Christ's sufferings, by anticipation. We find the dark shadow of the cross casting itself athwart His path, and producing a very keen order of suffering which, however, must be as clearly distinguished from His atoning suffering as either His suffering for righteousness, or His suffering by sympathy. Let as take a passage, in proof: "And he came out, and went, as He was wont, to the mount of Olives; and his disciples also followed him. And when he was at the place, he said to them, Pray that ye enter not into temptation. And he was withdrawn from them about a stone's cast, and kneeled down, and prayed, saying, Father, if thou be willing, remove this cup from me: nevertheless, not my will but thine, be done. And there appeared an angel to him from heaven strengthening him. And being in an agony, he prayed more earnestly: and his sweat was as it were great drops of blood falling down to the ground." (Luke 22:39-44.) Again, we read, "And he took with him Peter and the two sons of Zebedee, and began to be sorrowful and very heavy. Then says he to them, my soul is exceeding sorrowful, even to death: tarry ye here, and watch with me … he went away again the second time, and prayed, saying, O my Father, if this cup may not pass away from me, except I drink it, thy will be done." (Matt. 26:37-42.)

From these verses, it is evident, there was a something, in prospect, which the blessed Lord had never encountered before. There was a "cup" being filled out for Him of which He had not yet drunk. If He had been a sin-bearer all His life, then why this intense agony at the thought of coming in contact with sin and enduring the wrath of God on account of sin? What was the difference between Christ, in Gethsemane, and Christ, at Calvary, if He were a sin-bearer all His life? There was a material difference! but it is because He was not a sin-bearer all His life. What is the difference? In Gethsemane, He was anticipating the cross! at Calvary, He was actually enduring it. In Gethsemane, "there appeared an angel to him from heaven strengthening him;" at Calvary, He was forsaken of all. There was no angelic ministry there. In Gethsemane He addresses God as "Father," thus enjoying the full communion of that ineffable relationship; but at Calvary, He cries, "My God, My God, why hast thou forsaken me?" Here the sin-bearer looks up, and beholds the throne of eternal Justice enveloped in dark clouds, and the countenance of inflexible Holiness averted from Him because He was being "made sin for us."

Satan brings all this darkness and death to bear on the soul of the Lord, his object being to get between His soul and God. So, the more pressed by Satan, the nearer to God He is. Therefore it is said, "being in an agony, he prayed more earnestly"; and in consequence He receives nothing at the hand of Satan, but of His Father. "The cup which my Father hath given me, shall I not drink it?" Before He left Gethsemane, the whole power of Satan was morally destroyed. He had gone through the hour with His Father, and now takes the cup at the hand of His Father, as an act of obedience. He is now as calm as when doing any other miracle (healing the servant's ear), as if nothing had happened. It was their hour, and the power of darkness was upon them, not on Him. "Whom seek ye?" - "I am he." "As soon then as he had said unto them, I am he, they went backward, and fell to the ground"; but He presents Himself again (as He says in John 14:31: "But that the world may know I love the Father… Arise, let us go hence") saying, "Whom seek ye? … If therefore ye seek me, let these go their way," and they were not touched, as a token of the complete deliverance of us all.

Oh, beloved friends, sorrow might well break His heart; and I do not wonder that He says, as He goes away yonder to pray, "My soul is exceedingly sorrowful, even to death" (Matt. 26:38). Think of that. Or, again: "Reproach has broken my heart, and I am full of heaviness" (Ps. 69:20).

But some one may inquire, Was propitiation effected by all this? No, my friends. Propitiation — the meeting of the righteous claims of God, the glorifying Him about sin, the making of atonement in respect thereof — was not effected by the living agonies of Jesus, neither by the sorrows He tasted, nor by the tears He shed. In the garden you have our Lord calmly, quietly pondering everything, facing everything, looking at everything, weighing everything, and that is what produced this deep sorrow in His blessed soul — but Gethsemane was not Golgotha. In Gethsemane He looked at and measured everything. In the garden He took the cup, if I might so say, and looked at its ingredients; on the cross He drank its contents. He bowed before His Father's will as He says, "O my Father, if it be possible, let this cup pass from me: nevertheless, not as I will, but as thou wilt." You have the perfection of Christ there, the absolute perfection of His soul as He shrinks from the cup — for having to do with sin was in it. He bows before God's will, prepared to drink it. Precious Saviour! He sees what is coming, and since it is for God's glory, He accepts it without a murmur. In that cup of which the Lord speaks, there was not lacking one single element of sorrow that either the hand of man or the hand of God could furnish. I do not doubt that Satan too, at that moment, drew near to the Lord, and put before Him what must be the consequence if He was determined to drink that cup. They had met in the wilderness before, and Satan was overcome by the obedience of Christ, and His dependence on the Father. But Satan returns to the assault. Jesus had said, "The prince of this world comes, and has nothing in me" (John 14:30); and again, "This is your hour, and the power of darkness" (Luke 22:53).

What words could describe the agony of that moment in which all that God was as against sin must be expressed in the storm that must beat upon His defenceless head? When the floodgates of divine wrath shall be opened, and when deep shall call to deep, and all the waves and billows of wrath would go over His soul. But in Gethsemane all this is gone into anticipatively, until the inward distress of that terrible hour manifests itself in bloody sweat. An angel is there to support His bodily weakness, but His spirit receives its strength in prayer, and in the sense that He had come to this pass in the pathway of the Divine will. Therefore He comes back from that spot in His usual calmness and peacefulness, to place Himself in the hands of His enemies, enemies that in His presence could manifest nothing but helpless weakness, going backward and falling on their faces when He tells them that He is the One they seek.

But who was it that they were seeking to take? Ah! they little knew. Born, as men thought, of humble parents, a Galilean too, and a native of that despised city of Nazareth, He was a Divine Person; and as to His Divinity the Second Person of the Godhead. What company of men, or all His creatures, however well armed and however bold, could take Him prisoner without His free leave? This would be demonstrated. "Jesus therefore," we read, "knowing all things that should come upon Him, went forth, and said to them, Whom seek ye? They answered Him, Jesus the Nazorean. Jesus says to them, I am He. And Judas also, which betrayed Him, stood with them." Never before had Judas been afraid of Christ. But now, with all his company, he went backwards, and fell to the ground (6). A sense that the Lord was no mere man, we suppose, took possession of them. When had that band of Roman soldiers, with the chief captain, or chiliarch, at their head, quailed before one in human form? When before had they prostrated themselves in the presence of one whom they would regard as a Jew? Doubtless many a wrongdoer had the officers of the chief priests arrested, without on their part any feeling or manifestation of fear. Here how different! In the presence of a little company of just twelve, and that company unarmed — for what were two swords against the military weapons of trained Roman soldiers? — they were all on the ground. Afraid of the disciples confronting them? How could that be? They were overawed by the presence of just One, but that One the Lord of glory. A dread, an awe, which perhaps they could not define, forbade their approaching Jesus the Nazorean. How easily can God confound His enemies! The Lord said nothing to deter them from their purpose. His presence, however, made them all afraid. Silence on their part there must now have been, whilst prostrate on the ground — a silence broken by the Lord reiterating His question, upon which they returned the same answer. A rejoinder came from Him: "I have told you that I am He. If therefore ye seek Me, let these go their way." And, the Evangelist added, He spake thus, that the saying of Jesus (17:12) might be fulfilled, "Of them which Thou gavest Me have I lost none" (18:7-9).

The Lord having gone away and prayed for the third time, Judas, the betrayer, comes again on the scene, and with him a band of officers and men, with swords and staves. Peter now takes up a sword, and cuts off the ear of Malchus, the high priest's servant. Then they surround the Lord and take Him, while His last act, ere they bind His blessed hands, is to touch the wounded ear of the servant and heal it. Then they bound Him, and led Him away, and "all the disciples forsook him and fled," though all had said they would never deny Him, and Peter had vowed, but a little before, "I am ready to go with thee both into prison and to death." Ah, how little Peter knew of himself! When the Lord, in perfect human dependence, was with God in prayer, His poor disciple was sleeping, when he should have been watching and praying; then afterwards he was fighting, when he should have been quiet; and now he is running away when, if ever there was a moment that he should have stuck to his Master, this was the moment, but "they all forsook him and fled." Afterward we see Peter following "afar off," and then again we see him in the high priest's hall, where there was a fire, and he warms himself by it.