The John Project

Imagine how you’d react if the Queen of England showed up at your home for afternoon tea, and before you’d even begun to adjust to the realization you had royalty under your roof, she got up from her seat, tied an apron around her waist, and proceeded to make your bed, dust the furniture, clean your toilet, take out the trash, and give your dog a bath. How unthinkable, shocking, and embarrassing would that be! What would you say? Where would you begin?

That example doesn’t even come close to what the disciples experienced as their master, the Messiah, took on the role of a servant and began washing their feet. And John 13:6-11 records Peter’s clumsy, awkward, and inelegant words as he was verbally processing his way through this disorienting episode and trying to make sense of what was happening. But the passage also includes the Lord’s patient replies, and they teach us how to better handle those times when he’s up to things in our lives we don’t yet comprehend.

When Jesus approached him with his wash basin, Peter’s first reaction was to question the appropriateness of what the Lord was doing. The original Greek is very emphatic. He asked him, “Are YOU washing MY feet?” And if you’ve ever been so perplexed by what the Lord seemed to be doing you found yourself challenging his wisdom, I’ll bet you can relate. I know I can.

Isaiah 55:9 tells us that God’s ways and thoughts are higher than ours. And we need his to be. So, it makes sense that there would be times we’d have trouble comprehending his actions. But the Lord’s response to Peter was both comforting and encouraging. He said, "What I am doing you do not understand now, but you will know after this." And with that statement he was both expressing sensitivity to Peter’s confusion as well as promising to eventually make things clear. And that assurance is for us too.

Peter’s second reaction was unequivocal. He said, “You shall NEVER wash my feet!” But Jesus said, “If I do not…you have no part with me.” And although he was referencing the spiritual cleansing symbolized by the feet washing, he was saying the depth of Peter’s relationship with him was at stake in this.

Have you ever been bewildered by the Lord’s actions or inaction in a situation and found yourself entertaining the thought that a good God would NEVER allow this to happen? Well, the truth is, sometimes he must allow us to experience things we may not understand exactly because he cares so much about our relationship with him. And his willingness to do that despite the confusion it may cause is really one of the greatest expressions of his love. In those times, we need to let go of our insistence he do what we think he should and allow him to draw us closer to himself instead.

Peter’s third reaction was to tell Jesus what more he should be doing. He said, “Lord, not my feet only, but also my hands and my head.” Does that sound familiar? It saddens me, but I admit there have been times when I’ve accused my Savior of doing less than what the situation called for. The Lord’s reply to Peter was, “He who is bathed needs only to wash his feet.” And those words were meant to assure him he was doing no less than exactly what was needed. And that’s always true for all of us all the time.

The dialog in this section of the chapter concludes with Jesus drawing a clear distinction between Peter and Judas. And I have a hunch he did that specifically to reassure Peter that verbally processing his confusion was not considered a betrayal of his faith but a confirmation of it. So, let’s take comfort in what that means for us too.

My friend, Bobby Chance, really bugs me. We met in the mid 1970’s when we were members of a Christian rock band touring the U.S. and Canada sharing our faith through music. When that ministry concluded, he returned to his home state of Texas and began a business career. But a few years later, all that changed when he sensed God calling him to take the gospel to the streets. So, he quit his job, relocated his family to inner-city Los Angeles, and has been extending the love of Jesus to the homeless, addicted, trafficked, and forgotten in the heartless urban centers of the world ever since. And every time I try to settle into my comfortable suburban fortress insulating me from all that pain, the image of him running toward it deeply troubles me in a very good way.

Servant-heartedness is a way of being that is completely out of sync with this sin-scarred world where the arc of human activity is bent toward selfishness. So, the account of Jesus, in purposeful humility, washing his disciples’ feet is jaw-dropping in terms of its dissonance with our lived experience. People just don’t naturally prioritize the needs of others. The Lord was modeling a different way to be human – the way of the redeemed. He was providing a glimpse into a born-again personhood where we’re free and empowered to become more like him and less like us.

His extraordinary example was clearly meant to disturb the disciples and to set them up to embrace more of what it looks like to be a citizen of the kingdom his resurrection would soon inaugurate. And since our faith in him escorts us into that same kingdom, I think it’s obvious Jesus meant this episode to shake us up a bit too. It’s not until our fistfuls of old-creation expectations are jarred loose that we have the capacity to lay hold of new-creation understandings.

We’ve already considered some of these. In John 13:3, we encountered Jesus showing us the things servants know. And now, let’s look at his actions in verses 4 and 5 to learn about the things servants do.

First, by the simple act of rising from supper to serve, he showed us that servants balance receiving with giving. I’m not talking about physical food, but if there’s no input, there can’t be any output. If our serving isn’t nourished by feasting, we’ll soon burn out with nothing to offer anyone. On the other hand, if our sole focus is sating our own appetites, we’ll become spiritually obese. We need to ensure that we spend appropriate time at the table of self-care so we can offer ourselves to others sacrificially in a spiritually healthy and sustained way.

Second, when Jesus laid aside his outer garments, wrapped himself in a towel, poured water into a basin, and began washing feet it wasn’t something exotic. This service would have been offered as a matter of course by the household staff had he and his disciples not been forced to celebrate Passover in a borrowed room. What made it so shocking was not what was happening but who was doing it. The Lord was demonstrating that servants don’t concern themselves with seeking jobs that match their personal skillset, preferences, or sense of self-importance. They simply find a need and fill it. Most of the time, ministry is just about doing what needs to be done with a grateful and humble heart.

Third, when Jesus dried his disciples’ feet with the towel he was wearing, he was illustrating that servants absorb stuff. All of us engaged in caring for the needs of others will find ourselves dealing with the dirt people pick up along life’s journey. And some of it’s going to end up on us. This isn’t something to dread, resist, or complain about. This is one of the privileges of serving Jesus. We need to make sure we never get confused about who the real savior is, but while representing him, if we get the chance to take one for the team, how awesome is that!

I’ve got a long way to go, but I want to become the kind of person whose servant-heartedness evidences a new-creation way of being human, reflects Jesus better, and disturbs people in a really good way. If that mirrors your own desires, join me in prayerfully inviting the Lord to help us do the things servants do.

The sight of the Son of God on his knees washing his disciple’s feet depicted in John chapter 13, is one of the most shocking discoveries any reader of this Gospel will experience. It seems to arrive so suddenly that after you encounter it, you find yourself asking, “Where did that come from.” So, you circle back to try and grasp what you just read and find that verse 3 provides context for the Lord’s actions in verse 4, but those actions – rising from supper, removing his outer garments, and wrapping himself in a towel – don’t at first seem to be related to that context. So, when you arrive at verse 5, you’re completely unprepared for its dramatic depiction of such unimaginable and disorienting humility.

And it’s not only a staggering moment for those of us who observe this event on the pages of Scripture from the distance of millennia, it was far more so for the disciples who lived it firsthand, especially Peter. It takes another 12 verses of the Lord’s responses to Peter’s startled reactions before he and the rest of the Twelve begin to regain their footing and for the significance of what just happened to start to come into focus.

We need a similar debriefing by the Holy Spirit if we’re going to be able to take in its impact, and I plan to pursue that with you. But right now, I’d like to focus on verse 3 and the three things it tells us Jesus knew that made possible the kind of holy servanthood he displayed. If we’re ever going to serve others with the same heart he has – which was clearly his point – we need to know what he knew.

First, it says he knew, “that the Father had given all things into his hands.” He had nothing to lose. We’re often hesitant to serve others for fear of what it will cost us emotionally or in terms of time and money spent. But when we understand, as Jesus did, that we already possess the full measure of God’s favor and provision, we can give of ourselves to others with confidence that doing so can’t diminish us. God has fully resourced us with all we could ever need.

Second, we’re told he knew, “that he had come from God.” He had nothing to prove. His serving was a settled response to a divine assignment. He didn’t need to wash feet as a way of validating that. When we serve as a means of affirming our calling instead of from a place of confidence in it, our service is self-serving and becomes polluted. But when our missional activity flows from a solid assurance that we’ve been sent by God to tangibly express his love in this world, it changes why we serve and what people experience from us when we do.

Finally, the text tells us he knew that he, “was going to God.” He had nothing to earn. His eternity was already secure. When we seek to gain God’s favor through acts of service, it betrays an insecurity regarding our relationship with him and becomes all about us instead of all about those we’re supposed to minister to in his name. Our faith in Christ is what has settled our eternal destiny, not our works. We will be with him forever, and nothing we may attempt to do for him can add anything to what he’s already done to secure the fulfillment of that promise.

The image of the Messiah stooping over a water basin to clean road dirt from his followers’ sandaled feet is breathtaking. It stands in stark contrast to the world’s sin-distorted concepts of authority. But God is inviting you and me to make his model more commonplace as we follow our Lord’s example. He calls to us from Philippians 2 verses 5 and 7 where it says, “Let this mind be in you, which was also in Christ Jesus, who...made Himself of no reputation, taking the form of a bondservant.”

Let’s take up his challenge by welcoming him to teach us the things servants know.

I experienced something of an emotional crisis during my wife’s second pregnancy. It didn’t last, but it was very real. Over a period of several days, I found myself nearly overcome with fear that I wouldn’t have the capacity to love our second child. I think I knew better, but I imagined my love as a limited resource that had already been fully invested in our firstborn. And now, I was afraid there would be nothing left to offer her sibling. But thankfully, it wasn’t long before I discovered that parental love is not a zero-sum game where someone can win only if someone else loses. It’s as though something opens up in the hearts of moms and dads that taps into a limitless reservoir. And I’ve come to understand that that something is a gift from God that reflects how he loves all of us equally.

Having completed his ministry to the crowds as well as his debates with the religious leaders, the thirteenth chapter of John’s Gospel launches the section that reveals Jesus fully focused on the cross and preparing his disciples for what would follow. It strategically provides details regarding this season of the Lord’s ministry that the earlier-written, synoptic Gospels don’t. And it begins with a moving account of the master washing his disciples’ feet that results in a vivid lesson on servanthood. But the first two verses set the stage for that episode by giving us a majestic description of the love that motivated Christ’s mission set against a backdrop of the sinister satanic maneuverings at work to stop it.

The Passover feast was approaching. It was the final one Jesus would celebrate with his disciples – The Last Supper, as it would come to be known. And although the Lord was keenly aware his crucifixion was imminent, instead of turning inward to brace himself for the impending suffering, verse 1 tells us that “having loved his own who were in the world, he loved them to the end.”

At the point when anyone else would have become self-absorbed, he continued to focus his loving attention on others. Yes, the text clearly refers to the Twelve. But if we stop to consider who these men were, we can easily locate ourselves in their company and hear these life-giving words as an expression of the Savior’s heart for everyone.

These weren’t stained-glass saints whose holiness merited special affection. Within hours, Peter would deny he ever knew Jesus. James and John were impulsive and arrogant. Bartholomew was prejudiced against Galileans. Matthew was a white-collar criminal, Thomas a skeptic, and Simon a political revolutionary. And then there’s the ultimate villain of the Gospel narrative: Judas. Verse two makes clear that among those Jesus would love to the end was a man who by the time the seder meal was served that evening had already embraced a Satan-inspired determination to betray him to the Jewish authorities.

If that couldn’t disqualify someone from the steadfast love of Christ, nothing can.

Even if our theology is better than this, many of us subconsciously believe God’s love is a limited resource, and he manages it by giving more or less of it to certain people based on the worthiness of their piety. But none of us deserve God’s love. Romans 3:23 plainly states we’ve all sinned and fallen short of God’s standards. And yet Romans 5:8 says, “God demonstrates His own love toward us, in that while we were still sinners, Christ died for us.”

His is a limitless love that envelopes each of us equally in its embrace. A love that 1 Corinthians 13:8 tells us will never fail. So, if you’ve marginalized yourself in terms of how you imagine the quality and quantity of the love God has for you, think again. His Father-love is not a zero-sum game.

The last seven verses of John 12 conclude Jesus’ public preaching. Afterward, he would spend his remaining time prior to the cross focused on preparing the disciples for their future ministries. So, in this final discourse to the crowds, he passionately raised his voice and issued one last call to faith.

He started off by clarifying that to believe in him meant believing in the one who’d sent him. Then, he reminded them of the three things he’d done to help them do that. He’d shown them what the Father is like, reflected his light into their darkness, and declared to them his words warning that those words would one day serve as their judge if they rejected him.

And with that, it was over. There was just no more to say. It was time for them to make their choice and he left them to it. But I’m deeply intrigued by that succinct-yet-profound, three-fold description of the Lord’s ministry and how it impacts all of us.

First, he showed us what the Father is like. We don’t have to wonder or guess. The maker and master of all things pressed his glory into human flesh and lived among us (John 1:14) putting his love, wisdom, power, authority, tenderness, kindness, and holiness on display. God is not a philosophy to be debated, a concept to be shaped, a mystery to be solved, or a mythology to be embellished. He has a very real and indelible face, name, and history in Jesus of Nazareth. And although he’s infinitely greater than flesh and blood could ever contain (Romans 11:33; 1 Timothy 6:16), the incarnation made it possible for him to be seen, touched, followed, studied, emulated, and ultimately believed on with a faith anchored in facts (1 John 1:1-3).

Second, he reflected the Father’s light into our darkness. He made it possible for us to recognize our need. We’re so accustomed to and enveloped by the inky depths of our sin that we’re unaware of our spiritual blindness until the shining example of the righteousness of God in Jesus breaks through revealing the impassible chasm between us and him. But then, like a rising sun illuminating a new day (Luke 1:78), Jesus also reveals the bridge across that divide opened for us through his love and sacrifice.

Finally, he declared the Father’s words to us. He made it possible for us to hear God. Through the things Jesus said, the folly, distortions, lies, and deceptions that poison, ruin, and enslave us are exposed and undone as God’s truth sets us free (John 8:32). His teachings also inspire, instruct, nourish, and guide us. But his words not only contain the power and wisdom of God, they reveal his heart. In them, we hear the sound of his voice.

When someone speaks, they’re engaged in two streams of communication at once. There’s what they say and how they say it. The first stream provides the informational content, the second supplies the relational context. And we all know what it’s like when they don’t match, when what’s said informs but wounds in the process. But the words of Jesus always contain divine truth wrapped in the love of God. Even when his message seems confrontive and hard to receive, we always hear the unmistakable sound of our loving Father speaking life to us and caring enough to say what we need to hear.

The Lord’s final public sermon was a call to faith. And an exploration of what he said that day elicits a response too. It’s just not possible to leave a consideration of the wonder of these three aspects of his life and ministry without ourselves being drawn to a fresh expression of belief that results in a renewal of devotion. Let’s offer him both.

Even though the previous section stated that many of the people who witnessed Jesus’ miracles made the choice not to believe in him as Messiah, John 12:42 reveals that there were many who did, including some among the Jewish ruling class. But we’re told they didn’t want to make their faith public because they were afraid of being excommunicated. Then verse 43 adds this: “They loved the praise of men more than the praise of God.”

Part of me would prefer that sentence wasn’t in the Bible at all, but I especially wish there was a way to avoid reading it in its context because this is not a description of those who’d rejected Christ. This exposes something ugly in the hearts of believers. And since I happen to be one of those, I can’t just ignore this passage. I need to stop and search the recesses of my own soul with a willingness to answer the question of whose opinion matters to me. I need to confront the issue of whose favor I’m seeking.

Excommunication was no joke. It literally meant becoming “unsynagogued,” expelled from nearly everything that defined Jewishness. But for those leaders, it wasn’t just about what they were afraid of losing if they went on the record with their belief. The text indicates their main interest was in what they thought they could gain by keeping their faith private.

It’s described as “praise,” which is a translation of a word meaning opinion or estimation. In other words, they wanted others to have a good opinion of them, to be esteemed, held in high regard, respected. And they thought they could achieve that best by holding their faith in Jesus close to the vest.

If I’m honest, I have to confess that I’ve been guilty of this approach in the pursuit of affirmation. There’ve been times when I’ve chosen to veil my Christianity to gain a higher ranking in the opinion of unbelievers I wanted to impress. On those occasions, I told myself I wasn’t really denying my faith, I just wasn’t volunteering it. I even justified what I was doing by convincing myself I’d be in a better position to share my testimony once I’d gained the favor I sought.

But as sinful as all that is, the real issue here is not about whether I’m always upfront with my beliefs, it’s about the foolishness of seeking the approval of the world. The affirmation I seek cannot be gained from people. The favor of others is fickle, shallow, and fleeting. The only opinion of my worth that can truly satisfy my soul’s longing is God’s.

The Greek word translated as “loved” in this passage is the verb form of “agape.” And the New Testament uses it almost exclusively to describe the love of God – the love that he has for us, that we offer back to him, and that we extend in his name to others. So, when we’re told “They loved the praise of men,” it indicates that they were seeking something from people that can only be received from God. It’s his opinion of us that matters.

But maybe the reason I seek the approval of others is that I’m so deeply aware that I don’t deserve his. Can you identify with that? If so, let’s remind each other that there’s a blood-stained cross emphatically declaring for all time how much he values us. It shouts into our doubts his affirming love.

Is it possible for someone to observe something but make the choice to not see it?

I’m a Star Wars fan and have a prized collection of memorabilia that people have given me over time. But when we relocated to Southern California after retiring, my compilation remained in a moving box in our garage for a couple of years. Then, some of our grandchildren came for a visit and wanted to see it. So, we spent a couple of enjoyable hours unpacking, viewing, discussing, and playing with my souvenirs.

Afterward, instead of putting everything back in storage, I decided to find a way to display the items in the house. But I had to come up with a plan for doing it that wouldn’t conflict with the ambience of my wife’s carefully crafted interior design. So, I made the decision to build a special shelf for them above my desk in the small room the two of us share as an office.

Now, you have to understand, it’s a tiny space with our desks facing opposite walls and only three feet apart. And when I started my project, Sue was at her desk working on her laptop editing a new book she’d just written. Admittedly, it wasn’t an ideal time for me to be measuring, drilling, hammering, and arranging my display just 36 inches away. But she was so focused on her work and blocked what I was doing out of her mind so effectively that it wasn’t until weeks later when our grandkids were visiting again and pointed out to her the result of my labors that she finally saw my Star Wars shelf.

Like the dust bunnies under the bed we’ve ignored for so long that we no longer see them, if we make the choice to not see something, we can reach a point where we can’t see it. And this type of willful disconnect with reality is what’s being described in John 12:37-41.

This passage sadly reports that most of the people who’d witnessed the many miraculous signs Jesus performed made a conscious choice not to believe. And it quotes two Old Testament prophecies from Isaiah addressing this. The first one (Isaiah 53:1) predicted that people would observe the “arm” or power of the Messiah but choose not to acknowledge his divinity. The second one (Isaiah 6:9-10) said that because they would make the choice to not see, they would enter a state where they wouldn’t be able to see, and tragically, be unable to receive the spiritual healing being offered.

I’m a Jesus-follower and have been most of my life. I chose to see him with eyes of faith and receive his saving grace long ago. But salvation is not the only aspect of my relationship with him that requires a willingness to see.

For instance, to benefit from the work of his Spirit addressing my destructive habits and behaviors means first being willing to stop ignoring or excusing them and acknowledge them as sin. Until I confess or see them for what they are, I won’t cooperate with his sanctifying work. And the longer I close my eyes to this reality, the closer I get to not being able to even recognize my need. James 1:22-24 describes this as self-deception that’s like viewing ourselves in a mirror but walking away without taking action on what we’ve seen and forgetting what we really look like.

The Christian life requires moving beyond observing to seeing. But we can always do so without fear. The light Jesus uses to reveal our spiritual imperfections in that mirror is the same light he uses to transform them. So, I invite you to join me today in claiming the promise of 2 Corinthians 3:18. “But we all, with unveiled face, beholding as in a mirror the glory of the Lord, are being transformed into the same image from glory to glory, just as by the Spirit of the Lord.”

Last summer, my wife and I went for a bike ride along the beach near our home to a restaurant for dinner. After we finished our meal, we realized we’d lost track of time and the sun was setting. That meant we'd have to make much of the ride home in the dark, and we hadn’t thought to bring headlamps or flashlights. So, we found ourselves in a precarious situation. It was difficult to see where we were going and to avoid colliding with obstacles in the bike path. After making it home, we decided that in the future we’d stick to doing our bike riding in daylight.

Jesus used a similar illustration as he spoke to the crowd in John 12:35-36. He ignored the question they posed in the previous verse when they asked, “Who is this Son of Man?” He’d already addressed that issue with them on several occasions. So, instead of engaging in another attempt to explain his messianic mission, he chose instead to address the root cause of their failure to comprehend it.

They didn’t need more information. They needed to make a choice.

He told them it was time to walk in the light they’d already received. And since he’d twice previously described himself as “the light of the world” (John 8:1; 9:5), they’d have understood what he meant. It was time to step forward and begin their faith-journey while he was still present to illuminate the path. But he told them that wouldn’t be much longer. Unless they began advancing into the brilliant glow of belief, they’d soon find themselves groping in the dark.

Then, he added this mind-bender. He said if they would place their faith in the light, they would become its offspring. What did he mean by that? Well, again, the crowd would’ve understood he was referencing himself. So, they wouldn’t have missed his meaning. He was inviting them to become his children by placing faith in him as their messiah and promising if they did, his light would become more than an external phenomenon. It would become their identity.

Then, to illustrate the urgency of what he’d just said, we’re told he departed from them and concealed his whereabouts. Although he’d likely just gone back to Bethany for the night, it was a dramatic way to leave his audience considering the impact of his message.

I think this passage leaves us in the same state, pondering how to respond to its truth. And it’s clear this is about more than just our initial step from darkness into light, that moment we first cross from doubt into belief. It’s about every step of faith that follows that one.

As we live our lives in pursuit of Christ, we’ll frequently find ourselves entering pools of his illumination as we face circumstances, read his word, or hear the voice of his Spirit pointing the way forward into new dimensions of trust. On those occasions, it’s not usually more information we need, it’s a choice we need to make. And the time to make it is while Jesus is lighting it up because there’s often a time limit on those moments of his revelation.

You may be experiencing one right now. If so, I challenge you to stop hesitating and step forward with faith that the light of the world is not only with you to lead the way but to deepen your identity as his child.

I’m sad to say I never really fully appreciated my parents until I became one. Oh, I knew they loved me, and I was genuinely grateful for that. But it wasn’t until I had my own kids that I realized how much that love cost them. Our appreciation of a gift and how deeply we value it always depends on our awareness of what it required of the giver. And I believe this lesson is at the heart of John 12:31-34.

Following up on his earlier statement that the hour had come for his glorification, Jesus is quoted in verses 31 and 32 describing three things that would result from it and when they would happen. First, he said the world in its corrupt, broken, distorted, and sin-scarred state would be called out and condemned – the system perpetuating so much pain would be brought to an end. Second, he declared the one who’d engineered and ruled over that system would be expelled – the usurper would be shown the door. And third, he announced he would draw to his healing embrace all those who’d suffered under the tyranny of that darkness – the righteous one would make all things right.

He also said the fulfillment of these wonderful and powerful promises would be immediate. He used the word “now” twice in one sentence to emphasize that the wait was over. His turning the world right-side-up, casting out the interloper, and wooing the formerly enslaved to the freedom of his love would begin without delay.

There’s just so much glory contained in these verses it’s hard to even begin to take it in. And if that stirs your heart to want to explore, comprehend, and embrace more of what this passage describes, don’t miss the importance of the next verse.

Verse 33 is a commentary note clarifying what Jesus meant by the Greek word translated into English with the phrase, “lifted up.” It tells us he was describing how he would die. And it’s clear from verse 34 that those who heard Jesus say this understood what he meant without requiring clarification. It was not a veiled reference. He would be crucified. He would be “lifted up” on a cross.

And if the Bible itself tells us how we should interpret a passage, we don’t have much liberty to expand on its meaning. There’s a lot of symbolism this phrase can evoke, but here in John 12, regardless of any other significance it may have, the text is clear that our interpretation of “lifted up” is supposed to stay narrowly focused on how Jesus died.

He suffered.

Crucifixion was an horrific and excruciating method of execution. And to pause for any length of time to meaningfully consider the physical pain Jesus endured, along with his unimaginable spiritual suffering caused by the temporary rending of his relationship with the Father as he bore our sin and was “forsaken” as Mark 15:34 describes, is a painful process itself. But our ability to grasp the scope of what the cross purchased and to live fully within its benefits is directly tied to our understanding of the price he paid.

We should not allow the shadow cast by that brutal timber where Jesus bled and died to consume us with sorrow. But we don’t want to be too quick to step out of it. According to Philippians 3:10, we need a deeper fellowship with Christ’s sufferings so we can live more fully in the power of his resurrection. We are uplifted when we understand more of what it meant that he was “lifted up.”

After announcing that the time for his crucifixion had come, John 12:27-30 reveals Jesus sharing – very transparently – what he was feeling as he looked ahead to the cross. He confessed that his soul was troubled. That must be the greatest understatement of all time, but I’m grateful for this glimpse into the soul of the Savior. Though none of us can begin to comprehend the horrors he faced, we all can relate to the experience of having feelings of trepidation about a challenging future. And it’s deeply moving to know he understands.

But more important than the comfort this passage provides in the knowledge of Christ’s empathy for our agitated hearts, is the example it records of the Lord’s response to his own. The rightness of the rhetorical question he asked, the truth he proclaimed, and the prayer he prayed was powerfully affirmed by the audible voice of the Heavenly Father providing a divine exclamation point that Jesus said was for our sakes.

So, it would probably be wise for us to listen up.

First, let’s consider the question he asked. In anticipation of the horrors of the cross, Jesus wondered aloud whether he should ask the Father to save him from it. Now, as someone who has experienced saving grace because he didn’t, I don’t want to even entertain the thought that Calvary might not have happened if he had. But it was a real option and one I wouldn’t have hesitated exercising. Whenever I face the prospect of pain of any sort, my first and only prayer tends to be, “God, save me from this!” But he didn’t do that.

And that brings us to the truth he proclaimed. He declared that even in the midst of that dark prospect, he was confident the purposes of God at work in it could be trusted. Contrary to my desire that life never include any form of discomfort, the Bible is clear from cover to cover that sin has unleashed suffering in this world and my faith does not spare me from it. But it does promise that I’ll never face heartache alone or outside the canopy of God’s meticulous, purposeful, and powerful plans for my life.

So, even when staring down the hardest of times, I can learn to pray what Jesus prayed, “Father, glorify your name.” I can confidently welcome him to demonstrate the beauty of who he is in every situation. I can always face the future with the knowledge that no matter what, his name will never be associated with anything that’ll harm me. The path to my tomorrow my pass through some pain, but that’s not the same thing. It may hurt but it won’t harm. And any pain he allows me to experience is always in service of something good.

It’s probably not the best illustration, but I recently added a new component to my exercise routine. It’s forcing me to work some muscles in a new way, and I’m really feeling the burn. It’s not pleasant, but it is good. Although my natural inclination is to avoid the soreness, that pain is the signal that I’m getting stronger.

2 Corinthians 2:17 says, “For our light affliction, which is but for a moment, is working for us a far more exceeding and eternal weight of glory.” Let’s cling tightly to that promise as we step forward into every challenge we encounter in this life. And let’s always be sure to ask ourselves the question he asked, proclaim the truth he declared, and pray the prayer he prayed.