I'd like to ask you to turn with me in your Bibles this morning to Luke 22. Luke 22 this morning, and we'll look at verses 39 through 53. Luke chapter 22, beginning in verse 39. Hear now the word of the Lord. And he came out and went, as was his custom, to the Mount of Olives, and the disciples followed him. And when he came to the place, he said to them, pray that you may not enter into temptation. And he withdrew from them about a stone's throw and knelt down and prayed, saying, Father, if you are willing, remove this cup from me. Nevertheless, not my will, but yours be done. And there appeared to him an angel from heaven strengthening him. And being in agony, he prayed more earnestly, and his sweat became like great drops of blood falling down to the ground. And when he arose from prayer, he came to the disciples and found them sleeping for sorrow. And he said to them, why are you sleeping? Rise and pray that you may not enter into temptation. While he was still speaking, there came a crowd, and a man called Judas, one of the twelve, was leading them. He drew near to Judas to kiss him. But Jesus said to him, Judas, would you betray the Son of Man with a kiss? And when those who were around him saw what would follow, they said, Lord, shall we strike with a sword? And one of them struck the servant of the high priest and cut off his right ear. But Jesus said, No more of this. And he touched his ear and healed him. Then Jesus said to the chief priests and the officers of the temples and elders who had come out against him, Have you come out as against a robber with swords and clubs? 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. This is the word of the Lord. Thanks be to God. Let's pray together. Father, I pray this morning that you would reveal to us the weakness of our own flesh and the strength of our Savior. We pray this in Christ's name, amen. You may be seated. Have you ever felt so discouraged that you were tempted to give up? Have you ever felt overwhelmed with intense, almost soul-crushing pressure when the truth that you know in your head is put to the real-life test? Have you ever been so exhausted by the pressures of life that you can hardly get out of bed in the morning? Well, you're not alone. These kinds of experiences of darkness and pressure and just spiritual exhaustion have characterized the lives of God's people throughout all of church history. In fact, the Puritans called these experiences the dark night of the soul. The Psalms are filled with expressions of this kind of spiritual oppression. We heard one of them this morning in our opening Psalm. Listen to David in Psalm 55. He says, Do you ever feel like that? Maybe you're feeling like that right now. Do you ever feel like this? Oh, that I had wings like a dove. I would fly away and be at rest. Yes, I would wander away. I would lodge in the wilderness. I would hurry to find a shelter from the raging wind and tempest. You're just so overwhelmed, you just want to escape from it all. That's how David felt. And that's how Jesus felt in the text that we read this morning. The Last Supper is over. Jesus has poured his final teaching into his disciples, and now he leads his closest friends out of the city, across the Kidron Valley, and up the familiar slopes of the Mount of Olives to a garden where he was accustomed to pray. And here in this garden, Jesus experiences a dark night of the soul. He experiences such a weight of agony that he sweat great drops of blood. And no wonder, as he says in the last verse of our passage, Jesus recognizes this is the hour of the power of darkness that he is facing. And this kind of intense pressure is also what Jesus' disciples felt. For three years, they have followed him, they have listened to his teaching, they have witnessed his miracles, And now their discipleship will face its most severe test, and as we see in this text, it's a test that they will fail. And Luke, under the inspiration of the Holy Spirit, masterfully structures this scene to show us a profound contrast of responses under intense spiritual pressure. On the one hand, we see the perfect Son of God, the last Adam, facing the cup of God's wrath with agonizing and yet submissive prayer. And on the other side, we see Christ's disciples, the very best of fallen humanity, facing the same crisis with sorrowful yet sinful weakness. And so we're going to walk through this text this morning with three simple observations. First, we will witness the perfect submission of the God-man as he wrestles in prayer before his Father. And second, we will observe the tragic failure of the disciples who, in their sorrow, reveal the weakness of all flesh. And then finally, we will behold the sovereign response of the God-man whose perfect actions in the face of betrayal and arrest flow directly from his perfect submission. So first, we see the custom of Jesus's prayer. Verse 39 says, and he came out and went, as was his custom, to the Mount of Olives. That phrase, as was his custom, is a small detail, but it is profoundly significant. Luke wants us to understand that this moment of intense crisis prayer was not an anomaly for Jesus. This was not something he resorted to only in an emergency. Rather, this agonizing prayer was built upon a lifetime of consistent, habitual communion with His Father. Throughout Jesus' ministry, we see Jesus withdrawing to lonely places to prayer. Early in the morning, late at night, before a major decision, after a significant ministry, Christ's strength for His ultimate trial was sourced from the deep well of consistent daily dependence upon His Father. And brothers and sisters, there is a vital lesson for us here. Crisis moments do not create our character, they reveal it. They expose our habits. When pressure comes, we will not suddenly develop a new spiritual discipline. We will default to the ones that we have already cultivated. Jesus' habit was prayer. What is yours? Is it fear? Is it anxiety? Is it distraction? Is it frantic, worldly problem-solving? Or is it, like our Lord, an accustomed turning to our Father in prayer? Do you have a daily habit of prayer? If not, why not? Do you come to our prayer meetings on Wednesday nights? If not, why not? Do you walk out of the room when it's time to pray? Why? We need to cultivate this pattern of prayer. This scene compels us to see that the strength that we will have in future times of intense pressure is being determined by the habits of communion that we are building right now. If you are not right now cultivating habits of prayer, then when the pressure comes, you will not be adequately prepared for what you need to get you through that intense time of pressure. Prayer was Jesus's custom. And that brings us then to the content of his prayer. Jesus prayed, Father, if you are willing, remove this cup from me. Now, what exactly is Jesus praying for here? I think some have mistakenly believed that Jesus is recoiling from the physical pain of the cross, the nails and the scourging and the thorns. And while it is, of course, certainly true that in his humanity he did not desire the suffering, the physical pain was nothing compared to the true horror of this cup. Throughout the Old Testament, the cup is a consistent and terrifying symbol of God's holy and undiluted wrath against sin. The psalmist says in Psalm 75 verse 8, For in the hand of the Lord there is a cup with foaming wine, well mixed, and he pours out from it, and all the wicked of the earth shall drain it down to the dregs. The prophet Isaiah warns Jerusalem in Isaiah 51 verse 17, O Jerusalem, you who have drunk from the hand of the Lord the cup of His wrath, you who have drunk to the dregs the bowl, the cup of staggering. You see, this cup, this cup that Jesus is pleading with His Father to take from Him, this cup is the full measure of divine judgment. This is the infinite fury of a perfect holy God against all of the rebellion, the idolatry, the blasphemy, the pride, the lust, the greed, the murder, every sin of every person who would believe throughout all history is collected and concentrated into one vessel of staggering wrath. And this is the cup that was now being presented to the sun. And in his perfect, sinless humanity, he recoils from it. This is the genuine, holy revulsion of a son who has known nothing but perfect, unbroken, eternal fellowship with his father, but he is about to become what he has never been. He is about to become sin. As Paul tells us in 2 Corinthians 5.21, for our sake he made him to be sin who knew no sin. Jesus is about to bear what he has never borne. He is about to bear the curse. Galatians 3.13, Christ redeemed us from the curse of the law by becoming a curse for us. This is the agony that Jesus is experiencing. This is the cost of our redemption. Jesus is looking into the abyss of hell on our behalf, and His holy soul is overwhelmed. This is not a sign of weakness. This is a sign of moral perfection. Only the one who had never tasted sin could fully appreciate the horror of this cup. And so he pleads, Father, if there is any other way, if your plan of salvation can be accomplished without this, then let it be so. But of course, there was no other way. And this brings us to Jesus's amazing expression of submission. Nevertheless, not my will but yours be done." With these few words, the course of our salvation is secured. You can almost see the angels peering down from heaven, wondering if Jesus is going to pass the test. Because in a garden, the first Adam stood before a similar choice. He was given a clear command from his loving father, and in an act of rebellion, Adam essentially said, not your will, but mine be done. And in that moment, he plunged all of humanity into sin and condemnation and death. And now, thousands of years later, the last Adam stands in another garden. He is facing a trial infinitely more difficult than the first, and in an act of perfect, trusting, active obedience, he says, Father, my human will recoils from this horror, but infinitely more than that, I desire to do your will. Not my will, but yours be done. Where Adam's first disobedience brought ruin, the second Adam's obedience brings redemption. This is Christ's active obedience on our behalf. He wasn't a passive victim dragged unwillingly to a cross he did not choose. He was a willing, loving substitute who actively and prayerfully walked the path of obedience for the joy that was set before him, the salvation of our souls. The agony and submission, then, are confirmed for us in verses 43 and 44. Luke, the physician, gives us details that none of the other Gospels include. First, we find that an angel from heaven appeared to him, strengthening him. This is what comes to those who pray with submission in the midst of agony. Do you know what it is to have the strong arms of the Lord around you as the storms of life are raging, as if an angel is gripping you with the love of God? That's available to you if you come to God in submissive prayer in the midst of your agony. Comfort that is inexpressible. And then in verse 44, we see the physical manifestation of this unfathomable spiritual torment. We find, and being in agony, he prayed more earnestly and his sweat became like great drops of blood falling down to the ground. This is a rare medical condition called hematidrosis, where extreme anguish and stress can literally cause the capillaries of the sweat glands to rupture, mingling blood with perspiration. This is no poetic metaphor. Luke, the physician, is recording a literal physiological event. The pressure on our Lord was so immense, the spiritual weight of our sin was so heavy that it began to crush Him from the inside out, forcing blood out of His pores. The cup is being pressed to His lips and its horror is manifesting itself on His very body. Folks, this is the cost of our sin. This is the depth of Jesus' love for us. This is Christ's dark night of the soul. This is the agony of our Savior who through it all submitted perfectly so that we might be saved. And this perfect submission then now sets the stage for everything that follows. Because he has won the private victory in prayer, he is now prepared to face the public trial. But this is a trial that his disciples are utterly unprepared to face. Within this narrative, Luke masterfully weaves the stark and tragic failure of Jesus' disciples. Their failure really unfolds in two stages. First, we see their failure to pray. which manifests itself in a reaction of sorrowful sleep. Look back at verse 40. As Jesus begins to pray, he gives his disciples a command that really is rooted in concern for their souls. Look at it. Pray that you may not enter into temptation. Jesus knows what is coming. He knows the pressure that they are about to face. He knows the fear that will grip them. He knows the test that will threaten to shatter their faith. And so He gives them the only means of spiritual survival, prayerful dependence upon His Father. But then what happens? After His agonizing battle, verse 45 tells us, and when He rose from prayer and came to His disciples, He found them sleeping for sorrow. Now, we shouldn't be too quick to judge them here. Luke is clear to tell us that they are not sleeping from laziness or indifference. They are sleeping for sorrow. Their grief and their anxiety are so overwhelming, so emotionally and physically exhausting that their bodies just shut down. This was their dark night of the soul, and they responded by sleeping. And of course, this is a profoundly human reaction. Perhaps you've felt this yourself. In the face of overwhelming grief or crushing anxiety, sometimes the only response our bodies can muster is to escape through the numbness of sleep. Have you ever felt under pressure to such a degree that you just didn't want to get out of bed? That's what the disciples are doing here. And yet, the text presents this as a failure. Their sorrow, because it was not channeled into the prayer that Jesus commanded, led them directly into the temptation that He warned them about, the temptation to spiritual passivity. Their grief became an anesthetic, lulling them to sleep at the very moment when they needed to be the most spiritually alert. And of course, the application for us is clear. What does your sorrow do for you? When grief and anxiety press in, do you drive to your knees or do they drive you to your bed? Does the weight of the world make you more spiritually vigilant, or does it numb you into spiritual slumber? The disciples show us that our emotions, no matter how genuine or real or natural, are a poor guide in a crisis if they are not submitted to God in prayer. Left to itself, sorrow will not lead to holiness. It will lead to sleep, and sleep will lead to temptation. But their failure doesn't end with passive sleep. It quickly escalates to carnal action. When their sorrowful sleep is interrupted by the arrival of the mob, they pivot to a second failure, a failure of trust, which manifests as a reaction of carnal violence. In verse 47, we find, the hour of darkness has come, torches and clubs and swords, and the betrayer at their head. And the disciples, now jolted awake, see their Lord threatened. And in verse 49, when those who were around him saw what would follow, they said, Lord, shall we strike with the sword? And before Jesus can even answer one of them, we know from John that it's Peter, draws his sword and lashes out and cuts off the ear of the high priest's servant. This is zeal, to be sure. This is a form of human loyalty, but it is an utter failure. It is an attempt to fight a spiritual battle with a worldly weapon. Peter is trying to preserve a physical kingdom with a physical sword, demonstrating that even after three years with Jesus, Peter does not understand the nature of Jesus' mission. Jesus did not come to be saved by a sword. Jesus came to save by a cross. The disciples are trying to rescue the very Savior whose entire purpose at this moment is to be arrested, tried, and crucified for their salvation. Their agenda is a kingdom of force. His is a kingdom of sacrifice. And here again, we see ourselves, don't we? When we face a crisis, when God's plan seems to be going in a direction that threatens our comfort or our control, how often do we, like Peter, draw the sword? We draw the sword of angry words, the sword of manipulation. the sort of anxious scheming, the sort of seizing control. We react in the flesh trying to force our own outcome because deep down we are not truly resting in and trusting in the sovereignty of God. This is the response of the flesh when confronted with the hour of darkness. And it is the inevitable result when we fail to respond to the pressure with submissive prayer but instead allow ourselves to succumb to retreat and sleep. The prayerless sorrow of the disciples led them to respond in carnality, sleep and swords. And now the question remains, how is Jesus going to respond on the basis of his submissive prayer? Well, having prepared in perfect submission to his father, Jesus now responds to the crisis with perfect calm. While the disciples react out of fear, Jesus acts out of faith. And his actions show us the unshakable confidence of a son who knows his father's plan is unfolding perfectly even in this dark garden. Notice the complete absence of panic in Jesus. He's not a victim caught off guard. His trust in his father's plan meant that he is not shocked or threatened by Judas's treachery. He has just risen from prayer, having fully submitted to this very moment, and so he is not reacting. He is presiding over what's taking place. As the mob approaches, Jesus stands to meet them, anchored in His Father's will. And Jesus' words to Judas, even, flow not from fear or anger, but from a position of security. When Jesus says, Judas, would you betray the Son of Man with a kiss, this is a final appeal to the conscience of a damned man. Because Jesus is resting in His Father's plan, His focus is not on Himself. It's not on preserving or saving Himself. His focus is on the moral horror of Judas' sin. He holds up a mirror to Judas, forcing him to see the full weight of his action. Do you realize what you are doing, Judas? You are using a sign of love to commit the ultimate act of hate. And Jesus can calmly expose this evil because he's not threatened by it. His trust frees him from the need to panic and allows him to act with piercing moral clarity. And then from his betrayer, Jesus turns to the chaos that has erupted among his own followers. And here we see a response of compassion toward his disciples' failure. Look again at Jesus' response in verse 51. Jesus said, no more of this. And he touches his ear and healed him. With just a few words, Jesus seizes control. He stops the misguided fleshly violence dead in its tracks. He's essentially saying, Peter, put away the weapon. This is not how my father's kingdom advances. Trust the plan. And then, in a stunning demonstration of his trust, he performs a miracle. He reaches out, I mean, think of this, he reaches out in the middle of his own arrest, and he heals the servant's ear. Let's not rush past this. This is what the trust of the Son of God looks like in action. He is not anxious that Peter's foolishness might derail God's redemptive plan. He is so confident in the Father's sovereign purpose that he is free to stop and clean up the mess that his disciple has made. He can show mercy to his enemy because he trusts his Father completely. His actions reveal a man who is not desperately trying to keep things on track, but rather one who knows the plan is perfectly on track, which frees him to respond with powerful grace that overcomes human failure. This is Jesus' response. And finally, having dealt with his betrayer and his disciples, Jesus turns to the official delegation of his enemies. And here, we see him remarkably grant them permission to do what they had come to do. He confronts them directly, he asserts his own innocence, and he exposes their cowardly methods. He strips away their pretense of justice, and he reveals their actions for what they are, a plot hatched in darkness. And then he delivers this climactic statement. But this hour is yours, and the power of darkness. I mean, this is the absolute verbalization of trust. Jesus is not giving up. This is the calm declaration of a son who knows that his father is in control. This is part of the plan. He's saying, this moment is not happening because you have overpowered me. It's not happening because you have surprised me in the garden. This is happening because I trust my Father, and within His eternal sovereign plan, this limited temporary hour has been allotted to you. This power of darkness that you serve is operating on a leash, a leash held firmly in the hand of God I trust. You think this is your moment of triumph, but you are merely playing a part in a story of redemption that my father has written. I am not a victim in your hour. I am willingly stepping into it because I trust in the one who holds all the hours in his hands. This is the ultimate declaration of His control, a control born of absolute trust in God. He is being arrested, and yet He is the freest man in the garden. He faces the power of darkness not as a victim, but as the trusting Son, permitting its temporary rage in order to destroy it forever according to the Father's perfect plan. And Jesus' response to this intense pressure, rebuke without sin, compassion without weakness, and submission without victimhood, this is the perfect response. And this response flows directly from the victory that He had already achieved on His knees when He prayed to the Father, not my will but Yours be done. The contrast that Luke has painted in this text could not be clearer. In one night, on one plot of ground, we have witnessed two responses to the arrival of the power of darkness. We have seen the response of the disciples, a response born of prayerless sorrow which spiraled into the carnal chaos of sleeping bodies and swinging swords. And we have seen the response of our Savior, a response of agonizing yet perfect prayer, which flowed into the sovereign calm of trust and divine authority. His preparation determined His response, and the disciples' lack of preparation determined their response. And here, of course, is where the passage becomes a mirror for our own souls. It would be easy for us 2,000 years removed to look at the disciples with a sense of superiority. How could they sleep at a time like this? What were they thinking to be so foolish to draw a sword? But if we are honest, we know that their failure is our failure. We are the ones who, when we are overwhelmed with sorrow, retreat to the numbness of spiritual slumber. We are the ones who, when our world feels threatened and out of control, draw the carnal sword of angry words or anxious schemes or a desperate need to fix things ourselves. Their failure in the garden is a perfect diagnosis of the human condition. This is true of all of us. Left to ourselves in the face of our own Gethsemane, we will always fail. We are the disciples. And that is precisely why we need a Savior who did not fail. That is why we must have a substitute who succeeded where we will always fail. You see, the gospel is not a call for us to try harder to be like Jesus in our own strength. If you are sitting here this morning and you have failed recently, you have fallen into grievous sin, the lesson here is not try to be like Jesus harder. That's not the gospel. No, the gospel is the good news that Jesus was strong for you. Jesus stayed awake for you. Jesus did not stumble for you. Jesus prayed for you. He submitted to the Father's will for you. Jesus faced the cup of God's wrath that you deserved, and He did not flinch. His perfect trust-fueled response to the hour of darkness is not first and foremost an example for us to try to be more like Jesus. but rather it is a victory to be received on our behalf. His success is the only ground for our hope. The victory that secured your salvation was not only won on the cross, it was also won here in the agony of the garden. It was here on his knees, sweating drops of blood, that Jesus resolved to drink the cup. It was there that the last Adam looked into the abyss of his father's wrath, and he said on our behalf, nevertheless not my will but yours be done. Yours be done. This moment of perfect submission was active righteousness that God imputes to all who believe. And then, because His victory is finished, because He did this on your behalf, because He has drunk the cup and risen from the dead, He now does call us to follow Him. And so what do we do then, as those who have been redeemed, those whose failure has been overcome by the perfect obedience and victory of the Son, what do we do when our Gethsemane moments come? When the diagnosis is terrifying, when the betrayal is sharp, when the sorrow is crushing and the hour feels dark, what do we do in our dark night of the soul? Well, this is where we do follow the example of our Savior. We bring our honest agony to the Father. We plead with Him. We pour out our hearts, but we don't stay there. In trust, we then pivot, just like Jesus did, just like the Psalms do. In faith and trust in the sovereign good plan of God, we submit our will to His. We trust in His character even when we can't see His plan. And we pray, Father, this is what I want, but I trust You. Not my will, but Yours be done. And then second, we rest in Jesus's sovereign response. Because Jesus was not defeated in the garden, and because He was not ultimately defeated by the cross, He now reigns from the throne. The one who submitted in agony is the one who now rules in glory. And so you can trust Him with your trial. You can trust Him with your betrayer. You can trust Him with your darkest hour. He is not a helpless victim, and neither are you if you are in Him. He is the sovereign King. He is working all things, even the hour of darkness, for your good and for His glory. So do not fear. Trust the Savior who is victorious in the garden. Let's pray together.