He went a little farther, fell to the ground, and prayed that if it were possible, the hour might pass from him. And he said, “Abba, Father! All things are possible for you. Take this cup away from me. Nevertheless, not what I will, but what you will.”
Mark 14:35-36 (CSB)
Before Jesus laid down his life, he laid down his will.
The cross was the altar of sacrifice. An olive grove was where that sacrifice was embraced.
Gethsemane, a name that means olive press, was where olives were crushed under tremendous weight until every drop of oil was released. Beneath those ancient olive trees, Jesus experienced his own crushing. Fully aware of the suffering ahead, he fell to the ground and prayed. The cup before him was the full weight of God’s judgment for our sin. He wasn’t an unknowing sacrificial lamb. Jesus knew what the cup meant, and he willingly chose to drink it anyway.
I used to think surrender must have come easily for Jesus.
After all, he knew the ending. He knew he would rise again and return to his Father. Compared to our lifelong uncertainty, his suffering seemed temporary. Surely saying, "Not what I will, but what you will," was easier for him than it is for us?
But Gethsemane tells a different story.
Jesus didn't pretend the pain wasn't real. He wasn't afraid to express the deepest desire of his human heart. Yet in the same breath, he surrendered that desire. His surrender wasn't passive resignation or defeated acceptance. It was the courageous choice to trust God's heart above his own understanding.
That is where I struggle.
I've always had a strong will. Sometimes that determination has served me well, helping me persevere through difficult seasons. Other times, it's revealed something deeper. I have clung tightly to my own picture of how life should look for my family, my home, my work, my finances, even my purpose. And if I'm honest, much of my life unfolded differently than I imagined. I carried disappointment. I pushed. I compared. I prayed. I tried to force my will because I was convinced that I knew what was best.
But surrender always asks the same question:
Do I trust God's will more than my own?
I don't think we'll ever outgrow the need for surrender.
Jesus surrendered in Gethsemane once because his sacrifice was once for all. We, however, come back to the altar again and again. Every season presents another "nevertheless." Another dream to release. Another fear to lay down. Another moment to trust God with. Another invitation to loosen our grip on what we thought life should be.
The beautiful truth is that surrender is never about losing – it’s about trusting.
Over and over he gently asks us the same question: Do you trust my heart more than your own plans?
Because he trusted the Father, he could surrender. And because Jesus surrendered in the garden, we can trust our Father in our own gardens of crushing. Perhaps it's your marriage, your children, your health, your finances, your calling, or the future you imagined but haven’t received. Whatever you're carrying, the invitation is the same as it was in Gethsemane.
Bring it honestly before the Father.
Tell him your deepest fears and longings. Then, with open hands, pray the words that can change everything:
"Nevertheless, not what I will, but what You will."
Prayer: God, thank you for the moments when I need to trust you. However difficult it is to let go and surrender to you, you never leave my side. I trust you to take what I’ve been holding and use it for my good and the good of your glory. You are the Waymaker, Father. Help me to see that your plans are better than my own. Amen.
Reflect: What outcomes are you gripping so tightly that you can’t receive what God may have planned for you?