Dear Friends in
Christ,
What are the chances that one of your
favorite names for your Savior is Jesus? That is what we first learned as
little ones to call him. “Jesus loves me, this I know, for the Bible tells me
so.” “I am Jesus little lamb.” Even as adults, we still treasure that name
Jesus. “Jesus, lead us on till our rest is won,” we sing with feeling (CW 422).
Why is the name Jesus so precious to us? Not doting
parents, but God picked this name. Nine months before the Savior’s birth, God
through an angel from heaven told his mother and then later his foster father.
“Give him the name Jesus.” The name fits. Jesus, or Joshua in Hebrew, means
“Savior” or “helper”. God’s describes his plan of salvation in one short name
of only five letters.
Best of all, we associate God’s wondrous love
for sinners with this name. How can we use or hear “Jesus” without marveling at
God the Father’s love behind our salvation? This year our Lenten services are
going to look at some of our Savior’s names, and the wondrous love linked with
them.
Where else would we start but with the
well-known Name of Wondrous Love—JESUS.
I. Jesus’ love for a fallen world
II. Jesus’ love for his
Father’s will
St. Luke in his account of late Maundy
Thursday night in Gethsemane begins with that name for our Savior. “Jesus
went as usual to the Mt. of Olives.” That’s our Savior, our Helper. He and
his disciples entered the shadows of that olive tree garden. We learn from St.
Matthew and St. Mark that Jesus took the three disciples we saw on the Mt. of
Transfiguration, Peter, James and John with him a away from the other
disciples. Jesus told them, “Pray that you will not fall into temptation.”
He then stepped “a stone’s throw away” from them to be alone in
prayer.
Jesus our Savior, our Helper, knelt and then
stretched out full length in Gethsemane’s dirt. His blood dripped down his
brow, wrenched with his sweat from his glands and veins by his earnest and
anguished praying. “Father,” he implored, “if you are willing, take
this cup from me.” A second and then a third time he prayed to his Father
the same way.
What is going on here? What has pushed our
Savior’s face to the earth and caused his request? This is the Jesus who
fearlessly faced his enemies. He calmly walked the raging waters of the sea.
What is the cup which though completely willing, Jesus dreads to drink?
It is the cup filled to the brim with the
full force of hell’s punishment for my sin. And not my sin alone. The sins of
Adam and Eve, the sins of Cain and Abel, the sins of David and Absalom, the
sins of Judas and Peter, the sins of Jews and Gentiles, your sins. All these sins
are like some awful poison in that cup; bitter as no human being has ever
tasted even in the most dire circumstances.
Above him, beneath him, around him, inside
and out, all was anguish as the waves of hell began to break over him, our
substitute in the shadows of Gethsemane. No wonder he turns to his Father,
“If you are willing, take this cup from
me.”
Standing in the shadows of Gethsemane, seeing
what we have seen and hearing what we have heard, can we ever consider our sins
as insignificant? Can we ever again try to cover our sins with those lame and worn-out
excuses, like “I didn’t know” or “It’s not so bad.” Can we ever shrug our
shoulders at those pet sins that are about as automatic as breathing? Each sin
is a drop of the poison that filled that dreadful cup Jesus would drink to the
bottom. Each one made the Savior bleed.
That’s our Jesus, our Savior, our Helper in
the garden, shouldering our sins, suffering our punishment, satisfying the
justice of a holy God. We know why he did it. It has to be because he loves us,
with a love that though I could preach until I’m one hundred, I’d never find
adequate words to describe. His name fits so beautifully. That’s Jesus who
loves the fallen world with an incredible, indescribable, unexplainable love.
We marvel at the name of wondrous love,
Jesus, a second. This time it was his love for his Father’s will. Three times
Jesus asked his Father to remove his load of suffering if willing to find some
other way. There was no other way. Look at what Jesus did. There was no
murmuring against the Father’s will or questioning the Father’s wisdom. There
were no doubts about the Father’s love or dissatisfaction with the Father’s
way. There was only a simple, “Not my will, but yours be done.” Jesus’
love for his Father knew only surrender even though it led from Gethsemane’s
shadows to Calvary’s cross.
We want things to be easy and painless in
life, don’t we? We prefer God give us blessings as one writer said, “on the
wings of sunshine and song.” When our God does that, how quickly and readily
the words cross our lips, “Your will be done.” However, what about when
our health disappears and our family disappoints, when our plans don’t work out
and our checkbook doesn’t balance, when friends prove unfaithful and gossip
wounds deeply, when God plunks crosses down on our shoulders and they seem far
too heavy to carry. Does our response shift to “Not your will, but mine be
done”? Does praying then become not asking God but demanding from him? Is it
grumbling against him rather than for asking for guidance?
Then it’s time to look again at our Jesus in
the garden. He was there driven by his love for us so that we can find pardon
for our sinful self-will and senseless rebellion against God’s will. Those
drops of blood that dripped from his holy brow were the painful preview of him
going all the way to the cross to pay for our debt and wipe clean our slate.
There’s nothing wrong with praying, “Father, if you are willing, take this
cup away from me.” Jesus prayed that way too. However, let’s be sure to
add, “Yet not my will, but yours be done.”
We call him Jesus because of his wondrous
love that brought him down to earth to be our helper in our greatest need, our
Savior from all our sins. Amen.