Not My Will: The Prayer That Changes Everything

Luke 22:39–46 NKJV

39 Coming out, He went to the Mount of Olives, as He was accustomed, and His disciples also followed Him. 40 When He came to the place, He said to them, “Pray that you may not enter into temptation.” 41 And He was withdrawn from them about a stone’s throw, and He knelt down and prayed, 42 saying, “Father, if it is Your will, take this cup away from Me; nevertheless not My will, but Yours, be done.” 43 Then an angel appeared to Him from heaven, strengthening Him. 44 And being in agony, He prayed more earnestly. Then His sweat became like great drops of blood falling down to the ground. 45 When He rose up from prayer, and had come to His disciples, He found them sleeping from sorrow. 46 Then He said to them, “Why do you sleep? Rise and pray, lest you enter into temptation.”

Not My Will: The Prayer That Changes Everything

Have you ever felt like you had to do something you didn't want to when you knew you had to? You may have had to have a tough talk with a friend or family member. For example, you might have quit a volunteer job or switched jobs because something you liked doing was hurting your health. If you had to choose between your wants and what you knew was the right thing to do, it could have been that time. Those tough times are when our willpower is really put to the test. In order to be successful, you have to do hard things and give up control over the results. That's never easy. I read about a girl who had a jar full of marbles. Though the marbles were cheap glass balls that were scratched and broken, she loved them very much. One night, her dad came into the room and asked for the jar of marbles. She didn't know why he needed them from her. Her father asked her seven nights in a row, "Will you trust me with those marbles?" Many nights later, she gave the jar to her dad while crying and shaking her hands. The next morning, her father gave her a small satin pouch. Inside that plush pouch was a string of real pearls that showed off their beauty and smoothness and were much more valuable than the marbles she had given up. We hold on to things a lot of the time because we don't know what God wants for us. The reason we don't want to give up is that we don't know what will happen. Jesus, the Son of God, goes through the same kind of surrender in the Garden of Gethsemane, and it changes everything. Gethsemane is a place of pressing. In its original language, "Gethsemane" means "olive press." In order to get the oil out of the olives, heavy stones were used to crush them. This place became where Jesus felt the strong pressure of grief and fear while doing what His Father wanted. He was aware of what was going to happen: betrayal, rejection, torture, and death. He chose to pray instead of running away or fighting back. His prayer wasn't gentle and calm; it was full of raw feeling and vulnerability. Matthew says that Jesus told His disciples that His soul was filled with an unbearable sadness as it got close to death. At least three times, he fell to the ground and begged his father to take away this bitter cup from him. It wasn't just physical pain or death that Jesus knew He was about to drink from the "cup." It was God's full punishment for the world's sin. He would take on the spiritual weight of our sin, feel what it's like to be separated from the Father, and take on God's anger for us. His mission and goal for our rescue became clear when He said, "Yet not My will, but Yours be done." “Your will shall prevail over My own.” The simple but strong sentence came from Jesus' deep pain, not from a place of safety and peace. This declaration came from a heart completely given to God's will despite facing the unknown darkness ahead. People often give up things during Lent, but this time of year also makes us think more deeply about our own lives. It forces us to think about what we hold on to, what keeps us from fully trusting God, and our fears of letting go. The Garden of Gethsemane shows us that real faith doesn't just show up during big events or supernatural occurrences. It also shows up when we are in deep pain and stand alone in the dark, choosing to do what God wants. I'd like to invite you to join me in the garden with Jesus instead of just watching from afar like the disciples did. To pay attention to His prayer. To repeat what He said. Right now, you probably have to make a choice or feel a desire that you hope God will change or get rid of. And maybe He will. What if He doesn't, though? Maybe God wants to make you strong so you can handle it. When you have to make a choice, are you prepared to say, "Not my will but Yours be done"? We're going to talk about that question today. As the prayer transforms your inner state instead of your outer situation, it represents a shift.

The Garden of Crushing

After the Last Supper, after the breaking of bread and the sharing of the cup, Jesus leads His disciples to a place they’ve been before—a quiet garden nestled on the slopes of the Mount of Olives. Gethsemane.

To the disciples, this may have felt like just another stop, a place to rest after a long day. But for Jesus, it was the beginning of the final descent into suffering. The weight of the world was beginning to press in.

And He felt it. All of it.

Matthew tells us that He took Peter, James, and John along with Him and began to be “sorrowful and troubled.” He says to them,

Matthew 26:38 NKJV

38 Then He said to them, “My soul is exceedingly sorrowful, even to death. Stay here and watch with Me.”

Imagine that. The Son of God, the One who walked on water, healed the sick, and cast out demons—now confesses He is so overwhelmed, He feels as if He might die. These aren’t words we expect from Jesus. that They don’t fit our image of Him as strong, composed, and in control. But in Gethsemane, we see the full humanity of Jesus on display.

He doesn’t try to hold it together. He doesn’t speak in triumphant platitudes. He opens His soul.

And here’s something that often gets overlooked: He invited His friends to witness it.

When He said, “Stay here and keep watch with Me,” He wasn’t just issuing a command—He was inviting them into His pain. He longed for their presence, their solidarity, their prayers. Jesus, though fully God, was also fully human, and in His humanity, He craved the comfort of close friends during a time of deep anguish.

This wasn’t about fixing anything. It wasn’t about saying the right words. It was simply about being there.

He didn’t want to be alone. He told them to stay and watch with Him. Even though they ultimately failed to keep watch, the very fact that Jesus asked shows us something sacred—even the Savior longed for human support in His suffering.

But deeper still, He brought His pain before His Father in prayer.

Luke’s Gospel adds a powerful layer: “Being in anguish, He prayed more earnestly, and His sweat was like drops of blood falling to the ground.” (Luke 22:44, NIV)

This is not metaphorical. Doctors say this condition—hematidrosis—occurs under intense emotional stress, when capillaries burst near sweat glands.

This is not a peaceful prayer time under the stars. This is agony. This is the Garden of Crushing.

The name Gethsemane literally means “olive press.” It was a place where olives were crushed under heavy stones to extract oil. Jesus chose that exact place to pray—not by accident, but as a holy symbol. Just as the olives were pressed to bring forth something useful and valuable, Jesus was being pressed in soul, spirit, and body. And from His crushing would come salvation for the world.

A Savior Who Understands Our Crushing Moments

Many of us have experienced our own gardens of crushing—moments where the weight of life presses down and we feel like we can’t breathe. For some, it’s grief. For others, it’s anxiety, a broken relationship, a moral failure, or a sense of purposelessness. And in those moments, it can feel like God is distant. Silent. Absent.

But Gethsemane tells a different story.

We do not pray to a Savior who is untouched by our pain. We pray to the One who fell to the ground, face buried in the soil, crying out under the weight of sorrow. We pray to the One who understands what it’s like to say, “Father, this is too much.”

That means we don’t have to hide. We don’t have to pretend. We don’t have to offer polished, sanitized prayers.

Vulnerability in prayer is not weakness—it’s the doorway to surrender.

If Jesus could be honest with the Father, so can we. And when we are, we create space not just for comfort—but for transformation.

Honest Prayer Is Transforming Prayer

Some of us have grown up with the idea that we can only come to God when we have it all together—that faith means never doubting, never crying, never struggling. But if Gethsemane teaches us anything, it’s that real faith brings the struggle to God, not away from Him.

There is no shame in telling God you are afraid. There is no weakness in saying, “I don’t know if I can do this.” There is no failure in crying out for another way.

Jesus Himself did all of those things—and He was without sin.

Let me ask you this:

When was the last time you came to God with your honest emotions—not the “church version” of you, not the cleaned-up phrases you think He wants to hear—but the real you?

Have you ever knelt down and said, “God, I don’t want to do this,” or “I’m scared,” or “This is too heavy”?

If you haven’t, maybe now is the time. Maybe this Lent is the season where you stop trying to press through the pain alone and start inviting God into the crushing.

Jesus did not escape the pressure of Gethsemane—but He emerged from it with a renewed resolve. And so can we.

The Struggle of the Will (Matthew 26:39; Luke 22:42–44)

After expressing His sorrow and inviting His disciples to keep watch, Jesus takes a few steps further into the garden—and deeper into the heart of surrender.

He falls to the ground and prays:

“My Father, if it is possible, may this cup be taken from Me. Yet not as I will, but as You will.” (Matthew 26:39, NIV)

He doesn't just pray this once. According to Matthew’s account, He prays it three times. The repetition tells us something important—this wasn’t a quick or shallow request. This was a soul laid bare before the Father, wrestling with the cost of obedience.

As I mentioned earlier, “the cup” in biblical language often symbolizes suffering and divine judgment. Jesus is not only anticipating physical pain and death on the cross—He is anticipating spiritual anguish. He knows that He will carry the full weight of humanity’s sin and endure separation from the Father as He becomes the atoning sacrifice for the world.

This cup is bitter beyond comprehension.

And yet—He still brings it to the Father in prayer. He doesn’t pretend He’s okay. He doesn’t suppress His fear. He doesn’t bypass the emotion to get to the obedience.

He struggles honestly, and that is where real faith begins.

Luke Adds a Deeper Layer

Luke’s Gospel tells us that in this moment of prayer, “being in anguish, He prayed more earnestly, and His sweat was like drops of blood falling to the ground.” (Luke 22:44, NIV)

This verse paints one of the most humanizing pictures of Jesus in all of Scripture. The weight was so intense that His body physically responded with a condition called hematidrosis, where blood vessels burst under extreme stress. And yet—He continued to pray.

Let that sink in.

Jesus, the Son of God, was not free from the emotional struggle of obedience. He didn’t walk calmly and serenely into suffering. He agonized over it. He wrestled. He wept. He begged.

But each time He returned to the same conclusion:

“Not My will, but Yours be done.”Obedience Is Not the Absence of Struggle

Too often, we believe that if we were truly faithful, we wouldn’t struggle. We wouldn’t question. We wouldn’t hesitate. But here in Gethsemane, Jesus—perfect, sinless, beloved Son—struggles in the most honest way possible.

And He obeys anyway.

Obedience doesn’t mean we aren’t afraid. It means we trust God more than our fear.

It doesn’t mean we don’t want another way. It means we surrender our way to the will of the Father.

In fact, the presence of struggle may actually be evidence that our obedience is costly—and therefore meaningful.

If obedience doesn’t cost us something, are we really surrendering anything?

Your Cup and Mine

So let’s ask the hard question: What is the “cup” in your life that you’ve been asking God to take away?

Is it a difficult season of caregiving for someone you love?

A painful relationship that hasn’t healed the way you hoped?

A diagnosis that turned your world upside down?

A dream that died and left you wondering if God sees you?

We all have cups. Bitter ones. Cups we didn’t ask for. Cups we wish we could pass off to someone else or leave untouched. And it is okay—more than okay—to ask God to take them away. That’s what Jesus did.

But then we have to ask the next question:

Are you willing to follow Him, even if He doesn’t take it away?

Are you willing to say, “Not my will, but Yours be done,” when the path ahead still looks painful?

That’s the true mark of surrender—not getting the answer we want, but continuing to walk in trust even when we don’t.

Wrestling Leads to Surrender

Let’s be clear: wrestling with God in prayer is not a sign of weak faith. It’s often the evidence of growing faith. It means you're taking your struggle to the only One who can actually do something with it.

And as we wrestle, we slowly come to realize what Jesus modeled for us in Gethsemane: God’s will may not always be easy—but it is always good.

Jesus emerged from that garden not with the cup removed—but with the strength to drink it.

And He offers us that same strength. Strength to endure. Strength to obey. Strength to say, “Even if You don’t change this, I will still trust You.”

What “cup” are you asking God to take away—and are you willing to follow Him even if He doesn’t?

This is not just a question for Lent. It’s a question for life. Every one of us will face moments where obedience costs us something—and in those moments, the garden becomes our classroom.

Gethsemane is where we learn to pray—not with perfect words, but with an honest heart: “Not my will, but Yours be done.”

Strength Through Surrender

(Luke 22:43; Matthew 26:45–46)

Jesus prayed with sorrow. He wrestled with obedience. He asked for another way. But the cup remained. The path forward was still the cross.

And then something remarkable happened.

Luke tells us,

Luke 22:43 NKJV

43 Then an angel appeared to Him from heaven, strengthening Him.

The cup wasn’t removed. The pain wasn’t erased. But in His surrender, Jesus received strength.

God didn’t say “yes” to Jesus’ request to avoid the suffering—but He didn’t leave Him alone in it either. He sent an angel—not to rescue Him, but to empower Him to keep going.

That’s a quiet but powerful truth of Gethsemane: God’s answer to our prayer is not always deliverance—it is often endurance. And that is not a lesser answer.

Jesus still had to walk the road of betrayal, mockery, beating, and crucifixion.

But He did not walk it weakened. He walked it resolved—empowered from heaven to fulfill the mission.

This is a key spiritual principle:

The turning point in our struggles often comes not when the burden is lifted, but when the strength to carry it is received.

We may come to prayer asking for the suffering to be taken away, and sometimes God does that. But many times, He instead sends us what we didn’t know we needed: courage, clarity, and supernatural strength.

Jesus Stands to Face What’s Ahead

Matthew records what happens next. After praying three times, after finding the disciples asleep again, Jesus says:

Matthew 26:45–46 “45 Then He came to His disciples and said to them, “Are you still sleeping and resting? Behold, the hour is at hand, and the Son of Man is being betrayed into the hands of sinners. 46 Rise, let us be going. See, My betrayer is at hand.””

This is no longer the voice of a man overwhelmed. This is the voice of a man resolved.

Jesus, who just moments earlier was trembling in anguish, now stands tall and says, “Rise, let us go.”

He doesn’t wait to be arrested—He walks into it. He doesn’t hide—He confronts what’s coming. He doesn’t fight the cup—He takes it willingly.

What changed?

Not the circumstance. The betrayal was still coming. Not the people. The disciples were still sleeping and Judas was still plotting.

What changed was the posture of His soul.

Through prayer, Jesus had aligned His will with the Father’s. And in that surrender, He found strength.

This moment offers us powerful encouragement. Because the truth is, we will all face seasons when the cup isn’t taken away. The illness remains. The grief lingers. The conflict isn’t resolved. The road ahead is steep, dark, and uninviting.

But Gethsemane teaches us this:

God may not always take away the struggle, but He will always give us strength to walk through it.

Not the strength we muster up ourselves. Not fake bravery or spiritual denial. But the real, sustaining strength that comes from heaven—when we kneel, when we surrender, when we pray, “Not my will, but Yours be done.”

Sometimes, the greatest miracle is not the removal of suffering—but the grace to stand under it without falling apart.

That’s the miracle Jesus experienced in Gethsemane. That’s the miracle available to you and me.

Some of you have been in a long season of wrestling. You’ve prayed. You’ve asked. You’ve begged God to take the cup. And maybe, like Jesus, the cup still remains.

If that’s you, I want you to hear His words echo in your own spirit today: “Rise, let us go.”

Not because everything has been fixed. Not because the pain is gone. But because you are not alone—and the God who met His Son in the garden will meet you, too.

He will give you strength. He will send help. He will walk with you.

So rise. Not in your own strength, but in His. Rise from the garden, not with fear, but with resolve. Rise, and take the next faithful step—even if it leads through suffering—because resurrection always follows Gethsemane.

Surrender doesn’t always change the outcome. But it always changes us. In the garden, Jesus surrendered—and He found strength to do what love required.

And so will we.

Echoing the Prayer of Jesus

Lent is a season of preparation. But it’s not just about giving something up. It’s about opening something up—your heart, your will, your life—to God.

It’s a season of pruning, where God gently cuts away the things that don’t bear fruit. It’s a season of surrender, where we stop clinging to our way and start saying, “Your way, Lord—even if it’s hard.”

In the Garden of Gethsemane, Jesus prayed the most powerful, honest, and transformative prayer anyone could ever pray:

“Not My will, but Yours be done.”

It wasn’t a prayer of defeat. It wasn’t a prayer of resignation. It was a prayer of trust, of obedience, and of love.

And it changed everything.

So here’s the challenge:

What would it look like for you to say that prayer in your life today?

Maybe you’re standing at a crossroads, unsure of what decision to make.

Maybe you’re walking through a painful season, praying for God to take the cup away.

Maybe you're holding tightly to something—control, anger, pride, fear—and God is asking you to release it.

What would it mean for you to truly pray: “Not my will, but Yours be done”— and mean it?

That prayer isn’t easy. But it is powerful. Because when we surrender, God gives us strength. When we let go, God holds us up. And when we echo the prayer of Jesus, we are drawn deeper into the heart of the Father.