The Cross in Our Weakness: A Place for God

Opening Reading:

Good evening. As we come to prayer tonight, I want to read Matthew 11:28–30 as a reminder of who our Savior is and to whom we get to come with our prayers.

Matthew 11:28–30 (ESV)

28 Come to me, all who labor and are heavy laden, and I will give you rest. 29 Take my yoke upon you, and learn from me, for I am gentle and lowly in heart, and you will find rest for your souls. 30 For my yoke is easy, and my burden is light.”

Amen.

For tonight’s hymn, we will sing #315 “I Will Sing the Wondrous Story”.

Call to Prayer:

Many of us have been trying to be strong for a long time— physically, spiritually, or theologically.

But then I’m confronted with texts like Psalm 69, and it wrecks the whole framework of our own strength.

The cravings for control, the need to perform— it all starts to crumble.

We won’t read the whole psalm now, but just listen to how it begins:

Psalm 69:1–3 (ESV) Save me, O God! For the waters have come up to my neck. I sink in deep mire, where there is no foothold; I have come into deep waters, and the flood sweeps over me. I am weary with my crying out; my throat is parched. My eyes grow dim with waiting for my God.

This psalm doesn’t let us fake it. “I am weary with my crying out...”

Not worn out from doing, but from searching— for God.

And often not knowing how to find Him.

Many of us default to this mindset: “If something needs doing, get it done.” Use your strength, your willpower. Just push through.

And when it comes to prayer, or salvation, or sanctification— that same mindset creeps in.

“I have come into deep waters, and the flood sweeps over me.” (v.2)

We don’t know how to be weak. We think the cross is something to climb— not to be saved, but to prove we deserve to be there. To earn it. To bleed enough.

But the cross isn’t mine to climb. It’s Christ’s.

That’s the part we don’t know how to live with.

Yet—amid the drowning, amid the exhaustion— the psalmist still prays:

Psalm 69:13–15 (ESV) But as for me, my prayer is to you, O Lord. At an acceptable time, O God, in the abundance of your steadfast love, answer me in your saving faithfulness. Deliver me from sinking in the mire... Let not the flood sweep over me, or the deep swallow me up.

“But as for me”— not a boast, but a trembling appeal: “I can’t get to You, God. But I’m still speaking.”

We want to be that kind of person— but we don’t know how.

We still try to earn the Father’s love instead of collapsing into it. We still think prayer is for when we’ve cleaned up— not something that happens right in the wreckage.

But the cross of Christ is the undoing of us.

He doesn’t meet us in our strength. He meets us in our exposure, our failure, the places we can’t fix.

And in some scandalous way, that’s where He calls us “son.” That’s where He calls us “daughter.”

Not when we’ve cleaned up, but when we finally admit: “I can’t. I’m drowning.”

And this— this is what we carry into prayer: Not a trophy case of achievements, but bruises, silence, sin, and shame.

That’s not the wrong place to pray from. That’s the cross-shaped place.

God is not waiting for us to impress Him. He’s not unsure what to do with our sorrow. He’s not disgusted by our weakness.

He is present in your prayer— not just because He is risen, but because He has suffered.

Psalm 69:33 (ESV) For the Lord hears the needy and does not despise His own people who are prisoners.

That’s the kind of God we pray to. A God who hears, who lifts, who transforms.

Not when we clean up— but when we’re honest.

Is this not the gospel?

We come to Jesus just as we are— and He makes us whole.

So if you’re here tonight, and you haven’t collapsed into the arms of your Father— what is stopping you?

Jesus invites us to come just as we are. But He doesn’t leave us there.

He calls us to follow Him, be transformed by His love, reshaped by His grace, and walk with Him—even in the dark.

Without Jesus, we are drowning. But with Him, there is freedom. There is rest. There is peace.

We no longer have to strive to be enough. Because Jesus is enough.

So if you’re tired of holding it all together, come to Jesus tonight.

If you’re overwhelmed or distant from God, don’t wait.

Come as you are. He loves you. He listens. He heals.

As we pray tonight— let’s be honest.

Are we drowning? Or are we walking with Christ on the waves?

Either way— call upon Jesus.

Our Savior who is present in both the storm and the calm.

Let Him cleanse you. Lift you. Keep you.

And as we pray for others— for the weary, the hurting, the burdened— let’s ask God to do what only He can do:

Heal. Save. Bring peace.

And let’s look forward with hope— trusting that Christ will finish what He started for His glory, and the good of His people— in this life and the next.

lets pray

Opening Prayer:

"Father, as we gather before You in prayer tonight, we come with open hearts— knowing that we do not need to clean ourselves up or have it all together.

We come as we are: tired, burdened, weary, or struggling— because we know You are here with us— ready to listen, ready to heal, ready to restore.

Lord, help us to lay down our pride, to release our need for control, and to simply rest in Your presence.

We thank You for the cross— where we find not condemnation, but grace.

Guide our hearts during this time of prayer. Help us be honest before You— because You already know us fully, and You love us completely.

In the name of Jesus, we pray. Amen.

Closing Prayer

Lord, we thank You for this time spent in Your presence— for the assurance that You hear our prayers and that You meet us right where we are.

As we finish this time of prayer, we carry with us the peace that comes only from You— the peace that passes understanding.

We ask that You continue to minister to each heart here tonight.

Strengthen those who are weak. Comfort those in pain. Guide us through the challenges ahead.

May we walk with You, knowing You are with us every step of the way. We trust in Your faithfulness and Your love.

Continue to work in us and through us, so that Your name is glorified.

In Jesus' name, Amen.