The poignant lyrics of a beloved song often resonate deeply within our souls, capturing the unspoken questions and yearnings of our hearts. One such song begins with a raw and honest plea:
“Why me, Lord, what have I ever done
To deserve even one
Of the pleasures I’ve known
Tell me Lord, what did I ever do
That was worth loving you
Or the kindness you’ve shown”
These words, from the timeless song “Why Me Lord,” have echoed in my own reflections for years. Decades ago, these very questions were a cry of despair, a lament of feeling forgotten: “Why Me, Lord? Why have you forsaken me?” This sentiment mirrors the cry of Zion in Isaiah 49:14, “But Zion said, ‘The LORD has forsaken me; the Lord has forgotten me!’” It’s a place of profound questioning that many who seek a deeper relationship with God encounter. These questions aren’t born of rebellion, but from a place of honest struggle to understand the trials we face. I, too, wrestled with this, unable to comprehend why suffering was allowed.
However, understanding dawned as I grasped the unwavering faithfulness of the One who calls us. This realization marked a turning point, shifting the nature of my questions. The anguished “Why me, Lord? Why have you allowed me to see evil?” transformed into a question of awe and gratitude: “Why me, Lord? Why do you love so much?” This shift in perspective is beautifully captured in the subsequent verses of the “Why Me Lord” song:
“Try me, Lord, if you think there’s a way
I can try to repay all I’ve taken from you
Maybe, Lord, I can show someone else
What I’ve been through myself
on my way back to you”
This profound transformation is rooted in understanding the One who Himself posed a similar question in His darkest hour. We find this echoed in the Gospel of Mark 15:34, “And at three in the afternoon Jesus cried out in a loud voice, ‘Eloi, Eloi, lema sabachthani?’ (“My God, my God, why have you forsaken me?”).” To imagine the Son of God uttering these words is staggering. Yet, Jesus, the very architect of creation, embraced humanity, demonstrating through His own experience that obedience, even amidst feelings of abandonment, is a refining process. It’s not a swift, effortless journey, but a continuous struggle, a fight to overcome the battles within.
The Garden of Gethsemane stands as a powerful symbol of this struggle. The name itself, Gethsemane, meaning “oil press,” evokes an image of olives being crushed to produce precious oil. It was in this place, this “oil press,” that Father God led His Son. In the shadow of the impending crucifixion, Jesus wrestled with the immense weight of God’s plan, a plan conceived before the foundations of the world. The Triune God had orchestrated Jesus’ earthly life, setting in motion a divine purpose. Yet, in that pivotal moment, Jesus’ humanity felt the full force of the agonizing path to victory.
Reflecting on this, profound questions arise: “If Jesus had never become man, where would I be? What if Jesus had never taken my sins upon Himself and hung on the cross, bearing their weight? What if God had not loved the world so deeply as to give His only Son?” If not for Jesus, if not for His astounding grace, we would remain blind to the boundless depths of His love and mercy.
This very love is the reason for Jesus’ agonizing prayer in Gethsemane two millennia ago. Knowing the cross loomed, Jesus went with His disciples to this garden, nestled across the Kidron Valley on the Mount of Olives. Mark 14:36 recounts His plea, “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’”.
It is almost incomprehensible to fathom that the God who sculpted the heavens and earth – the eternal, omnipotent Son of God, present at the very beginning, the One who brought form to the formless, filled the void, and declared “Before Abraham was, I AM” and “Heaven is my throne, and earth my footstool” – could cry out in such profound distress.
Jesus’ struggle in Gethsemane wasn’t a fear of the physical cross itself. He declared with unwavering clarity, “For this very purpose I have come into this world.” The “cup” He pleaded to be spared was something far more profound: it was the cup of God’s wrath, filled to overflowing with the accumulated filth of humanity’s sins. This included every form of corruption – sexual sin, murder, seething anger, arrogant pride, and all the defilements of both flesh and spirit.
Jesus, the spotless Lamb of God, was utterly sinless and undefiled. Yet, He willingly chose to tread the most harrowing path imaginable, a path where every sin was transferred onto Him, where the full force of Almighty God’s wrath was unleashed upon Him. Father God placed the weight of every transgression upon His Son. This is the profound truth captured in Isaiah 53:10, “It pleased the LORD to crush him.”
Imagine standing at the foot of a volcano, dormant but threatening. Suddenly, the ground cracks open, and you witness the terrifying eruption of fire and ash surging towards you. Certain death seems imminent. Then, in an instant, something intercepts the fiery onslaught, absorbing the heat and destruction. You are spared. This is a glimpse of Christ’s intervention. He bore the full brunt of God’s wrath, at unimaginable cost to Himself, to save you.
This is the very essence of Jesus’ prayer in Gethsemane, a prayer uttered with such agonizing intensity that capillaries in His skin ruptured, mingling blood with His sweat. Redeeming humanity demanded nothing less than enduring the unendurable. Jesus had to experience the wrath of God, a wrath born from the very love of God. For God’s love for the world was so immense that He undertook the ultimate sacrifice to bridge the chasm separating sinful humanity from a holy God.
In 1 Corinthians 15:57, Paul proclaims, “But thanks be to God! He gives us the victory through our Lord Jesus Christ.” The astounding wonder of the Gospel is that while the cross of Christ doesn’t erase our pain or dismiss our suffering, it renders it bearable within His brokenness. This is the profound comfort offered to those who suffer. The cross may not directly answer the question “Why me?” in the face of hardship, but it resoundingly answers a different, more profound question: “Why am I loved so much?” Jesus’ cry, “My God, My God, why have you forsaken me?”, becomes a source of solace, a reminder that even in abandonment, love prevails. As John Stott eloquently wrote in The Cross of Christ, “I could never myself believe in God if it were not for the cross. The only God I believe in is the One Nietzsche ridiculed as ‘God on the cross’”. The cross anchors our trust in the One to whom it ultimately belongs, propelling us towards extending that same love and sacrifice to others. And so, we continue to share the timeless story:
“I love to tell the story,
’Twill be my theme in glory
To tell the old, old story,
of Jesus and his love”.
