Anxiety and the Christian Life – Part Seven
https://www.biblegateway.com/passage/?search=Matthew%2021%3A1-11&version=NIV
https://www.biblegateway.com/passage/?search=Matthew%2026%3A36-39&version=NIV
Matthew 21:1-11 and Matthew 26:36–39
Head / Mind — Important Ideas to Get the Conversation Started
From Palms to the Garden
Today, Palm Sunday, begins with joyful, even playful celebration. We hear the story of Jesus entering Jerusalem to shouts of “Hosanna!” Cloaks are spread on the road, palm branches are waved in the air, and hopes are running high. There is an energy in the crowd, a kind of anxious excitement as people begin to wonder, Is this the moment? Is this the king? Is everything about to change?
But Palm Sunday does not end in the streets of Jerusalem. It does not end with a coronation, a throne, or a public victory. It ends in a garden. That movement—from public celebration to private anguish—is not accidental. It reveals something essential about Jesus and something equally important about anxiety in moments of crisis.
The Setting: Gethsemane Is Not Abstract
When we come to Gethsemane, we are not entering a timeless spiritual scene. We are stepping into a moment of real danger in the course of a real human life. Gethsemane lies on the Mount of Olives, just across the Kidron Valley from Jerusalem, during Passover week. The city is crowded with pilgrims, and Roman soldiers are everywhere, watching for unrest. Tension fills the air.
Jesus knows what is closing in around him. The religious authorities want him dead, and Rome controls crucifixion, ready to crush anyone who threatens their rule. Betrayal has already begun among his closest followers. Crucifixion is not only painful; it is public terror, designed to humiliate, silence, and warn. Jesus knows exactly what is coming, and Matthew tells us that he “began to be sorrowful and troubled.”
Jesus’ Anxiety: Honest, Unfiltered, and Deep
When we listen carefully to Jesus’ words, we begin to feel the depth of this moment. He says, “My soul is overwhelmed with sorrow to the point of death.” This is not mild stress or passing fear. This is anguish.
The word anguish comes from the Latin angustus, meaning narrow, tight, or constricted. It is related to the medical term angina, which refers to pressure or tightness in the chest. Anguish is what it feels like when life begins to close in, when options narrow, when the future feels boxed in, and even breathing becomes difficult. It is not just sadness; it is pressure combined with pain, suffering that feels like it has nowhere to go.
That is why anguish often shows up in the body as well as the soul. It can feel like a tight chest, racing thoughts, shallow breath, or a sense of being trapped. The body begins to carry what the soul cannot resolve. Luke adds even more weight to this moment, telling us that Jesus’ sweat became like drops of blood falling to the ground, a known response to extreme distress. Jesus is not above this moment. He is fully inside it.
Lent, Passion, and the Narrow Way
This is why the church moves through Lent clothed in purple. Purple is the color of royalty, reminding us that Jesus is the beloved Son revealed in glory. But it is also the color of restraint and sorrow, pointing us toward the narrowing road that leads to the cross. Lent does not deny who Jesus is; it reveals what kind of king he is.
The word passion helps us understand this more clearly. In the Christian tradition, passion does not mean enthusiasm. It means to suffer, to endure, to bear what presses upon you. It describes what happens when life becomes constricted, when there is no easy way out, when the road narrows and the cost becomes real. Lent teaches us that God does not abandon us in those narrow places. The Jesus revealed in glory is the same Jesus who enters anguish, prays from within it, and remains faithful under its weight.
Heart — The Personal Connection
The Prayer That Names Reality
What matters in this passage is that Jesus does not hide his anguish. He does not minimize it or spiritualize it away. He brings it honestly to the Father. He prays, “My Father, if it is possible, may this cup be taken from me.” This is a real request. Jesus is not pretending or reciting something he does not feel. He names his desire for deliverance with complete honesty.
But then comes the surrender: “Yet not as I will, but as you will.” This is not resignation or defeat. This is trust spoken from within fear, not after fear has disappeared. Jesus does not wait until he feels calm to trust the Father. He trusts the Father in the middle of anguish.
Anxiety in Crisis Is Not Weak Faith
This moment teaches us something. Deep emotional distress is not a sign of weak faith. If anxiety in moments of crisis were sinful, then Jesus himself would be guilty. Instead, Scripture shows us a more honest and more hopeful picture. Faithful people can be overwhelmed. Holy people can beg for relief. Obedience can include tears, fear, and trembling.
The writer of Hebrews reflects on this moment by saying that Jesus offered prayers with “fervent cries and tears.” He knows crisis from the inside. And he is not alone in Scripture. Esther faces a moment where silence could mean death for her people and says, “If I perish, I perish.” Jehoshaphat, standing before an invading army, prays, “We do not know what to do, but our eyes are on you.” Job, after devastating loss, curses the day of his birth. These are not stories of calm confidence. They are stories of faith lived under real pressure.
What Makes Gethsemane Holy
Here is what makes Gethsemane such a sacred moment. Jesus does not receive immediate relief. The cup is not taken away, and the soldiers still come. And yet, he entrusts himself to the Father. This teaches us something hard but deeply important: faithful prayer does not always change our circumstances. Sometimes it changes how we are held within them.
Gethsemane Moments Today
Some of you are in a Gethsemane season right now. This is not everyday stress or long-term burnout. This is crisis. It may be a diagnosis, a betrayal, a loss, or a phone call that changed everything. And in that moment, you may find yourself wondering, Why am I this afraid if I trust God?
Gethsemane answers that question clearly. Trust does not erase fear. Trust brings fear into the presence of the Father.
Hands — The Practical Application
The Church’s Call in Crisis
It is important to notice what Jesus does not receive from his disciples in this moment. They fall asleep. Even in his deepest anguish, he is largely alone. Crisis can be profoundly lonely.
This is where the church must learn how to be present. We are not called to rush people out of Gethsemane. Often, we cannot. Instead, we are called to sit with them there, not with quick answers or easy verses, but with presence.
I learned this in a very personal way during my chaplaincy training at the veterans’ home outside Lexington, Kentucky. I was assigned to the memory care unit, where many residents suffered from advanced dementia. After my first week, I told my supervisor that I wanted to quit. I said, “There is nothing I can do for them.” He asked, “You mean you cannot fix their situation?” I said, “So what am I supposed to do?” He replied, “Just be there with them.” Frustrated, I asked, “Why?” And he said, “Because Jesus has asked you to be there.”
That is the calling of the church. Not to fix every crisis, but to embody the presence of Christ within it.
Christ at the Center (Closing)
Palm Sunday reminds us that the one welcomed as king is also the one who kneels in agony. Jesus does not save us from a distance. He enters our fear, our suffering, and our crisis. Because he prayed in Gethsemane, we have a Savior who understands dread, sorrow, and the feeling of being overwhelmed.
And because he went from the garden to the cross, our suffering is never the final word.
So if you are in a moment of crisis today, hear this clearly. You are not abandoned. You are not faithless. You are not alone. The same Jesus who trembled in the garden now walks with you through your own.
Hosanna, not only in celebration, but in suffering. Amen.