Not As I Will by Ezra Tinker

International Tract and Missionary Society · Oakland, California · Jan 15, 1885

"Not As I Will."

By Ezra Tinker

GETHSEMANE is the darkest spot from Bethlehem to Calvary—Gethsemane's night, the blackest from the manger to the tomb. In the olive garden, the great moral battle in the world's history was fought—and won. Gethsemane was the crucial period in the history of the world's Redeemer. There was no other crisis in Christ's life to be compared with it. All that had preceded simply led up to the scene in the garden; all that followed was the outcome of the moral victory there singly won.

I recall the forty days in the wilderness, the temple, and the mountain-top, enumerate Nazareth, Capernaum, Jerusalem, catalogue the words and deeds of chief priests, scribes, and elders, fail not to note each unkind look and each ungracious word from the Jordan to the upper chamber, the days passed in forced seclusion, and the nights spent in earnest prayer. But over against all these I set the hours in Gethsemane. Have you ever earnestly contemplated this culminating scene? Nearly three years have been employed in miracle working, Christian teaching, and holy endeavor. Judea, Samaria, and Galilee have been repeatedly traversed, numerous villages and cities have enjoyed his friendly visitations, the palsied, the leper, the deaf, the dumb, the blind, the lame have experienced his healing power—the child and the man have been equally blessed. But Christ's mission on earth is drawing to a close. Galilee is visited for the last time. His face turns toward Jerusalem. He enters the ancient city amid the shouts of the vast multitudes who either led the way or followed in the train. He will never leave the city again. Before the close of the great feast, his enemies will seize him. He knows it all. Each day is fully improved. Toiling in Jerusalem by day, he rests at Bethany at night. The last night of his sojourn arrives. He gathers his disciples about him in an upper chamber, eats the passover, institutes the Lord's Supper, sings a song, descends to the walk, passes along the streets, crosses the brook Cedron, and enters the great battle-ground of the world. The disciples also enter the garden, but tarry behind. In the stillness and darkness of Gethsemane the struggle begins. "My soul is exceeding sorrowful, even unto death."

Have you ever tasted such a sorrow? Have you ever been crushed to the earth by the load placed upon your heart? Have you ever felt that you could bear the burden no longer? Have you ever seen some great duty before you, the performance of which might cost you your life? If so, you may have had a faint idea what the Saviour meant when he said, "My soul is exceeding sorrowful." The struggle reaches its moral climax when Christ voluntarily consents to bear the burden of the world's guilt, and exclaims, "Not as I will, but as thou wilt." All the rest is comparatively easy. The betrayer's kiss, the armed soldiers, the farcical trial, the cruel buffetings, the malignant mockings, the bloody scourgings, and the unjust condemnation, create no alarm. He appears as calm as if resting in the quiet home at Bethany. The decision to die was reached in the garden. The drops of blood are but the outward signs of an inward struggle which almost rends in twain the earthly tabernacle.

Oh, the agony of that hour when the God-man cried, "If it be possible, let this cup pass from me!" The surrender of Christ was perfect. No mental reservation. The lips moved, the heart spoke, the will yielded. "Not as I will" may be readily pronounced by the lips, but fail of a true response from the heart. Submission in the face of imaginary burdens and crosses may fail in the presence of real ones. The mother yields her child while it is in health, but seizes it as soon as it is sick. The man of wealth scorns the unmanliness of the unfortunate bankrupt, but suicides when his own is swept away. The would-be martyr goes to the lion's den when no den is to be found, but shrinks and recants at the very mouth of a real one. A stolid submission is not the submission of Jesus Christ, or of divine revelation. The murderer is resigned to his fate because there is no escape. He dies because he must die. Not so the resignation of Christ. His life is in his own hands. There need be no arrest, no trial, no buffetings, no Calvary. He lays down his life for the good of the race. It is done freely; it is done cheerfully. There is repose in the very words. They are the words of conscious freedom, of cheerful obedience, and of perfect submission.

The experience is rich, grand, exceptionable, scriptural, attainable. If we can say, "Not as I will, but as Thou wilt," we have reached the heights of Pisgah. There is a pathway to the summit broad enough for the entire church. Moses climbed it, at the divine command; Stephen climbed it amid a shower of stones; Peter climbed it to an inverted cross; Paul climbed it to an executioner's block; Polycarp, to a martyr's pile. The world was redeemed through perfect submission. The world will be saved through the same spirit, and the church will be cleansed in the same way. We attain to completeness in Christian character by perfect obedience to each individual divine requirement. Write the Saviour's words upon your minds; bury them in your hearts; live them in your lives, and the world will be the better for your living.—Rev. Ezra Tinker.