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The Desire of Ages
Turning away, Jesus sought again His retreat, and fell prostrate,
overcome by the horror of a great darkness. The humanity of the Son of
God trembled in that trying hour. He prayed not now for His disciples
that their faith might not fail, but for His own tempted, agonized soul.
The awful moment had come—that moment which was to decide the
destiny of the world. The fate of humanity trembled in the balance.
Christ might even now refuse to drink the cup apportioned to guilty
man. It was not yet too late. He might wipe the bloody sweat from His
brow, and leave man to perish in his iniquity. He might say, Let the
transgressor receive the penalty of his sin, and I will go back to My
Father. Will the Son of God drink the bitter cup of humiliation and
agony? Will the innocent suffer the consequences of the curse of sin,
to save the guilty? The words fall tremblingly from the pale lips of
Jesus, “O My Father, if this cup may not pass away from Me, except I
drink it, Thy will be done.”
Three times has He uttered that prayer. Three times has humanity
shrunk from the last, crowning sacrifice. But now the history of the
human race comes up before the world’s Redeemer. He sees that
the transgressors of the law, if left to themselves, must perish. He
sees the helplessness of man. He sees the power of sin. The woes
and lamentations of a doomed world rise before Him. He beholds its
impending fate, and His decision is made. He will save man at any
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cost to Himself. He accepts His baptism of blood, that through Him
perishing millions may gain everlasting life. He has left the courts of
heaven, where all is purity, happiness, and glory, to save the one lost
sheep, the one world that has fallen by transgression. And He will not
turn from His mission. He will become the propitiation of a race that
has willed to sin. His prayer now breathes only submission: “If this
cup may not pass away from Me, except I drink it, Thy will be done.”
Having made the decision, He fell dying to the ground from which
He had partially risen. Where now were His disciples, to place their
hands tenderly beneath the head of their fainting Master, and bathe
that brow, marred indeed more than the sons of men? The Saviour trod
the wine press alone, and of the people there was none with Him.
But God suffered with His Son. Angels beheld the Saviour’s agony.
They saw their Lord enclosed by legions of satanic forces, His nature
weighed down with a shuddering, mysterious dread. There was silence
in heaven. No harp was touched. Could mortals have viewed the