In the garden, Christ asked that the cup pass. He did not pretend it was sweet. He named it, and asked, and was answered no. This sonnet sits with that bitter cup, and with the trust that drinks it anyway.
The Sonnet
This cup was offered when I would refuse, A draught I cannot sweeten or unmake, A bitterness no kindly hand will lose, A sorrow that no morning seems to break. I asked, as One in older garden asked, That this might pass, that some less heavy thing Might come instead, that I might be untasked Of what I could not bear to taste or bring. The answer, as it was for Him, was no. The cup remained, and waited at my hand. And yet within the bitterness, the slow Surrender taught me how to drink, to stand. So I will drink, and trust the giving One, Whose own cup taught me how the will is done.
Reflection
In Gethsemane, Christ asked three times that the cup pass. He did not pretend the cup was light. He did not perform faith for the disciples. He sweated blood and asked, openly, for a different way. And then, when the answer was no, He drank.
This is the pattern for us when bitter cups are handed to us. We are allowed to ask. We are allowed to grieve. We are allowed to want the cup to pass. And then, when it does not, we are given the strange grace of being able to drink it anyway, not because we have suddenly decided it is sweet, but because we have decided to trust the One who handed it to us. The trust does not make the cup less bitter. It makes the drinking possible.
If a bitter cup has come to your hand, ask freely. Grieve honestly. And when the answer comes, know that the One who drank his own cup walks with you in yours, and you will not drink it alone.
