Holy Week, Day 1: The Cup and the Crushing
“My soul is overwhelmed with sorrow to the point of death.” —Matthew 26:38
Night had fallen in Gethsemane. Jesus, usually so composed, staggered under the weight of what was to come. He fell to the ground—not with drama, but with dread. The cup before Him was not just death—it was the fullness of sin’s weight and the wrath of God poured out against sin, that which separates God’s beloved from Him.
And Jesus knew. He knew He, too, would have to experience that separation. He, who had never for a moment of His life been separated from the Father. He, who had received the audible blessing and love of the Father, first at His baptism at the start of His ministry. Then at the Transfiguration as He turned His face toward Jerusalem… and painful, torturous death.
Jesus didn’t face it stoically. He wept. He begged. “Father, if it is possible, let this cup pass from me.”
This was Jesus’ most fervent prayer.
And the Father said… No.
We don’t like to talk about that. We prefer the miracle stories, the breakthroughs. But here is Love Himself asking for relief—and receiving “No.” Still, in the next breath, Jesus prays, “Yet not my will, but Yours be done.” Surrender. Trust. Love.
This week, we are walking with Jesus through the eyes of the artist James Tissot (1836–1902). Most days, we’ll reflect through the lens of his haunting work, “View from the Cross”—an unusual perspective that places us behind the eyes of Jesus, looking down at the crowd beneath Him.
But today, we begin in the Garden of Gethsemane, with another of Tissot’s pieces: “The Grotto of the Agony.”
In this painting, Jesus is alone in prayer while His disciples, meant to keep watch, have fallen asleep nearby. Tissot includes a group of angels—perhaps in reference to Luke’s account that an angel came to strengthen Him. But these angels don’t bring comfort. Instead, they seem to be showing Him what is to come—perhaps even a vision of the crucifixion itself.
James Tissot, “The Grotto of the Agony.” From the Brooklyn Museum
Tissot gives us no easy solace. Even surrounded by heavenly messengers, Jesus is portrayed in utter loneliness. The agony, the sweat-like drops of blood, the unanswered prayer—it’s all there. The painting invites us to experience what Jesus experienced: not only His friends asleep nearby in their weakness, but a glimpse of His own suffering... and ours too.
This is where our Holy Week begins.
What Happens to the Brain in the Garden?
Under crushing stress, our amygdala floods us with fight-or-flight signals. Most of us run, shut down, or numb out. Jesus stayed. How?
Because He was anchored in secure attachment with His Father. He had heard at His baptism, “You are my beloved Son; with You I am well pleased.” That truth held firm, even in the dark. It shaped His identity, grounded His emotions, and gave Him the strength to trust—even when the answer was "no."
And this secure attachment isn’t something Jesus kept for Himself. He invites us into it.
When we experience anxiety, loss, or uncertainty, our brains look for someone safe—someone who will stay with us, regulate with us, and remind us who we are. That’s what attachment is. And God is that Someone. God doesn’t recoil from our distress. God draws near.
But attachment to God doesn’t happen automatically. Like any relationship, it is formed over time—through consistent experiences of being with God, especially in our pain.
Here are a few ways to begin deepening your attachment to God:
Return to God’s words over and over again: Let phrases like “You are my beloved” or “I am with you always” settle into your nervous system. Say them aloud. Let them be your breath prayers.
Imagine God’s face turned toward you in open, welcoming delight, even in your weakness. (This taps the right hemisphere of the brain, where attachment and identity are formed.)
Don’t go it alone. Spend time with others who reflect God’s joy and compassion toward you. Our brains heal and grow in relational spaces.
Let yourself be seen. Honest prayer—especially when the answer is “no”—is one of the most intimate acts of trust.
Over time, these practices can build the kind of secure, unshakable connection with God that holds you steady in your own Gethsemane moments.
What About You?
What is your cup?
That thing you’ve asked God to take away:
A diagnosis. A broken relationship. A grief you can't shake. A future that terrifies you.
Have you heard “no”? Or worse—silence?
Even Jesus knows that pain.
Spiritual formation begins here—not in escaping suffering but in meeting Jesus, who is already inside it. Gethsemane is not the place of defeat. It’s the place where love stays awake.
Reflect: Not Alone in the Garden
What is the cup God has not removed?
Are you willing to stay in the garden, even when the answer is “no”?
What would surrender look like—not as resignation, but as trust?
And now… pause for a moment. Close your eyes. Breathe deeply.
Can you picture Jesus, still kneeling in the shadows, looking your way?
He sees your cup. He knows your sorrow. And He doesn’t rush you through it.
You are not alone in your Gethsemane. He is with you—Immanuel. He is the God who stayed. The God who suffers with you. The God who, even in agony, did not walk away from love. You are held.
Let that truth settle in your body. Jesus walked this way before you so you never have to walk it alone.
You are seen, soothed, and secure in the deep, irrevocable love of God.
A Closing Prayer
Jesus, you stayed awake when everyone else ran.
You chose love when fear would have been easier.
Give me grace to face the cup I hold.
And even when I don’t understand the answer,
Help me trust the One who holds the story.
Amen.
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To view the other articles in this series focusing on the paintings of Tissot, please click below:
Day 1: The Cup and the Crushing
Day 2: The Disciples Who Fled—Running from the Pain
Day 3: Blind Guides and the Undefended Heart of Christ
A Maundy Thursday Reflection: Presence in the Pain
Day 6: coming soon
Day 7: Easter morning, coming soon