“Then Jesus left them a second time and prayed, ‘My Father! If this cup cannot be taken away unless I drink it, your will be done.’ … So he went to pray a third time, saying the same things again.” Matthew 26:42-44 (NLT)
There is something profoundly human and profoundly holy about Jesus saying the same prayer again. He does not adjust the language to sound more spiritual.
He does not invent new words to prove faith. He does not pretend the burden feels lighter the third time. He repeats Himself.
And in that repetition, we see something tender: perseverance is not the absence of struggle; it is faith that keeps speaking.
What challenges me most in this passage is not the sleeping disciples. It is the repetition. Jesus the Son of God returns to the Father and says the same thing again. That means repetition is not unbelief. It is dependence.
Sometimes I feel self-conscious bringing the same prayer again. “Lord, I’ve asked this before.” As if heaven keeps score. As if faith requires novelty. But Gethsemane teaches me otherwise.
Jesus asks honestly for the cup to pass. Yet His heart is anchored in surrender: “Your will be done.” It is possible to ask boldly and surrender fully at the same time. It is possible to desire healing and still trust the Father’s wisdom. It is possible to feel the weight and still remain yielded.
Tonight I feel my body’s fragility. My digestion feels unsettled. My stomach feels heavy and still. I have prayed about this before many times. Years, even.
And yet tonight I am not ashamed to say it again. Because I remember the woman caught in adultery, not condemned, but restored.
I remember the woman with the issue of blood for twelve years, one touch and she was made whole.
I remember the Syrophoenician woman who believed crumbs were enough and Jesus called her faith great.
I remember Jairus’ daughter, twelve years old, raised.
I remember Lazarus, four days dead and still not beyond resurrection.
I remember the man at the pool for thirty-eight years “Take up your mat and walk.”
I remember blind eyes opened.
I remember demons expelled.
I remember storms calmed.
The same power that moved then has not diminished now.
If Jesus Himself could pray three times, who am I to grow weary in asking? If the Son of God could wrestle and repeat and still surrender, then I can return to the Father again. Tonight I do not pray in panic. I pray in trust.
I will say it again.
Wells of Wonder 