June 12-18

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When I read this week’s chapters, I found a motif that seemed to be threaded throughout. “Cups” are often brought into the conversation throughout the verses. Whether Christ wants to have the cup pass, whether He is telling Peter that He needs to drink the cup, or whether it’s the sacrament cup. Though the cups aren;t necessarily connected, I have learned much as I’ve pondered the cups from the life of the Savior.

Willingness

The Savior is our ultimate example. He is perfect. And what does it mean that He is perfect? Does it mean that He never fell as a baby when He was learning to walk? Does it mean that He didn’t need a teacher to learn carpentry as He grew older? Does it mean He was never unhappy? Does perfection mean that He never stumbled when walking? No! In fact, we know that last one is not true; He stumbled carrying His cross.

The perfection of Christ isn’t about worldly accomplishments or never having to grow or learn new skills. That’s an interesting concept to think about when you consider what it means for us to be perfect. Perfection doesn’t mean that life came easy for Him. 

To me, perfection for Christ means two things. Take note that this is a working definition, but here it is nonetheless. When we talk about Christ being perfect, I believe it means that Christ was always willing to do what the Father wanted Him to do and that He was always turned outwards towards His brothers and sisters. I want to focus on the first half of that perfection: the willingness of Christ. 

Luke 22:42 Saying, Father, if thou be willing, remove this cup from me: nevertheless not my will, but thine, be done.

Christ didn’t want to suffer in the Garden of Gethsemane. It’s right there in the scriptures. As far as I’ve noticed throughout the New Testament, this seems to be the first time that Christ indicates that He didn’t want to do something that His Father wanted Him to do. Perhaps there were times before this, but I haven’t seen a record of any. 

We talk often about Christ’s willingness to follow His Father, but I think it’s absolutely essential to point out the difference between wanting and willing. Isn’t that a blessed relief? Striving for perfection never meant relentless positivity about the painful parts of mortality. It never meant putting away our tears because in the grand scheme of things, we have nothing to cry about. Even though suffering was meant to be a part of this life and even though the Lord will not bail us out of all of it and even though we should hold an eternal perspective, there is no expectation for us to love suffering. 

Willingness is a far more gentle word in my mind. It indicates that we can be fully honest with the Lord about how we feel. We don’t have to grin and bear it; that often brings resentment. Rather, the true expectation is that we’re willing to pass through it. The expectation for perfection means that when the cup comes our way, we are humble enough to recognize the wisdom of God. When that cup isn’t taken away even though we’ve pleaded for it, perfection calls on us to believe in the promises that will carry us through and the promises that we will find on the other side. It means drawing comfort from those promises when there isn’t anything else from which to draw comfort. 

I feel as though I often speak about turning our hearts towards Christ in order to stifle stress and increase joy. I often speak about how we don’t have to feel stressed because the atonement took care of everything and Christ will make up for all of it. I try to encourage myself and others to believe that it will all work out splendidly. I have found peace in my life through the atonement of Christ. I have let go of so much stress that I was unnecessarily carrying around. I have found myself free of worry in many instances. But that peace and comfort partially came because I finally accepted that I didn’t have to be happy about everything. My most prolific peace came when I started to believe that the Savior didn’t expect me to suck it up and love everything about mortality. Just as wanting and willing are different, peace and positivity are different. Though they can often come together, peace does not always require positivity. 

When I feel like I’m truly striving for the kind of perfection that the Savior wants me to strive for (not the kind of perfection I’ve convinced myself is necessary), I always find a need for willingness. Sometimes that willingness is happy because I’m feeling particularly sure about the promises of the Savior at that moment. Other times, that willingness simply comes because I have a testimony that the Savior has no problem with my tears while I drink from the cup I’ve been given.

An unfair cup

It was this cup that Christ was partaking of that would simultaneously make the Plan of Salvation fair while also making it unfair. Justice would be paid so the scales could be set aside without any uproar over the perfection of our Heavenly Father, but it would also mean that Christ is the only one who would find Himself with an unfair life in a negative way. Our lives are unfair in the sense that we could never earn the kind of eternity He is offering, but His life is unfair in the sense that He suffered something He didn’t deserve. He is the only One who had to walk alone. He was the only One who had no one to lean on. He is the only One on which the entire Plan of Salvation hinged. He has promised to make up for the suffering we experience in mortality, but there is no one to give that same promise to Him. The suffering Christ experiences will be a price paid with no recompense. 

Was it worth it to Him? Absolutely. He wanted us to come home with Him. He desires our companionship, and this was the only way. But fairness and happiness don’t always come together. 

Sometimes our cup will be likewise unfair, at least temporarily while in mortality. Though Christ has promised to make up for everything, there is still a space of time in which we must sit in unfairness. Sometimes that unfairness is in our favor when we find ourselves blessed in ways that others are not, and sometimes that unfairness swings the other way and we find ourselves blindsided.

Regardless, that unfairness is always for us. When the unfairness sways in our favor, we have been given opportunities to relieve the suffering of others. When it sways against us, we have been given an opportunity to do exactly what we came here to do: grow. Any unfairness we experience is for us. 

The unfairness that Christ experienced was also for us. He didn’t need growth from suffering. It was never for Him. 

Everything about mortality was for us. Every single aspect of it. There was no detail put in place that didn’t have the potential to bring about a positive outcome for us. So when you’re called on to drink from a bitter cup, remember a couple of things: 

1) That bitter cup will one day be a sweet memory when all suffering is made up. We don’t even have to try and force ourselves to be happy about it now. It will naturally become sweet when we get to the other side and realize how safe we really were and what that cup gave to us. 

2) The Savior drinks it with you even though He doesn’t have to. Don’t let that statement fill you with guilt. Let it fill you with the realization of how loved you are. 

One last cup

There is one other cup that I’d like to speak about. That is the cup that was associated with the Savior establishing the sacrament. 

Luke 22:19-20

19 And he took bread, and gave thanks, and brake it, and gave unto them, saying, This is my body which is given for you: this do in remembrance of me.

20 Likewise also the cup after supper, saying, This cup is the new testament in my blood, which is shed for you.

The Savior replaced the entire Passover meal with a much simpler sacrament to remember Him by. However, the point of the food in each act of worship was the same: to remember. Just as the Israelites were commanded to remember how the Lord saved them and their children from slavery and plagues, we are to remember how the Savior saved us.

The Savior asks us to remember Him, but it’s not actually for Him. If anyone else were to institute a weekly ritual for everyone to remember them, it would probably come across as pompous. But the Savior isn’t looking to be served.

There was a time when I was headed out on my mission. I had a nephew I was particularly worried about, and I was afraid of him having to handle life without me. Looking back, I know that’s ridiculous because he had his mother, but at the time, I desperately wanted to be able to support him. But I was leaving. I needed to leave. He was very young, and I remember pleading with him (in my mind) to remember me as I tickled his back during a nap. I wanted him to remember me because I wanted him to remember how much I loved him, and I wanted him to carry that love with him through his day.

It is the same with the Savior. He wants us to carry Him with us because His love for us will change every aspect of our mortality. Nothing will feel the same. The love of the Lord changes everything because it changes you. You will see and handle everything differently if you carry that kind of support with you.

I’m grateful my Savior drank that cup even though He didn’t want to. Honestly, it makes His sacrifice that much more selfless because He completely ignored His own desires for me. I may not be able to give any recompense for His suffering, but I know that I can make His suffering worth it simply by loving Him back for what He did.