“During the days of Jesus’ life on earth, he offered up prayers and petitions with loud cries and tears to the one who could save him from death, and he was heard because of his reverent submission. Although he was a son, he learned obedience from what he suffered and, once made perfect, he became the source of eternal salvation for all who obey him…” – Hebrews 5:7-8

Like any human being, I’ve lived a life with many things not going my way. From heavy matters like a broken marriage and lost jobs, to much-less-burdensome situations like a sports event rainout or accidentally shrinking my favorite shirt in the dryer. Like anyone else breathing, I’ve had to deal with an assortment of disappointments and failed expectations. In the grand scheme, very few of these letdowns involve much consequence, but most of them — particularly the ones in my adulthood — have been opportunities for my heart to grow…and surrender.

One of the most remarkable revelations I’ve had about Jesus recently is his interaction with Abba in the Garden of Gethsemane, when he realized and accepted the time had come for him to make the world’s greatest sacrifice through bearing the weight of the greatest suffering. He knew he had to experience hell–like, the earthly version of it as well as the actual location–in order to save God’s people from experiencing it.

And he didn’t want to. Of course he didn’t! But, why is this just recently hitting me, after all of these years of hearing this story, that this was something Christ was actually scared and anxious about? Dreading? I think, because it finally hit me that Christ wasn’t a robot. That he wasn’t sent to earth as an invincible superhuman who felt nothing and feared nothing. Contrary to my assumptions most of my life, Jesus wasn’t detached from reality just because he was holy and righteous and the Son of Man. He felt like we do. And he wanted to take a ‘pass’ on the cup God has placed before him. And no doubt, like any father would, it hurt God so much to see him pleading like that. But they both knew the death had to happen in order for there to be resurrection and life to follow.

As God’s son, he was obedient. Because he knew God and trusted him. Christ knew the plan was the best–the only–if there’d be any victory over death. Christ wouldn’t have done any of this if there wasn’t a deep relationship built. There couldn’t have been a deep relationship if Christ didn’t know the Father.

In general, you can’t have a relationship with someone you don’t know.

Almost condescendingly obvious as I read that line again. Even still, it bumps my heart rate and gently convicts me.

I would certainly say I have a relationship with God. I know him through what I’ve read in scripture. Through what I’ve heard in sermons pertaining to scripture. This is God of the universe. The God who moves mountains and could drain the oceans. Who holds galaxies on His index finger. Who’s mighty enough to torch the whole planet, yet finds delight enough in me to rejoice over his child with singing and dancing. Who made sacrifices that I didn’t deserve in order to save me from the hell I certainly DO deserve.

Honestly? Quite often…QUITE…often, I take all of that very casually. Mostly, I’m convinced, because I still don’t have the relationship with Him that would move my heart to absorb these truths about his might and mercy. So, that is my most consistent prayer: That I would WANT to want to know You more, Father. That my greatest desire would be to be connected with you in a relationship that’s far more real and deep than anything else. Sports, music, a romantic relationship…companionship, validation through other community, physical attractiveness…all great things — would pale in comparison to the satisfaction and peace that comes with the intimacy and familiarity and acceptance we could share together.

Christ pursued that because he was hungry for it. Hungrier for it than anything else that could have distracted him along the way. Which is why he obeyed through unspeakable suffering and held fast to hope. Because he was SO deeply rooted. Like a hundred year-old oak tree. Not mentally swaying all directions like a cattail in the breeze.

Because of Christ’s rootedness, he was made perfect and “became to all those who obey Him, the source of eternal salvation.” (Heb. 5:9)

I hope I’m wrong, but there’s something in my gut that says someday, I’ll have my own decision to make on whether or not I’ll fully trust and obey God in the face of intense fear and suffering. And it pains me to think that I’d value my own life more than sacrificing it for the one who loves me most. Which is why this is the time for my relationship to grow deeper. To grow real-er. Like what Christ had with the Father–who’s also my Father.

And in comparison, even if the “suffering via obedience” took my life, what a much easier decision it is to make, knowing that eternity in Heaven is the next destination. Because of Christ’s relationship with his Father that enabled him to suffer much so that I’ll never have to.