The Beautiful Upset: WK3 - WED
CAN YOU DRINK THE CUP?
Mark 10:38–40 (NLT) “But Jesus said to them, ‘You don’t know what you are asking! Are you able to drink from the bitter cup of suffering I am about to drink?’ ‘Oh yes,’ they replied, ‘we are able!’”
When James and John ask for the seats of honor, Jesus doesn’t shame them—He simply tells them they don’t yet understand what greatness costs. They imagine glory; Jesus is talking about formation.
To get at what Jesus means by “the cup,” I think about a season from early parenthood—one that many parents, caregivers, adult children, and spouses know all too well.
When our daughter was born, sleep disappeared. Those long nights weren’t dramatic; they were just relentless. The 1 a.m. cry… the 3 a.m. cry… the 5 a.m. cry. And every time, I faced the small but very real decision: stay in bed or get up again. And I know I’m not alone.
Some of you have lived your own version of that rhythm, tending to a child with special needs, or getting up through the night to help an aging parent, or sitting at the bedside of a spouse whose illness won’t respect the calendar. It’s not glamorous. It’s not Instagrammable. It’s just love, wearing pajamas, carrying fatigue, doing what needs to be done.
When I look back on that season, I don’t feel heroic. If anything, I felt stretched past my limits more times than I can count. But I can also see how those nights quietly softened me, how they shaped patience I didn’t naturally have, how they taught me a version of love that isn’t measured by energy levels or personal convenience.
And that, I think, is closer to what Jesus means by “drinking the cup.” The cup is not dramatic suffering. It’s the slow, steady willingness to be poured out, when it costs you something. James and John say, “Yes, we can drink it,” because they’re imagining a heroic moment. Jesus knows the cup comes in a thousand unremarkable surrenders, small, hidden choices that gradually shape us into people who can love like Him.
And perhaps His question to us sounds like this: Are you willing to let love form you, not in the moments everyone sees, but in the ones no one sees at all?
Mark 10:38–40 (NLT) “But Jesus said to them, ‘You don’t know what you are asking! Are you able to drink from the bitter cup of suffering I am about to drink?’ ‘Oh yes,’ they replied, ‘we are able!’”
When James and John ask for the seats of honor, Jesus doesn’t shame them—He simply tells them they don’t yet understand what greatness costs. They imagine glory; Jesus is talking about formation.
To get at what Jesus means by “the cup,” I think about a season from early parenthood—one that many parents, caregivers, adult children, and spouses know all too well.
When our daughter was born, sleep disappeared. Those long nights weren’t dramatic; they were just relentless. The 1 a.m. cry… the 3 a.m. cry… the 5 a.m. cry. And every time, I faced the small but very real decision: stay in bed or get up again. And I know I’m not alone.
Some of you have lived your own version of that rhythm, tending to a child with special needs, or getting up through the night to help an aging parent, or sitting at the bedside of a spouse whose illness won’t respect the calendar. It’s not glamorous. It’s not Instagrammable. It’s just love, wearing pajamas, carrying fatigue, doing what needs to be done.
When I look back on that season, I don’t feel heroic. If anything, I felt stretched past my limits more times than I can count. But I can also see how those nights quietly softened me, how they shaped patience I didn’t naturally have, how they taught me a version of love that isn’t measured by energy levels or personal convenience.
And that, I think, is closer to what Jesus means by “drinking the cup.” The cup is not dramatic suffering. It’s the slow, steady willingness to be poured out, when it costs you something. James and John say, “Yes, we can drink it,” because they’re imagining a heroic moment. Jesus knows the cup comes in a thousand unremarkable surrenders, small, hidden choices that gradually shape us into people who can love like Him.
And perhaps His question to us sounds like this: Are you willing to let love form you, not in the moments everyone sees, but in the ones no one sees at all?
- What part of following Jesus feels costly for you right now?
- Where do you sense God inviting you deeper into sacrifice?
- How have you seen God use difficulty to form you in the past?
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