Is Prayer My Rhythm or My Reaction? Learning to Pray with Jesus in Gethsemane

Amber Thiessen
Jun 23
7 min read

There’s a box of china sitting on my coffee table. Teacups and saucers adorned in the Country Roses pattern—once my grandmother’s—now passed on to me when she moved into a care home this year. I was grateful to receive them, but the box still sits there, unopened.

I notice it often. I think about finding a place for them in a cabinet, but I haven’t decided where they should go. That decision will take some effort, and in the hustle and bustle of June, I haven’t made the time to deal with it.

So, I walk past the box. I remember what I should do—eventually.

It doesn’t really bother me. It’s not in the way, and it serves as a quiet reminder. But over time, I’ve gotten used to it just sitting there—always present, but never prioritized.

After two weeks of leadership meetings with our missionary team, I was humbled by a quiet realization: my prayer life has become like that box. Always in view. Always “on the list.” But not truly engaged. The idea of prayer is ever-present—but I haven’t felt a pressing need to go deeper.

Jesus’ Walk to the Garden: A Purposeful Turn Toward Prayer

In Matthew 26, the Passover meal is finished, the hymn sung. Jesus leads His disciples out of the upper room and through the quiet streets toward the Mount of Olives. In a huddled group, they walk away from the city to a familiar, serene place—a spot they’d frequented each evening that week.

As they move along the uneven path, Jesus warns them: by the end of the night, they will scatter and abandon Him. The disciples argue, declaring their loyalty. Peter, especially, is defiant. Still, Jesus plants a seed of hope—He will rise again and go ahead of them into Galilee.

Jesus knows exactly what lies ahead. The betrayal, the loneliness, the physical and emotional anguish. And as the dust stirs beneath His feet on the way to the olive grove at the foot of the hill, He moves with intention. His purpose that night is clear: to pray.

“Sit here, while I go over there and pray” (Matt. 26:36).

Prayer wasn’t an afterthought—it was His intent. This wasn’t unusual for Jesus either. He often withdrew to desolate places to pray. It was His rhythm, His custom, His lifeline. And in the face of grief and sorrow, He did what He always did—He went to the Father.

learning to pray with jesus in gethsemane. quote from thomas boston

Purposeful Rhythm or Rushed Reaction?

When a crisis looms or a pressing need arises, prayer often comes more easily. Trouble has a way of awakening our awareness—we know we need help, so we pray.

But outside those moments of desperation, what does prayer look like in our lives?

Is it a purposeful rhythm—woven into the fabric of our days? Or is it a rushed reaction, pulled out only when things go wrong?

There’s a line from a country song that names the struggle with uncomfortable honesty: “I only talk to God when I need a favour, I only pray when I ain’t got a prayer.”[1]

It’s blunt, even a bit jarring—but it resonates. If we treat prayer only as a means to get what we want, we’ll seek God’s presence only when we’re desperate. In that view, He becomes less of a Father and more of a genie—summoned when we need something, ignored when we don’t.

But that’s not the way Jesus prayed.

Yes, in the garden of Gethsemane, Jesus was facing deep anguish. Yet this moment of prayer wasn’t a break from the norm—it was His pattern. He regularly withdrew to desolate places to pray. Like making coffee in the morning or brushing your teeth at night, prayer was His habit. Not out of obligation, but out of desire. Prayer was communion with the Father—and Jesus wanted that time.

It wasn’t just a spiritual task to check off; it was a means of drawing near to the One He loved. As Tara-Leigh Cobble puts it, “The point of prayer is not to get what we want; the point of prayer is to get God.” [2] When prayer becomes more about presence than requests, it shifts from duty to desire.

Prayer draws us near. It aligns our hearts with His. It invites us to be changed. R.C. Sproul writes, “the purpose of prayer is not to change God’s mind but to change ours, to bring us into communion with Him... He invites us—no, He commands and encourages us—to do that.” [3]

Still, let’s be honest: prayer doesn’t come easily. It often feels hard, distracting, or even dry. As Jonathan Gibson admits, “prayer is the hardest part of our devotions and often leaves us feeling distracted and directionless.” [4]

So what then? If we know prayer matters—if we want to grow—but feel stuck or apathetic, how do we move forward? How do we engage our affections? How do we grow to love the One we’re invited to draw near to?

Learning to pray with jesus in gethsemane. quote from tara-leigh cobble

From Drifting to Devotion

It begins with knowing Him. As Jen Wilkin wisely says, “The heart cannot love what the mind does not know.” [5] If we want our hearts to be stirred toward God, our minds must first be formed by truth.

We give our attention to the things we delight in—but to delight in the right things, we need discipline. And to practice discipline, we need a transformed heart.

That transformation comes as we immerse ourselves in God’s Word, gather with His people, and commit to learning and rehearsing what is true. Prayer is shaped not just by passion, but by purpose—a purpose rooted in knowing the One to whom we pray.

That’s where the spiritual disciplines come in. Reading Scripture, prayer, worship—these are both the means by which we cultivate holy affections and the fruit of them. They help form our hearts toward God, even as they emerge from a heart already longing to know Him more.

But, we’re fickle creatures, aren’t we? Prone to drift between distraction and discipline, confidence and dependence. One moment we’re desperate for God; the next, we’re caught up in self-reliance or apathy.

It’s a bit like my experience swimming with eight-year-olds in the deep end this week. One moment, they’re clinging to you, whispering, “Stay close.” The next, they’re paddling ahead, saying, “Go away, I’ve got this!” There’s a tension between their confidence and their need—between independence and dependence. And in many ways, we’re the same. Sometimes we draw near to God with desperate dependence; other times, we push Him to the side, confident we’ve got things under control.

And yet, prayer isn’t just a helpful practice—it’s a command. As R. Albert Mohler writes, “A failure to pray is therefore not only a sign of anemic spiritual life, it is disobedience to Christ.” [6] That may sound strong, but it reminds us: prayer isn’t optional. It’s essential.

Scripture doesn’t leave prayer as a vague suggestion—it calls us to persistent, ongoing communion with God. We’re told to “pray continually” (1 Thess. 5:17), to bring “everything by prayer and petition” (Phil. 4:6), to “be constant in prayer” (Rom. 12:12), “pray at all times” (Eph. 6:18), and to “continue steadfastly in prayer” (Col. 4:2). Jesus told His disciples a parable “to show them that they should always pray and not lose heart” (Luke 18:1). Prayer isn’t just for crises—it’s the steady heartbeat of a life lived in dependence on God.

Still, many of us avoid prayer not out of defiance, but disillusionment. Stephen Yuille explains, “We are convinced that prayer is the means by which we change our circumstances… When we don’t get what we want through prayer, we fail to see its relevance, and we give up.”[7] If we expect prayer to work like a vending machine, we’ll always be disappointed. But if we see it as communion, we begin to understand its power.

And even when we don’t feel like praying, we pray.

As Eugene Peterson puts it: “Worship is an act that develops feelings for God, not a feeling for God that is expressed in an act of worship.” [8]

The same is true of prayer. We don’t wait for warm emotions to stir before we kneel—we kneel, and trust that God will stir our hearts in time.

learning to pray with jesus in gethsemane quote from stephen yuille

Rhythms That Reflect Worship

If prayer is both a gift and a command, then we need to build our lives around it—not just hope it happens.

We plan for what matters. And if prayer is worship, then our rhythms should reflect that.

So, we confess our need and our weakness. Prayer begins not with strength, but with surrender. Like the disciples in Luke 11:1, we come to Jesus and say, “Lord, teach us to pray.” As Arthur Hildersham once wrote, we must “cry earnestly unto God,” [9] acknowledging our weakness and asking for help.

Then, we make space. We set aside time to pray. That might mean keeping a list of people and needs, praying through Scripture passages, or jotting down reflections as we go. We might pick up a book on prayer to help guide our thoughts.

And we weren’t meant to do it alone. God designed us for community, even in prayer. Find a friend, a mentor, or someone in your church to pray with—because shared prayer doesn’t just strengthen our faith, it binds us together in grace.

Let’s be honest—most of us probably feel like we don’t pray enough. But the goal isn’t to measure up. It’s not about perfection, and it’s certainly not another task to be burdened with or a box to check off. Prayer isn’t performance—it’s presence.

It’s the invitation to go deeper in relationship with the God who already knows and loves us.

So let’s not wait for crisis to bring us to our knees. Let’s plan for prayer. Let’s make space in our lives—not just for what He gives, but for who He is.

He is near. And He welcomes us again and again.