WHEN WE READ the gospels and see the wisdom and miraculous power of Jesus, it’s tempting to think of him as not quite human. This is, in fact, one of the great paradoxes of Christian theology: how is it possible for one person to be both fully God and fully human at the same time?

But this is what the New Testament teaches. Taken together, passages like John 1:1-5, Philippians 2:5-8, and Hebrews 2:17 insist that the eternal Son of God became a true flesh-and-blood human being like us. Moreover, he was the one human in all of history who could be “tempted in every way” and yet remain sinless (Heb 4:15, NIV).

Being fully human, Jesus doesn’t float serenely over the gospel narratives, calm and imperturbable. He both experiences and expresses strong emotion. For example, he sometimes gets frustrated with the disciples and tells them off. He weeps over the death of his friend Lazarus. He mourns the refusal of the Jerusalem leaders to believe. He gets mad enough at the way commerce has desecrated the temple to throw furniture and chase people away.

And we should picture Jesus experiencing the full range of positive emotions too. He didn’t just love his disciples in an abstract way; he had a deep affection for them, despite the obtuse things they sometimes said and did. He seemed to love children, too. And I imagine that one of the reasons the scribes and Pharisees took such offense at his habit of dining with so-called “sinners” was not simply that he dared to cross those boundaries. Could it be that he actually enjoyed the company of tax gatherers more than he enjoyed theirs? That he even laughed at their jokes?

What a concept.

One of the most poignant scenes in the gospels, though, is Jesus’ anguished prayer in the Garden of Gethsemane. He had just finished his last meal with the Twelve, and knew that the ordeal of his arrest and crucifixion was about to begin. To Peter, James, and John, he said, “My soul is overwhelmed with sorrow to the point of death. Stay here and keep watch with me” (Matt 26:38). Then he went a short distance away to pray with his face to the ground, pleading with the Father to see if there was any alternative to the cross. He asked three times. But there was never any question whether he would do whatever the Father required. “My Father,” Jesus prayed, “if it is not possible for this cup to be taken away unless I drink it, may your will be done” (vs. 42).

“Your will be done.” That could be the slogan for Jesus’ entire life and ministry. It’s what he prayed in Gethsemane. And it’s what he taught his followers to pray as well.

THE LORD’S PRAYER is no mere religious ritual. In the context of the Sermon on the Mount, it represents the heart of every person who desires to be truly righteous:

Our Father in heaven,
hallowed be your name,
your kingdom come,
your will be done,
    on earth as it is in heaven.
Give us today our daily bread.
And forgive us our debts,
    as we also have forgiven our debtors.
And lead us not into temptation,
    but deliver us from the evil one. (Matt 6:9-13)

Jesus teaches us to pray to a God who is transcendent, sovereign, and holy, but who is also our Father. We pray for his kingdom to come. And part of what it means to pray for the kingdom of heaven to come is to pray for God’s will to be done.

Sometimes, it seems, the way Christians talk about “God’s will” has begun to work its way loose from Scripture. We may have an important decision to make, for example, and don’t know which way to go. We assume that one choice must be the right one, must be “God’s will.” And thus we pray for God to show us his will, because we want the blessing that comes with making the right choice.

Don’t get me wrong. It’s good to seek God’s counsel when making decisions. But it’s misguided, I think, to equate God’s will with one specific “right” choice from among the options available. That quickly becomes like a spiritual version of the classic game show Let’s Make a Deal. Behind one and only one of these three doors is the grand prize; another door hides a decent but less valuable prize; and behind the third is a booby prize. Choose the right door, and you’ll be blessed! Choose the wrong one, and you go home a loser.

Do we really believe that this is how our gracious heavenly Father operates? I don’t, and I hope you don’t either, if you stop to think about it. Moreover, because we live in a broken world as broken people, even good choices can have bad consequences. Blessing isn’t a reward for making the right choice. As Jesus has already said, even the poor in spirit and the like are blessed, not because their situation is pleasant but because, contrary to what the world might expect, God is their God.

So what does it mean to pray that God’s will be done? In Gethsemane, it meant Jesus obeying the Father despite his own misgivings, accepting that the way of the cross was his earthly destiny. And in the context of the Sermon on the Mount, it means praying that kingdom righteousness would abound, that we and others around us would live as God would have us live.

WE CANNOT HONESTLY pray that God’s will would be done without recognizing that the answer to that prayer begins with us. We cannot ask for everyone else to do God’s will and not do it ourselves.

And what does it mean for us to do God’s will? As I’ve already suggested, it’s not about choosing the right job, or school, or life partner, as important as these choices might be. Instead, ask yourself, “What does God want from his people? What does Jesus teach in the Sermon on the Mount?”

God’s will is that we curb our anger toward others, and reconcile with people we’ve offended. God’s will is that we recognize how our desires get out of control, and take concrete steps to avoid temptation. God’s will is that we honor our vows, and be people whose word can always be trusted. God’s will is that we meet evil with humility and love our enemies.

That’s a sample of what God wants. Is that what we want, too? Maybe we need to pray.