The Interruption of the "Come Up"
We all love a good success story. We love the part of faith where the blessings are accruing, the seas are parting, and the miracles are flowing. It is what some might call the "come up"—that season where everything is moving up and to the right, and following God feels like a victory lap. When Jesus walked the earth, the crowds loved the come up. They loved the multiplied fish and loaves. They loved the spectacular healings. He taught with so much power and authority that they wanted to make Him a king on their own terms, right then and there.
But then, the narrative shifted. Jesus didn't just come to be a life coach or a dispenser of earthly favors; He came to be a Savior. And salvation required an altar. When Jesus began to speak of the cross, it felt like an ultimate betrayal to those who were only looking for an earthly kingdom. The cross interrupted their come up. It offended their sensibilities. It still offends ours today. We want the crown without the thorns. We want the resurrection without the grave. We want the glory without the agonizing surrender.
Yet, the cross is exactly where our faith must be anchored. If we only follow Jesus when the sun is shining, we will shatter when the storms hit. The cross isn't just a historical event; it is a daily invitation to lay down the heavy, exhausting burden of trying to save ourselves. When Jesus looked at the rich young ruler, He saw a man drowning in his own success, desperate for something real. He didn't offer him a five-step plan to better living. He offered him the cross. Because it is only at the cross that we finally lose the weight of our own pride and find the permanent freedom of His grace.
Then Jesus beholding him loved him, and said unto him, One thing thou lackest: go thy way, sell whatsoever thou hast, and give to the poor, and thou shalt have treasure in heaven: and come, take up the cross, and follow me.— Mark 10:21, KJV
The Darkness We Deserved, The Cry He Endured
I've heard the sermons and seen the movies about the physical agony of crucifixion. Sometimes it makes you feel sentimental; sometimes it just makes you feel sick. But what happened on the cross went far beyond what a film camera can present in 24 frames per second. The real terror of Golgotha wasn't just the nails in His wrists or the crown of thorns that marked His brow. The true horror was the spiritual weight He bore. For three hours, darkness fell over the whole land. It wasn't just a weather anomaly; it was the physical manifestation of the wrath of God against the sin of the world.
In that suffocating darkness, the Son of God, who had dwelled in perfect, unbroken communion with the Father for all eternity, suddenly felt the absolute isolation of sin. Our sin. Every mistake, every secret shame, every bitter betrayal, every moment of utter rebellion was placed squarely on His shoulders. That is the devastating answer to why Jesus died. He died so that you would never have to know what it feels like to be truly abandoned by God. He took the rejection so you could have the reconciliation.
When you are sitting in the dark, feeling like your mistakes have finally disqualified you from love, you need to hear the echo of His voice from the cross. He didn't whisper it; He cried it out with a loud voice. He experienced the ultimate separation so that nothing—neither death, nor life, nor angels, nor principalities—could ever separate you from the love of God. The cross changes everything because it proves that God will go to the absolute furthest, darkest lengths to bring you home.
And at the ninth hour Jesus cried with a loud voice, saying, Eloi, Eloi, lama sabachthani? which is, being interpreted, My God, my God, why hast thou forsaken me?— Mark 15:34, KJV
The Mockery and the Masterpiece of Grace
While Jesus was hanging in unimaginable agony, the world stood at His feet and mocked Him. The religious elite, the scribes, the elders, and even the thieves crucified beside Him cast insults into His teeth. They wagged their heads and hurled what they thought was the ultimate indictment: "He saved others; himself he cannot save." They thought they were exposing a fraud. They didn't realize they were preaching the deepest truth of the gospel. Sometimes the insults that people say about you are the greatest compliment they can give you.
They were absolutely right. He could not save Himself and save you. If He had called down legions of angels to deliver Him, if He had come down from that cross to prove His power to the cynics, we would be lost forever. Love held Him there, not nails. The mockery of the crowd was met with the masterpiece of God's grace. It is the very essence of Romans 5:8: "But God commendeth his love toward us, in that, while we were yet sinners, Christ died for us." He didn't wait for us to clean up our act. He didn't wait for us to stop mocking Him, stop doubting Him, or stop running from Him. He died for us while we were at our absolute worst.
Think about what that means for you today. On the cross, that's where my sin is. On the cross, that's where my deepest mistakes are. On the cross, that's where my second-guessings and my shame are nailed to the wood. You don't have to carry your guilt anymore because He already carried it up the hill of Golgotha. The enemy will try to use your past to mock you, just like the crowd mocked Jesus. But the cross stands as the eternal, undeniable proof that your debt has been paid in full.
Likewise also the chief priests mocking said among themselves with the scribes, He saved others; himself he cannot save.— Mark 15:31, KJV
The Veil is Torn, The Way is Open
Everything before the cross was leading up to it, and everything after the cross looks back to it. It is the hinge of human history. When Jesus finally yielded up His spirit, the earth didn't just keep spinning as if nothing had happened. The ground quaked, the rocks split, and something deeply profound happened inside the temple in Jerusalem. The veil—the massive, thick curtain that separated a holy God from a broken humanity—was rent in twain. And it wasn't torn from the bottom up, as if a man had done it. It was torn from the top to the bottom. God Himself was ripping open the way to His presence.
This is what happened down in my soul when my shackles fell off. It is what happens when the chastisement that brings our peace is fully realized. The cross changes everything today because it means you don't need a perfect track record or a spotless resume to approach the throne of God. The blood of Jesus has cleared the way. When the centurion, a hardened Roman executioner who had likely presided over hundreds of crucifixions, saw how Jesus died, even his blind eyes were opened. He looked at the bruised, bloodied Savior and declared the truth that changes hearts forever: Truly this man was the Son of God.
The cross is not a tragedy; it is a triumph. It is the release of the freedom that God wants to produce in your life. Stop living as if the veil is still closed. Stop living as if your sins are still counting against you. Jesus paid it all. The cross means that your worst day is not your last day, and your deepest failure is no match for His highest grace.
And Jesus cried with a loud voice, and gave up the ghost. And the veil of the temple was rent in twain from the top to the bottom.— Mark 15:37-38, KJV
If you are standing in a season where life has broken your heart, look to the cross. It is the ultimate proof that God can take the darkest, most agonizing Friday in history and turn it into a Sunday morning resurrection. You are loved with a love that defied death, endured the grave, and tore heaven wide open just to reach you. Walk in that freedom today, and let the shadow of the cross be the very place you find your brightest hope.