The Interruption of the 'Come Up'
We love a success story. We love the part of faith where the blessings are flowing, the benefits are accruing, and the miracles are multiplying in our hands. In modern terms, we love the 'come up.' When Jesus was healing the sick, restoring sight to the blind, and multiplying the loaves, the crowds were massive. They were riding the wave of His power, thrilled by a King who could fix their immediate earthly problems. But true, deeply rooted faith is never forged in the shallow waters of convenience. It is tested when the trajectory shifts from a throne of earthly glory to a rugged, splintered hill called Golgotha.
When you read the Gospels, you see a turning point that shakes the disciples to their absolute core. Jesus begins talking about suffering. He begins talking about dying. The cross interrupted the come up. It shattered their expectations of what a Savior should look like and what following Him would actually cost. It forces us to ask a piercing question: Are you only a 'come up' Christian? Are you only following Jesus for what He can do for your current circumstances, or are you willing to follow Him into the dark places where your pride has to die? We want the crown of victory, but Jesus hands us the instrument of our own surrender.
This is the ultimate test of the human heart. We naturally want to approach God with our resumes, our good deeds, and our accumulated wealth of moral effort, hoping to buy our way into His favor. But Jesus looks right past our polished exteriors and speaks directly to the aching soul beneath. He demands the surrender of the very things we use to insulate ourselves from needing Him. He doesn't want your perfection; He wants your absolute reliance on Him.
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 Mockery and the Majesty
Picture the scene at Golgotha. It wasn't just the physical agony of the nails that broke Him; it was the psychological torment of the rejection. The religious elite, the casual passersby, and even the thieves crucified beside Him hurled insults at His bleeding frame. 'Save thyself,' they sneered. 'Come down from the cross.' The world's definition of power is always rooted in self-preservation. They thought that if He was truly the Son of God, He would flex His divine muscle, break the iron stakes, step down into the dirt, and silence His critics once and for all.
But they fundamentally misunderstood why Jesus died. He didn't stay on that wood because the Roman soldiers were stronger than Him or because the nails held Him captive. He stayed because His love for you was stronger than the agony. He listened to the mocking crowd say, 'He saved others; himself he cannot save,' and in a profound, earth-shattering irony, they were absolutely right. In order to save others—in order to save you—He could not save Himself. The cross was not a tragic accident of history; it was an altar of intentional sacrifice.
This is the brutal, beautiful reality of the gospel. When we look at the cross, we aren't just seeing a Roman execution; we are seeing the definitive, undeniable proof of our value to heaven. It is the perfect, bloody illustration of Romans 5:8, demonstrating that God commended His love toward us while we were at our absolute worst. He took the isolation, the crushing shame, and the utter, terrifying separation from the Father so that you would never, ever have to experience it.
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
What Happened Down in My Soul
Let's move beyond the historical facts for a moment. I mean, what really happened beyond the crown of thorns that marked His brow? Beyond the sign that Pilate put above Him in three different languages that said King of the Jews—the title they used to mock Him, which was actually announcing His true identity. What really happened on the cross? What happened down in my soul when my shackles fell off, when the chastisement that brought my peace was laid entirely upon His broken shoulders?
On the cross, that's where my sin is. On the cross, that's where my mistakes are. On the cross, that's where my hidden addictions, my broken promises, my second-guessings, and my deepest regrets are fully redeemed. The cross isn't just a piece of jewelry to wear around your neck; it is the release of the absolute freedom that God wants to produce in your life right now. It is the place where your shame goes to die so that your spirit can finally breathe.
When Jesus yielded up His spirit, something violently beautiful happened in the temple. The thick, heavy veil that separated humanity from the holy presence of God was torn completely in two. And it didn't tear from the bottom, where human hands could reach. It tore from the top to the bottom. God Himself ripped the barrier wide open. The cross changes everything because it means you no longer have to stand at a distance from your Creator. The blood of Jesus has paved a direct, unfiltered path into the arms of the Father.
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
The Impossible Made Possible
You might be reading this right now feeling completely overwhelmed by the crushing weight of your own failures. You might be staring at a situation in your life—a broken marriage, a prodigal child, a shattered dream—that feels entirely unfixable. The disciples felt that exact same despair when they looked at the radical demands of the kingdom. They were astonished out of measure, wondering how anyone could possibly be saved. Humanly speaking, mending your broken soul is impossible. Fixing your fractured past on your own is impossible.
But the cross is where human impossibility collides head-on with divine capability. Jesus didn't die to give you a new set of rules to follow; He died to give you a resurrected life. He stepped into the dark, terrifying void of our impossibility and flooded it with radical grace. When the Roman centurion stood at the foot of the cross and watched how Jesus breathed His last, even his hardened, battle-weary heart was forced to confess the truth of who was hanging there.
The cross still changes everything today because it has the final word over your life. Your trauma does not have the final word. Your mistakes do not have the final word. The world might look at your life and wag their heads, just as they did at Him, but God looks at you through the lens of the finished work of Calvary. Bring your impossible, heavy burdens to the foot of that cross. Leave them there, and watch what God can do with the things you thought were dead.
And Jesus looking upon them saith, With men it is impossible, but not with God: for with God all things are possible.— Mark 10:27, KJV
You don't have to carry the suffocating weight of your past for one more second. The debt has been paid in full, the veil has been torn, and the Savior who refused to come down from the cross is now inviting you to step into His resurrection. Let the cross interrupt your striving today. Surrender the heavy, impossible things to the One who made a public spectacle of defeat and turned it into your eternal victory. You are fiercely loved, entirely forgiven, and called to walk in the miraculous freedom He bought for you with His very life.