When the Cross Interrupts the 'Come Up'
He taught with so much power and authority that the crowds loved Him—until He got to the part they couldn't stomach. Until He let them down by refusing to be their political conqueror or their personal genie. This is a question I want to bring to your heart today, to see if it resonates in the quiet, hidden places of your soul: Are you a 'come up' Christian only? Do you know what I mean by the come up? In our modern culture, the come up is the part of the story where the success is accumulating, the benefits are accruing, and the blessings are flowing. We love the God of the come up. We love the God of the multiplied loaves, the calmed storms, and the instant breakthroughs. But the true gospel takes a sharp, jagged turn. The cross interrupts the come up. We desperately want the crown, but we instinctively recoil at the nails.
Consider the rich young ruler. Here was a man who had masterfully navigated the come up of his era. He had the wealth, the status, and the flawless religious resume. But Jesus looked at him, loved him deeply, and told him the one truth he lacked was the one thing he was terrified to do: let go. We often prefer a sanitized, comfortable version of faith. A polished piece of jewelry. A sentimental movie scene. But Jesus didn't invite us to a spa; He invited us to an execution. He invited us to take up the cross. The cross is where our self-sufficiency goes to die, so that our true life in Him can finally begin.
It seems that the disciple Peter, too, as he followed Jesus through a season of miracles, was deeply invested in the come up. When Jesus announced He was going to the cross, Peter rebuked Him. Because the cross meant the absolute end of the earthly empire Peter was hoping to build. How often do we do the exact same thing? We want a Savior who upgrades our lifestyle, not a Lord who demands our entire life. But until we confront the brutal, bloody reality of Calvary, we will never understand the profound depth of our own salvation. We will never experience the freedom that only comes when we finally stop trying to save ourselves.
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 Ultimate Compliment Hidden in an Insult
I want you to think about what really happened on the cross. Beyond the crown of thorns that violently marked His brow. Beyond the sign that Pilate put above Him in three different languages that read 'King of the Jews'—a title used to mock Him, which was actually announcing Him to the cosmos. Sometimes the insults that people hurl at you are the greatest compliments they can give. The religious elite, the scribes, and the elders gathered at the foot of the cross, not to mourn, but to gloat. They wagged their heads and demanded a magic trick to prove His divinity. 'Come down from the cross, and we will believe.'
'He saved others; himself he cannot save.' They spat those words as a venomous insult, completely blind to the fact that they were preaching the purest distillation of the gospel. They thought they were exposing a fraud. Instead, they were loudly declaring a profound theological truth. If He was going to save others—if He was going to save you and me—He absolutely could not save Himself. The iron nails did not keep Jesus on the cross. His sovereign, unbreakable love for you kept Him on the cross. When we ask why Jesus died, we must look at the utter depravity of the human heart screaming at its Creator, and the Creator silently absorbing that hatred to forge a pathway to peace.
We cannot fully grasp the magnitude of the gospel until we realize that Jesus stayed on that wood while we were still actively rebelling against Him. He didn't wait for us to apologize. He didn't wait for humanity to clean up its act. As the Apostle Paul reminds us in Romans 5:8, God proved His love on the darkest day in history: while we were still sinners, Christ died for us. He took the chastisement that brought our peace. He took the mockery so we could receive the mercy. On the cross, that is where my sin is. On the cross, that is where my second-guessings, my failures, and my deepest shames are nailed forever.
Likewise also the chief priests mocking him, with the scribes and elders, said, He saved others; himself he cannot save. If he be the King of Israel, let him now come down from the cross, and we will believe him.— Matthew 27:41-42, KJV
The Darkness That Brought Our Dawn
We have seen movies and heard countless sermons about the physical agony of crucifixion. Sometimes it makes you feel sentimental; sometimes it makes you feel sick. But what happened on the cross went far beyond what a film camera can present in twenty-four frames per second. What happened down in the marrow of the cosmos? What happened down in the soul of the Son of God? From the sixth hour to the ninth hour, a supernatural darkness fell over the entire land. This was not merely a weather event. This was the terrifying, suffocating weight of human sin—every murder, every lie, every betrayal, every hidden addiction—being poured into the spirit of the sinless Lamb of God.
In that absolute, crushing darkness, Jesus experienced the one thing He had never known in all of eternity: separation from the Father. He was forsaken so that you would never have to be. He was abandoned so that you could be adopted. When the enemy whispers in the middle of the night that you are too far gone, or that your mistakes have permanently disqualified you from grace, you need to point him to the ninth hour. The wrath of God against your sin was fully exhausted on the bleeding body of Jesus Christ. The debt is not partially paid; it is finished.
And then came the moment that shattered the universe. Jesus cried with a loud voice and gave up the ghost. He wasn't murdered; He willingly yielded His spirit. And the moment He did, miles away in the temple, the massive, heavy veil separating the Holy of Holies from the rest of the world was violently torn in two, from top to bottom. God Himself ripped up the barrier. The eviction notice was canceled. The shackles fell off. The access was granted. What happened on the cross was the violent, beautiful release of the absolute freedom that God wants to produce in your life today.
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 cross still changes everything because it is the only place in the universe where our insurmountable debt meets God's inexhaustible grace. You do not have to carry your heavy burdens of guilt and shame for one more second; they have already been carried up the hill to Golgotha. Whatever you are running from, whatever secret chains bind you in the dark, bring them to the shadow of the cross today. The veil is torn. The price is paid in full. The King of Kings is waiting with wide-open, nail-scarred hands to welcome you home.