The Interruption of the Come Up
There is a version of faith that only thrives in the sunshine. It is a faith built on the "come up"—that season of life where the benefits are accruing, the prayers are being answered, and the miracles feel like daily occurrences. We love the Jesus who multiplies the loaves and heals the sick. We love the crowds, the power, and the authority. But what happens when the story takes a turn? What happens when the path leads away from the cheering multitudes and straight up a dusty, desolate hill called Golgotha? The truth is, many of us want the kingdom without the cross. We want the crown without the thorns.
But Jesus never promised us a faith devoid of suffering. In fact, He looked directly at those who wanted the easy way out and offered them something infinitely heavier, yet infinitely more beautiful. He didn't offer a shortcut; He offered a cross. When we look at the raw, unpolished reality of the gospel, we are forced to confront the splintered wood of our own surrender. Following Christ isn't an invitation to a pain-free life; it is an invitation to resurrecting grace, and resurrection only happens after death.
This is where the modern, sanitized version of faith falls apart, and where the true power of the gospel begins. If you are sitting in the ashes of a broken dream, or carrying a weight that feels like it might crush you, you need to know that Jesus does not turn away from your heavy lifting. He carried His own. He invites you to bring your absolute worst—your failures, your shattered expectations, your grief—and lay it on the wood.
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 and the Distance
We often ask ourselves why Jesus died. Why did the Son of God, who had the power to call down legions of angels, allow Himself to be mocked, stripped, and nailed to a tree? The passersby wagged their heads and shouted, "Save thyself, and come down from the cross." The chief priests mocked Him, saying He saved others but couldn't save Himself. They completely missed the point. He stayed on that cross precisely because He was saving others. He wasn't held to those beams by the iron nails; He was held there by His relentless, consuming love for you.
The pain of the cross wasn't just physical; it was a profound, suffocating spiritual darkness. From the sixth hour until the ninth hour, darkness fell over the entire land. This wasn't just an eclipse; it was the weight of every sin, every betrayal, and every ounce of human shame being placed squarely on the shoulders of the innocent Lamb. If you have ever felt abandoned by God, if you have ever sat in a hospital room or an empty house and screamed into the void, you need to look at the cross. Jesus stepped into the absolute depths of human despair so that you would never have to stay there.
He didn't wait for us to get our act together before He made this sacrifice. Romans 5:8 reminds us that God demonstrated His love toward us in that, while we were yet sinners, Christ died for us. He didn't die for the future, cleaned-up version of you. He died for the broken, bleeding, messy version of you that exists right now. On the cross, that is where your sin is handled. On the cross, that is where your deepest regrets are redeemed. He took the forsakenness so that you could be forever found.
And about the ninth hour Jesus cried with a loud voice, saying, Eli, Eli, lama sabachthani? that is to say, My God, my God, why hast thou forsaken me?— Matthew 27:46, KJV
The Veil is Torn, The Shackles Fall
When we look at the wreckage of our own lives—the addictions we can't kick, the relationships we've fractured, the deep-seated fears that keep us awake at night—salvation can feel impossible. The disciples felt this exact same despair when Jesus told them how hard it was for those who trust in earthly things to enter the kingdom of God. They were astonished out of measure, asking, "Who then can be saved?" They were looking at human limitations. They were measuring God's grace by human metrics.
But the cross shatters human metrics. When Jesus yielded up the ghost, the veil of the temple was rent in twain from the top to the bottom. That thick, heavy curtain that separated a holy God from a broken humanity was torn apart, not by human hands reaching up, but by God reaching down. The cross is the ultimate release of the freedom God wants to produce in your life. It is the place where the impossible barrier was broken forever.
This is why the cross still changes everything today. It is not just a historical event to be sentimental about, nor a tragedy to make you feel sick. It is the active, breathing epicenter of your freedom. The cross means that your story does not end in the grave. It means that the insults the enemy hurls at you are silenced by the blood of the King of the Jews. Whatever you are facing today, bring it to the shadow of the cross. With men, your healing might seem impossible, but you are not dealing with mere men anymore.
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
The cross is not a monument to defeat; it is the doorway to your eternal life. When the world tells you to come down from your cross, to save yourself, to take the easy way out—remember the Savior who stayed. He stayed in the dark so you could walk in the light. Your shackles have fallen, your shame has been nailed to the wood, and the chastisement that bought your peace has already been paid. Breathe it in today: you are deeply, irrevocably, and eternally loved.