The Courage to Carry the Cross

An incredible amount of courage is required to pick up the cross, swing it up on your shoulder and start trudging forward. It’s the hardest thing this life has to offer. When I read the Gospel, I’m always struck when I hear these words: “If anyone wishes to come after Me, he must deny himself, and take up his cross and follow Me.” (Mt. 16:24) As I read Christ’s words an air of inspiration bubbles up. “Yes!” I think to myself. I can do that. Sure, for the sake of honor, courage and Christ, I can do that! So I think. Of course, those words quickly lose their marrow when I’m in the thick of making that choice—when doing God’s will actually costs me something. My head lauds the Lord’s commandment; my heart shutters. There’s no other way but through Calvary. I know it, yet I still can’t come to accept it fully. I still secretly want there to be another, more palatable entrance through the gates of heaven.

When I was just coming back to my faith a few years ago, I remember vividly entertaining the thought that having God in my life would make life easy. Dreams would come true and all former obstacles would fade away; everything would delicately fall into place as my naïve, adolescent self had always imagined. This hasn’t happened. A relationship with Christ doesn’t constitute some perpetual good luck charm hanging from the rear view window of my life. I had to learn this. I had to learn this by coming in contact with the Christ—the God-Man who despite our own doubts, sins, weaknesses, insecurities and brokenness, utterly and unconditionally loves us. And despite this Truth—that we are God’s beloveds—we still must suffer. It’s the paradox of living a Christian life.

“For whoever wishes to save his life will lose it; but whoever loses his life for My sake will find it.” Mt. 16:25

It’s only recently, through much prayer, guidance and fellowship with others, that I’ve begun the scratch the surface of Christ’s words. The past couple of years have afforded opportunities to pick up my cross. A three and a half year long relationship with someone whom I care about immensely fell apart because of my decision to follow Christ. A series of terrible bouts of anxiety and depression have plagued me these past couple of years. And of course, the fear of regret and unhappiness due to the sorrow of past sins, mistakes and shortcomings. Every soul suffers. It’s what we do with that suffering that counts.

A very good friend of mine told me this once: “Suffering is mandatory. Misery is optional.” There is tremendous wisdom in those words. Suffering will befall every single person who lives. Yet, it remains our choice—completely free and of our own power—to choose happiness or misery in the midst of this suffering. Happiness not as we often tend to think of happiness which manifests itself as pleasant or pleasurable feelings and experiences, but happiness in that we are taking part in the divine life. We are acting as God does in suffering for the sake of some great, noble and honorable end—for the sake of Love. We can join our sufferings to Christ and in some way we help him accomplish His mission of salvation. How? I have no idea. We just have to trust. And when we don’t have the strength to trust, we have to try.

Yet, despite knowing this, it’s still so difficult to accept the cross with the joy and willingness Christ asks of us. Especially with the flood of discouraging thoughts and temptations that often accompany suffering. In the height of my suffering, I can feel despair’s darkness to my back, relishing its ascent upon me, in full conviction that my capture is imminent. It breaks towards the peaceful shell of my mind. It obliterates its frail casting, leaving the pieces of my peace scattered as if ashes from a fire. My mind and heart are torn open, exposed to the machinations of the gruesome beast. It beats boastfully—tearing and thrashing, gnashing and clashing. It wars against the helpless victim of my inner calm. It accuses and torments the only vestige of freedom I have. Wearing my will, its victory seems inescapable.

But we’re promised otherwise.

Christ provides the grace to continue and not give into despair even during our worst suffering. By focusing on the love of Christ—and accepting the Kingdom of Heaven that Christ has told is now—not after we die—at hand. By living in a place, while not protected from pain, loneliness, depression and anxiety, that offers the peace not of this world. The peace our God offered before He ascended into His rightful home amongst the heavenly host and ever living. It’s this peace that can never be taken from us.

In the midst of my suffering, sometimes it helps to visualize myself with Christ as he carries the cross—to meditate on this unfathomable act of love to save every living soul.

The sun beats down mercilessly. Inaudible voices scream, curse and laugh. The angry, insatiable crowd hurls rocks at Him as He continues forward. He can barely see from the mixture of blood and sweat trickling down His brow into His eyes. Hands grip the heavy wooden beam as each step causes the splintered wood to rub violently against His shoulder. He falls often, the cross crushing His ragged body every time. Each fall is followed by vicious kicks to His side and head, stopping only to afford those in His company the delight of seeing Him attempt to raise His beaten body from the ground. The scene is so vivid. I can hear the cries, see the splattered blood and feel a hint of the immeasurable sadness and sorrow God must feel in His worn human heart. The immensity of His suffering leaves room for only horror. From the depths of all human suffering, with faithfulness and meekness, Christ looks at me. He sees my whole being in all its ugliness and brokenness. He sees the work of His creation gone horribly wrong, yet loves me still. His doesn’t speak, but his eyes say everything. In complete love He asks me to help Him carry His cross—to help Him carry the cross we’ve fashioned through our sin and disobedience.

As I feel the weight of my own sufferings, the sufferings that are only an ounce of His, what choice do I have?