“If anyone would come after me, let him deny himself and take up his cross daily and follow me.” —Luke 9:23
The devil mocks the cross, but only in its burden do we find rest and the joy that does not rot. —D.
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The devil draws close, not with horns or fire, but with something softer; his words curling like smoke in the corners of the mind. “Why live as one crucified?” he murmurs. “Why choose suffering, sacrifice, and scorn? Why let yourself be drained by others, mocked for your faith, or bound by old ways?” He speaks like a friend, like someone who only wants you free. “Cast off the cross,” he says. “Live like everyone else. Take what you want, love who you please, and bend the world to your desires.” He paints the crucified life as foolishness, a burden for the naive, and self-indulgence as the only path to freedom. But his gifts are tricks. His freedom is a snare. His promises leave behind only ash and ache.
Those who follow his voice never find peace. They leap from one pleasure to another like moths circling a dying flame, never seeing that their wings are burning. The more they chase, the more hollow they become. What felt like liberty becomes a cell with no door, only mirrors. They grow tired. The laughter fades. The lies unravel. Meanwhile, the way of the cross, which is mocked, bloodstained, and narrow, remains the only way that leads to joy. To die with Christ is not defeat. It is rest. It is the strange and beautiful entry into life that cannot be stolen or spoiled. The cross wounds, yes, but it heals deeper.
Christ does not promise ease; He promises truth. And truth hurts before it frees. But in carrying our cross, we are not crushed. We are carried. The world will sneer, the devil will roar, but the risen Christ walks beside us, bearing the weight for us. And in that walk, we find something the world cannot offer: a joy that does not rot, a rest that comes not from escape but from being fully known, fully forgiven, and fully held. The way is narrow, but it leads home.