When Following Costs You Something
A Day in the Life
“Then Jesus said to His disciples, ‘If anyone desires to come after Me, let him deny himself and take up his cross, and follow Me.’” — Matthew 16:24
When I read these words of Jesus, I feel their weight. They are not whispered to the crowd for casual admiration; they are spoken directly to disciples. In Matthew 16, Jesus has just revealed that He must suffer and be killed. Peter resists that path, and Jesus responds with clarity: the way of the kingdom is not self-preservation but self-denial. The Greek verb aparnēsasthō—“let him deny”—means to disown, to renounce claim to oneself. It is not about low self-esteem; it is about surrendering ultimate authority over my life.
Sin bends the human heart inward. Augustine once described sin as incurvatus in se—curved in on itself. That description feels painfully accurate. Left to myself, I instinctively measure decisions by comfort, security, and personal advancement. Yet Jesus calls me to an about-face. Salvation is not simply believing correct doctrine; it is reorienting my entire center of gravity from self to God. When Christ says, “take up his cross,” He speaks of daily identification with a path that may be costly. Dietrich Bonhoeffer famously wrote, “When Christ calls a man, he bids him come and die.” That death is not theatrical; it is practical. It is the daily refusal to make myself the point.
I see myself in James and John. They followed Jesus, left their nets, and endured hardship. Yet in Mark 10:35–37, they asked for the highest seats in His kingdom. Their request was revealing. They wanted discipleship without displacement. They were willing to follow, as long as it did not interrupt their personal ambitions. I have prayed similar prayers: “Lord, I want to serve You—but let me stay comfortable. Let me keep control. Let me hold onto my plans.” Jesus does not shame them; He redirects them. “Whoever would be great among you must be your servant” (Mark 10:43). Greatness in His kingdom is not prominence but participation in His humility.
There is a subtle temptation many of us face. We pursue success by the world’s metrics—career, reputation, influence—and then invite God to receive the glory from what we have built. We say, “Now that I have achieved this, I give it to You.” But Scripture teaches that God is not interested in secondhand glory from my independent achievements. He receives glory from His activity expressed through surrendered vessels. As Henry Blackaby often emphasized, we are not to ask God to bless our plans; we are to discover where God is at work and join Him there. That shift changes everything. It moves me from architect to servant, from owner to steward.
Self-centered living always seeks a life that is unruffled and undisturbed. It wants safety first. Yet Jesus lived differently. He moved toward lepers, sinners, and the cross itself. He did not secure His life; He offered it. “For whoever desires to save his life will lose it, but whoever loses his life for My sake will find it” (Matthew 16:25). The paradox is startling but true. The life I clutch becomes brittle. The life I surrender becomes fruitful. The abundant life we reflected on this morning is inseparable from this call to deny self. Abundance in Christ flows through surrender, not self-assertion.
Denying myself does not mean despising the gifts God has given me. It means releasing ownership of them. My time, my talents, my opportunities—these are no longer tools for self-promotion but instruments for God’s purposes. The cross I carry may not be literal, but it is real. It may look like choosing integrity when compromise would advance me. It may mean forgiving when resentment feels justified. It may involve stepping into a ministry opportunity that stretches my comfort. Each small act of obedience forms the shape of Christ within me.
As I walk through a day in the life of Jesus, I notice that He never seemed hurried to protect Himself. He was free because He belonged entirely to the Father. That freedom is available to me. The more I loosen my grip on self, the more I experience the steady joy of alignment with God’s will. Denial of self is not the erosion of identity; it is the discovery of my true identity in Christ.
For further reflection on taking up the cross and following Jesus, consider this helpful article from Ligonier Ministries:
https://www.ligonier.org/learn/devotionals/take-up-your-cross
Today, I ask myself: Where am I subtly asking Jesus to endorse my agenda rather than reshape it? The invitation remains open. Deny yourself. Take up your cross. Follow Him—not as a slogan, but as a daily rhythm.
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