Moving On Up

Matthew 16 : 24-27 (ESV)

“Then Jesus told his disciples, ‘If anyone would come after me, let him deny himself and take up his cross and follow me. For whoever would save his life will lose it, but whoever loses his life for my sake will find it.’”

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The Christian life is never static. It moves, breathes, and stretches like the wind that carried Abraham from his homeland or the Spirit that drove Jesus into the wilderness. Faith is not a destination. It is a road, a rhythm, a heartbeat that keeps time with the footsteps of God. Faith is a journey, not a point. Faith is a distance, not a dot. Faith is motion, not monument. ***

There is a dangerous comfort that comes with “arrival.” We reach some plateau of belief, a system that fits neatly in the hand, and we settle. We put up fences around our certainty and start guarding it instead of growing in it. Yet the Gospel refuses to sit still. “Follow Me,” Jesus says, and the verb is always present-tense. ***

Think about how we often speak: “I found the truth.” “I joined the church.” “I was baptized.” Each is a moment of grace, yes, but none is the finish line. The Spirit who begins the good work keeps shaping it day after day. The moment we think we have arrived, we start demanding that everyone else arrive at the same point. We start to measure people instead of loving them. ***

Have you ever caught yourself saying, “I give them an inch, and they take a mile”? Beneath that complaint hides the assumption that our pace is the right one. But the Lord whispers, “You didn’t walk an inch toward Me—I carried you every mile of the way.” Grace breaks the ruler we use to judge others. ***

Once we remember that life with God is a journey, everything softens. We can look at a struggling friend and say, “God is not finished with you yet.” We can celebrate growth instead of policing perfection. Each traveler moves at a different speed, but all walk beneath the same mercy. ***

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Sooner or later every traveler comes to a wall. The road narrows, the light dims, and the soul meets its limits. The wall is not punishment; it is invitation. It is the place where the strength that once carried us can carry us no farther, where we must learn again to be held. ***

A scene from the film The Mission captures it: a broken man climbs a waterfall dragging a heavy net of weapons—his guilt—behind him. He slips and strains under the weight until another climbs beside him and, with one clean stroke of mercy, cuts the rope. The burden falls into the current and the man collapses in freedom. That is the moment many of us finally understand forgiveness. ***

At the wall we face what we would rather not see. We discover our own shadows—the impatience, pride, fear, manipulation we thought belonged only to others. Sometimes the trait that most offends us in another is the mirror of our own unhealed place. ***

Yet at that same wall we meet the astonishing patience of God. He shows us our darkness only so we can see His light. He does not expose us to shame us but to free us. We begin to whisper through tears, “Lord, I accept that You have accepted me.” That is the first brick removed from the wall. ***

The journey through the wall is rarely quick. We may move one brick at a time. But with each step the sound of chains hitting the water grows louder and the voice of love grows clearer. ***

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Peter knew that wall. One day he confessed, “You are the Christ, the Son of the living God.” A few breaths later he rebuked Jesus for speaking of the cross. His understanding of God was still too small. He imagined glory without suffering, a kingdom without a cross. Jesus’ words cut deep: “Get behind Me, Satan.” The rock had cracked. ***

Later, in the courtyard, he swore he never knew the Man. Then came the rooster’s cry, the meeting of eyes, the rush of shame. The wall fell with a sound no one else could hear. That look from Jesus was not anger; it was mercy catching him in freefall. ***

After the resurrection, Peter returned to the only world he understood—boats, nets, the smell of the lake. But when morning broke, a voice called from shore, “Children, have you any fish?” They had none. The net came up empty until grace filled it. Peter plunged into the water, soaking in second chances. On the beach a fire already burned; forgiveness was cooking before repentance arrived. ***