We follow Jesus by going where He goes, but few people ever ask Him “Where are you going?”  We assume He’s headed into financial abundance, good times, and of course at the very end of the trip, heaven.   The sign-up list bulges with names for this kind of Christian life.  

That’s why it’s shocking when Jesus cradles the head of a would-be disciple in His hands and says plainly where He is going:  “I must go to Jerusalem and suffer many things from the elders and chief priests and scribes, and be killed, and on the third day be raised” (Matt. 16:21).

His subsequent statement is equally unsettling:  “If anyone would come after me, let him deny himself and take up his cross and follow me” (Matt. 16:24).

According to Jesus, following Him starts with learning to say no to ourselves, while saying yes to your cross–the cross He has assigned to you.  If this sounds excruciating, it certainly can be.  I’m talking about tears, the feeling of throwing your heart under a bus, passing up golden opportunities, creature comforts, and any of a thousand factors attached to mortal happiness.  

Is it any wonder our first reaction to our cross is to refuse it while fighting to save, to hold onto the life of the self?  But Jesus adds, “Whoever would save his life will lose it” (Matt. 16:25).  Even if you persist in clutching what He has called you to lose, you’ll lose it anyway—perhaps not only the thing itself, but your interest in it, or even your enjoyment of it.

Stories abound of people who have held onto things, compromising their integrity and even their identity in order to do so.  Once they saved it though, they quickly lost it.

One athlete revealed in an interview how he had made his sport the purpose of his life.  However, the very day he established himself in the top echelon, the thrill of his victory suddenly reset to zero.  Regardless of the accolades that followed, he couldn’t shake the sense of depression and waste.  This always happens when we try to save the life of the self.  We are after all, lousy Saviors.

But Jesus goes on to issue one of the most stunning promises ever made:  “Whoever loses His life for my sake will find it” (Matt. 16:25).  Nothing ever lost for the sake of Christ is truly lost.  In some way, shape, or form it always ends up being found.  That’s because when we lose something for His sake, we’re basically “losing” it into His hands.  Jesus is after all, an excellent Savior.

You probably know people who broke all the rules and got exactly what they wanted, without losing a thing.  They “saved” everything.  In fact, everyday people make terrible decisions and move up.  They act in utterly selfish ways, and feel happy with the outcome.  

To this, Jesus poses a hypothetical:  What if they got everything they wanted—in fact, the whole world!—and then forfeited their soul? (Matt. 16:26).  At  best they could say they got an exciting gulp of life’s champagne.  But in multiple ways they declined to follow Christ.  When they realize their mistake one day, what will they possibly do to replace these lost chances, indeed, their very lost soul? 

The book of Hebrews warns us that Esau couldn’t get back what he lost even when he “sought it with tears” (Heb. 12:17).  He had been hungry one day and had swapped his inheritance for one bowl of porridge.  No doubt it was the best bowl of porridge he ever had, the kind with the special spiced sauce.  

It was a tasty moment, with far reaching consequences.  

Whatever you do, don’t live for the moment, or follow your heart, or any other pithy saying that puts self first.  Jesus said, “The Son of Man is going to come with His angels in the glory of His Father and then He will repay each person according to what he has done” (Matt. 16:27).  This is the grand moment when all that was lost for Christ will be saved.   For some, sadly, it will be a time of regret, where so many self interests were saved, but souls forfeited.  

In his book Don’t Waste Your Life, John Piper’s now famous quote rings true here:

“I will tell you what a tragedy is. I will show you how to waste your life. Consider this story from the February 1998 Reader’s Digest: A couple ‘took early retirement from their jobs in the Northeast five years ago when he was 59 and she was 51. Now they live in Punta Gorda, Florida, where they cruise on their 30-foot trawler, play softball and collect shells. . . .’ Picture them before Christ at the great day of judgment: ‘Look, Lord. See my shells.’ That is a tragedy.”

And in like manner, there will be piles of such worthless trophies, hobbies, and indulgences on that day.  

But for others who have lost things and lives for His sake, it will be a time of celebration.  There will be glorious vindication, with words from the Lord such as “Well done” and “enter into the joy of your Master.”  It will be a time of feasting, when the poorest and unknown who had esteemed Him and loved Him more than themselves, will be exalted to such dizzying heights that they inherit the earth, rule the world, and judge even angels.

Never envy those who seem to be escaping all suffering and getting all their rewards in this current time.    

During my first week of grad school, I took a look at the syllabus and wondered how I could still have room for a life.  As stress levels went through the roof, one of my classmates (who was not yet thirty years old) developed shingles.  The rest of us stole time from our families or resigned ourselves to living in a quasi-exhausted state.

But not everybody.  Some folks casually came and went, hardly bothered by the crushing level of work.  When paper or quiz deadlines were announced, they never flinched.  In fact, they never tested or turned in homework of any kind.  They were called auditors.  They paid a cheaper price to attend class but with no commitment to assignments.  Their nights and free time still belonged to them.

I couldn’t decide whether I hated them or wanted to be them.  They absorbed the same material as I, but without the emotional trauma that comes from the work-family-study crunch.

The only substantial difference between them and me was that they received no credit for attending those classes. Still, now and then the question would cross my mind, Why am I doing this to myself?

Eventually, my turn came.  I graduated.  I walked in a public ceremony, received honors from my college, and a master’s sash around my neck.  I got a diploma and letters after my name.  The commitment that seemed so unreasonable, so crazy at times, went somewhere.

Yours will, too.