In the inexpressibly beautiful devotional, Streams in the Desert, Mrs. Cowman relates the story of a poem called The Changed Cross. In it, a poor little saint laments the difficulty of the cross she must carry and comes to believe that any other cross would be easier to bear than her own… she thinks others must have lighter and better crosses and that if she could just choose her own burden, she might still receive her crown.
The Lord, in all gentleness, leads her to a place high above where she finds many crosses of all shapes and sizes. She sees one that was “most beauteous to behold, a little one, with jewels set in gold,” and goes to pick it up, thinking it would be an easy one to bear. Instead, her body shakes beneath its weight. As beautiful as the cross appeared, it was much too heavy for her. She puts it down, astonished.
Going on, she looks at cross after cross until she comes across one entwined in flowers, a lovely little cross that seemed all beauty and grace. This one she also tries to pick up. But she quickly discovers that beneath those beautiful flowers are sharp and painful thorns. Sorrowful, she lays this cross down, too.
She goes on looking and looking, lifting crosses too heavy for her, and weeping as she laid them back down again as the Lord lovingly reminded her, “No cross, no crown.” Until finally, as she walks in the “prepared, appointed way,” she finds a plain little cross with words of love inscribed on it… She picks it up and rejoices to find that this plain little cross suits her best; for her, it was better than all the others. At that moment, as she is still rejoicing over her find, a light from Heaven falls on it — and behold, it was her own old cross that she had found!
And… well, I’ll let the final stanzas of the poem speak for itself:
But oh! how different did it seem to be
Now I had learned its preciousness to see!
No longer could I unbelieving say,
Perhaps another is a better way.
Ah no! henceforth my own desire shall be,
That He who knows me best should choose for me
And so, whate’er His love sees good to send,
I’ll trust it’s best because He knows the end.
(Anon. Written prior to 1865)
There is a lot we could learn from the humble saint who found her plain little cross too heavy. For me, reading this poem and the story as its related by Mrs. Cowman confirmed a thought I have long been pondering on the subject of crosses or “cups of suffering.” (Matthew 26:39) But before that, I want to point out three takeaways that I believe we must all consider:
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Everybody has their own appointed cross or cup. (Matthew 16:24)
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We must never compare crosses and cups for nobody but the one who bears the cross or drinks the cup knows what it weighs or what is within.
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Our crosses, our burdens, our circumstances are all specifically and divinely designed for us and us alone. No other cross is better for us than the one that He has lovingly chosen for us.
It is easy to think, as we are weighed down with our plain, homely little crosses, that other brothers and sisters in the Lord “have it better.” We get to comparing our crosses, don’t we? We think anything other than what we have would be better for us. We get to thinking there must be an easier road, a less prickly path, a less bitter cup.
Over the last few months, I have been pondering this idea that the Lord metes out a ‘cup’ to each of His children: that cup can be considered interchangeable with the word ‘cross.’ Jesus, as He wept in agony in the Garden of Gethsemane, cried out to the Father to “take this cup of suffering from Me.” The cup appointed Him would take Him to the cross. “Nevertheless Thy will be done,” He prayed.
God’s will was done.
Earlier, Jesus told His disciples (Matthew 16:24) that anyone who desired to come after Him must deny themselves, pick up their cross, and follow Him. He knew what awaited Him at Calvary and He did not ask of us something that He would not undergo Himself.
The Lord’s way is the way of the cross. How privileged we are to partake in His sufferings!
Carrying the Cross Appointed to Us
But this cup we are asked to drink… this cross we are told to carry… how easy it is to judge its outer appearance. How easy it is to think that the cross wrapped in gold and jewels would be an easier one to bear! Yet no one knows what is inside that lovely goblet or how heavy that beautiful cross is. No one but the one who must drink it or the one who must carry it.
When we see the striving or the burdens of a fellow sister or brother in Christ, we ought to say, “Ah, I see now that that is the cross appointed to them; that is the cup God is asking them to drink. May the Lord strengthen them!” When we see their blessings and triumphs, we should remember that beneath the roses may be thorns. And when we are drinking our cup, which seems to us bitter or tasteless, we should remember, “This is mine. I must not make more of it than what it is. I must drink my cup as Christ drank His and give Him thanks!”
Some days, the drink inside the cup is sweet as honey… other days, it is bitter as gall. This is because there are both mountain peaks and valleys in our walk with Christ. There are mornings and nights. We cannot know the sweetness of joy without the pain of suffering. And God uses every dip, every height, every low for His ultimate glory in our lives.
Whatever the circumstances, we must learn to give Him thanks. We must not make too much of our sufferings; we must not slip into self-pity or take to comparisons, which are deadly.
Let’s remember the lessons of The Changed Cross and say, like the poor little saint,
And so, whate’er His love sees good to send,
I’ll trust it’s best because He knows the end.
March 23, 2020