The Camouflaged Cross: How We Soften the Offense of Following Christ
Imagine if Christ’s command to “take up your cross and follow Me” required carrying not only a spiritual burden of self-denial but also a literal wooden cross on your shoulder every day. Imagine walking into school or work with this massive piece of rough timber. The questions would be immediate:
“What is that?”
“Why are you carrying it?”
“You know you can’t do a lot of the things we do with that thing in your way, right?”
Your cross would make it impossible to blend in. You couldn’t slip into the shadows to join in secret mischief. You couldn’t cut moral corners. You couldn’t join the crowd in their dances, games, or compromises without your cross becoming a visible hindrance.
People might stop inviting you to lunch. Some would avoid being seen with you for fear of offending others or of being lumped in with “the cross people.” Your very presence would make them uneasy—not because you said anything offensive, but because your cross would silently remind them that they don’t have one.
It would be awkward. It would be inconvenient. It would cost you social acceptance.
And so, in time, you might start thinking: Maybe I could make this cross less of a problem. Maybe there’s a way to keep it without all the discomfort.
So you begin to decorate it—paint it in seasonal colors, hang your backpack or purse from it, plaster it with stickers of your favorite band or sports team. Soon, your cross is more of an accessory than a symbol of death to self. It no longer calls the world to repentance; it blends into the culture.
You find clever ways to make it “useful,” “fashionable,” even “marketable.” It’s still there in some form, but the rough edges are sanded down, the splinters gone, the offense muted. The world no longer feels the weight of its meaning—and neither do you.
The Spiritual Parallel
Of course, Christ never commanded us to literally drag a physical cross down Main Street. But He did call us to something far more costly: a spiritual and daily death to self, a life so radically transformed that our priorities, speech, values, and actions are unmistakably shaped by Him.
The true cross we carry—the cross of self-denial, obedience, and Christlikeness—is meant to be just as obvious to the world as if we were hauling timber on our backs. It is supposed to create a visible disruption to the world’s way of life. It is supposed to make compromise with sin impossible without first laying it down.
And that’s precisely where the test begins. The new believer quickly discovers that a life openly shaped by Christ doesn’t fit neatly into the world’s systems. You can’t speak the way you used to. You can’t pursue the same ambitions in the same ways. You can’t pad your life with the same comforts and pleasures without feeling the weight of your cross pressing against them.
The Temptation to Camouflage
This is when the temptation comes—to camouflage the cross.
We tell ourselves it’s for outreach: If I make my cross more acceptable, maybe more people will listen to me. But what really happens is that the offense of the Gospel is stripped away. Instead of calling people to repentance, we confirm them in their comfort.
The modern church has mastered this art—rebranding the cross so it doesn’t offend the self-centered, sin-loving heart. We soften the message, mute the demands, and make following Jesus appear compatible with living for the world. But this is not the Gospel Christ preached, and it never produces genuine Christianity.
The Only Way to Bridge the Gap
Yes, there is a rightful longing to connect with those who are lost, to bridge the gap between our new life in Christ and their desperate need for Him. But the only bridge is the cross itself—the real one, unvarnished and unmodified.
You cannot reach the world for Christ by hiding the very thing that saves. You cannot draw people to Him by making His call look like something it is not. If the cross does not offend the sin nature, it has been emptied of its power.
So here’s the question: if carrying a literal wooden cross would instantly make you feel the world’s discomfort, why do we work so hard to avoid letting our spiritual cross have the same effect? Why do we camouflage the very mark of our discipleship so that the world can remain comfortable in its lost condition?
The call of Christ is clear: carry the cross as it is, let it be seen, and let its offense do its work—because only then will it display its true power to save.