“Look Papa is that...?” “Jerusalem! Yes Rufus that is where
we are headed.” Rufus ran on ahead of his younger brother Alexander in
excitement. “Why are we going to Jerusalem Papa? Why couldn’t we stay at home
in Cyrene?” questioned Alexander wearily, his little legs practically hopping
to keep up with his father’s. “We are going to Jerusalem to observe the
Passover my boy” replied Simon, Alexander looked at his father quizzically, not
fully comprehending the significance of this city. Their mother laughed empathetically,
full of affection for her two sons. Simon gave his wife a loving glance and
then explained to his bewildered son: “Jerusalem is the Holy city, dear
Alexander; it is where Herod’s Temple lies and in Herod’s Temple, behind the
curtain in the Holy of Holies is where Adonai – G_d himself lives.” Alexander’s
eyes widened in amazement and exclaimed “Adonai!”
before summoning the energy to chase after his brother, “Rufus wait for
me!”
When
the family got to Jerusalem there was a large angry crowd making its way down
to the Gennath Gate; Roman soldiers were busy whipping three criminals carrying
their crosses and keeping the rabid crowd at bay. One of the men looked
particularly bloodied, scourged no doubt for his crime, so Simon thought. This
sight was not uncommon though the crowd were especially vitriolic on this
occasion. “This is no place for two young boys” Simon’s wife said in the
direction of her husband though her words were faint to him as he stared at the
three condemned men. “Simon!” Snapping out of his gaze he turned to his
exacerbated wife: “No, you’re right take the children on ahead to the inn we
have booked, I will follow you shortly.” With these instructions his wife
hurried away with her two sons trying to shield their vision from the grotesque
display of public justice.
Simon
followed these men becoming ever more fascinated by the one wearing a crown of
thorns – he was unlike the other two and seemed to bear the brunt of the
crowd’s animosity. Suddenly this mysterious stranger collapsed on the road,
staining the pavement with his blood. The man lay lifeless on the floor and at
first Simon thought he was dead, it was not unusual for a person to die from
the scourging alone. Then the fallen man groaned in agony and clenched his
teeth, writhing in pain. “Someone just put him out of his misery” thought Simon
to himself as he recoiled from the mangled body of the criminal. But before
Simon could leave to rejoin his family a Roman soldier came over to him and
forcibly wrenched him from the crowd and shoved him in the direction of the
man’s cross beam. In a gruff and unfeeling voice he barked an order at Simon:
“He can’t carry it any further, take it for him!” “B..But...” before Simon
could finish his sentence he stopped realizing all protest was useless. Simon
lifted the cross beam and bore the weight of it upon his shoulders. The beam
was broad and heavy but silently he walked behind the haggard figure of the man
whose cross beam it was. As he walked, the cross-beam becoming ever heavier he
watched in compassion as this man was continued to be whipped and then dragged
where his legs failed him. Simon’s back began to ache under the weight of the
cross-beam he felt like throwing it down and refusing to carry it any further
but when he looked at the man beaten and maimed he was filled with conviction –
“I can carry this cross if this man can bear the shame and torment of this
judgement”.
Finally
they arrived at the sight of his execution, “You’re free to go” said the Roman
soldier who had recruited Simon in the first place. Simon carefully placed the
cross-beam on the ground and stepped back rubbing his shoulder, which be this
time was very sore. Simon lowered his head as they drove the nails into the
man’s wrists and feet. Eventually the man was hoisted up and the cross was
slotted into its designated position. The other two criminals were raised along
with the man bearing the crown of thorns and now Simon could clearly read the
sign stating the man’s crime: “King of the Jews”. That’s odd thought Simon,
king’s aren’t crucified he must be being executed for blasphemy then. The man’s
shoulders slumped and his head hung low facing the ground; his hair was lank with
blood and sweat, matted in places. Blood trickled down the thorns piercing his
forehead and splattered on the ground. He certainly didn’t look like a king,
waning in and out of consciousness, naked on the cross, blood seeping from every
wound upon his body. Yet whenever he raised his head and Simon looked into his
eyes there was a truth in them, something Simon couldn’t quite grasp but he
knew this was no ordinary man, there was a strange air of nobility to him.
One of
the criminals began hurling insults at this ‘king of the Jews’ “So you’re the
Christ!? Save yourself and us then!” This was more like the behaviour of the average
criminal executed, Simon reflected. The Roman soldiers on duty chuckled in
agreement, laughing to themselves and joining in with the criminal’s mockery.
Simon felt panged by their insults, if this man were truly a blasphemer then he
deserved his execution but for some reason Simon couldn’t help but doubt
whether the charges were just. The Roman soldiers all dressed in their armour,
carrying their spears with swords in their scabbards reeked of imperial power
but as they laughed at this mutilated figure of a man they reminded Simon of a
pack of animals, like hyenas swarming round a wounded lion. Simon noticed that
the Pharisees had also joined in with the insults, vehemently deriding this
‘king of the Jews’, “You said you would destroy the temple and rebuild it in
three days! Take yourself down from the cross and then we’ll believe you!”
Simon stared momentarily at the religious leaders; he had come to Jerusalem for
the Passover but was repelled now by their condescension and the barbarism of
the whole execution.
This
‘Christ’ as they mocked him, there must be a reason why they called him so?
Simon began recalling his knowledge of the ancient prophecies, Moses promised
there would come a prophet like him but surely this couldn’t be him – Moses was
never humiliated and shamed in such a way. Then the words of Isaiah came to
mind: “He was oppressed, and he was afflicted, yet he opened not his mouth;
like a lamb that is led to the slaughter…” Maybe the timing of this whole
ordeal was not coincidental; perhaps the manner of this execution and this
man’s countenance was not an accident? Simon’s mind began to race as he made
the connection between the festival and the messianic prophecy of Isaiah.
Darkness shrouded the land and all was black. Simon shuddered as a cold chill
ran down his spine. The hairs on his arms stood on end and he rubbed his arms
to keep warm. This is no ordinary criminal he thought, even nature has
condemned him! The Pharisees retreated to the Temple and slowly but surely the
crowds deserted this ‘king of the Jews’. Simon stood there as if his feet were
nailed to the ground; who was this man who he had carried his cross-beam?
Whether Simon would have chosen it or not he was now connected to this man’s
fate, he had played his part in his condemnation even though he had no
knowledge of his charges or his guilt.
After
what seemed like a lifetime in the bleakest of darkness the man cried aloud, a
hair raising, ear piercing cry of despair and words that Simon would never
forget for the rest of his life: “Eli, Eli, lema sabachthani?” (My God, my God
why have you forsaken me?) Simon shivered at the desperation and terror in his
voice – was this the Son of God? Simon glanced one last time at the sign above
his head and read his name; he would never forget the name Jesus for as long as
he lived.
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