Simon of Cyrene
Simon of Cyrene had been wandering the winding streets of Jerusalem, taking in the sights and sounds of the bustling city during Passover. The ancient traditions and customs of the Jewish people fascinated him, and he wanted to witness the grand spectacle of the Passover celebration for himself.
As he walked, the murmur of excited voices in different languages and accents made his head dizzy. The vibrant city radiated energy and anticipation, as pilgrims from all over the world gathered to celebrate this sacred occasion.
And then, as he turned a corner, a commotion up ahead caught his eye. A crowd had gathered, and the sound of raised voices and shuffling feet filled the air. Curious, he strode towards the noise, pushing through the throngs of people to get a better look. And there, amid the chaos, he saw a man. His face was bruised and bloodied, and his hands were bound with thick ropes. Soldiers in gleaming armour surrounded him, pushing and prodding him with their spears.
A chill ran down Simon’s spine as he realised this was the man he had heard so much about - the man called Jesus. They said he was a prophet! There was something about Jesus that drew Simon in, that made him want to be closer, to understand him.
He stood frozen on the side of the road, his eyes riveted to the macabre scene unfolding. The bloodied and battered figure bent under the weight of a massive wooden cross, body trembling with exhaustion, as he laboured down the cobbled street towards Golgotha. Simon's heart clenched with empathy as Jesus faltered and stumbled, his face contorted with agony. How could he bear the weight of the cross? Jesus’ ragged breathing seemed to echo off the stone walls of nearby buildings.
The cruel Roman soldiers lashed out at Jesus with whips and clubs, spurring him on with their The sight of the torn and bloodied flesh made Simon’s stomach churn feel sick, and he could hardly bear to watch. What had this man done to deserve such treatment?
Suddenly, a rough hand seized Simon's arm, and he found himself face-to-face with one of the Roman soldiers. The soldier commanded him harshly, thrusting the weighty cross into Simon's shaking hands."Carry it!" he shouted, voice tense with anger.
Simon stumbled backwards at the sudden assault, shocked to his core. He regained his footing, the rough texture of the wood pressing against his palms, and the cross’s weight making his muscles quiver and strain. Incredulous, he looked up at the Roman soldier, but the presence of such brutality and the soldier's cold, unfeeling eyes made him shiver with dread.
"Carry it!" the soldier barked again, his neck veins bulging. The muscles in his arms strained as he shoved the cross onto Simon.
Simon knew he had no choice but to obey. He took a deep breath, gritting his teeth against the pain as he strained to lift the cross. It was heavier than he had imagined, the weight bearing down on his shoulders like a leaden yoke.
The rough wood scraped against his skin, leaving angry red marks on his palms and shoulders. The coarse splintered wooden beams dug into his flesh as he walked, and he knew this journey would be agonising.
The air was thick with the smell of sweat and blood, and Simon could hear the low murmur of the crowd. As he neared the edge of the crowd, the murmurs grew louder, and he could hear the jeers and insults hurled at the man walking beside him. The hatred in their voices made Simon's blood run cold.
He wanted to turn and run, to escape the horror unfolding before him. But his only choice was to keep walking, to bear witness to the injustice carried out before his eyes. And so he pressed on, his feet dragging through the dust and dirt, his arms shaking with the effort of holding up the heavy cross.
As they walked, the crowd grew louder, filling the air with a deafening roar. Their hatred felt like a physical force on Simon, and it made him want to lash out in anger and frustration. He forced himself to remain calm, to show strength in the face of their cruelty.
Dust billowed around their path, and Simon fixed his eyes on the man beside him, heart heavy with sorrow and grief. Pain was etched into Jesus’ face, exhaustion and despair in his eyes. But even in the face of such unspeakable suffering, the man never wavered. He walked with a sense of purpose and determination as if he knew that his suffering would not be in vain.
As they neared Golgotha, a sense of dread washed over Simon. He could see other crosses looming on the distant hill, and he knew this was their destination. Simon’s feet dragged and the cross seemed to press him into the earth as they grew closer. How hopeless it seemed.
As Simon struggled to keep his balance, he stumbled and met Jesus’ eyes. Unbelievably, there was something else there - a glimmer of hope and determination, despite the suffering. A small nod of encouragement. Courage and strength emanated from Jesus with the unwavering faith that had sustained him through all his trials and tribulations. Somehow, it gave him the strength to keep going.
They trudged along the rocky path, step after step, and Simon felt his strength waning. His legs felt heavy, and his breath came in ragged gasps. Every step was a herculean effort. How much longer could he go on?
He stumbled and fell several times. Each time the full weight of the rough wooden cross bore down on him as he hit the ground. But each time he fell, Jesus helped him up, offering a gentle hand and a soft word of encouragement, despite the whips of the Roman guard.
Jesus’ kindness and compassion amazed him. He couldn't understand how someone who had been condemned to die such a brutal and unjust death could still show such love and care for a stranger. But with each passing moment, he felt a growing sense of awe and respect for this remarkable man. It was as though the man knew something Simon did not, as though he had a deep understanding of the human spirit and the power of love to overcome even the greatest of obstacles.
As they continued their painful journey, Simon watched as Jesus’ face twisted in agony with each step, yet he never once complained or asked for help. He simply continued to walk, with a quiet determination and a sense of purpose that seemed almost supernatural.
Simon’s own strength and resolve grew. He knew he was a part of something much larger than himself, something that would endure long after he was gone. He would carry the memory of Jesus and the lessons he had taught him for the rest of his life.
Finally, they arrived at the top of the hill of Golgotha, the line of crosses already erected a truly horrifying sight. Simon finally dropped his burden and fell to the ground, shattered.
Jesus was stripped of his clothes, leaving him exposed to the elements and the cruel taunts of the soldiers. The sound of hammering and the grunts of the soldiers filled the air as they forced nails through the man's wrists and ankles, fixing him to the wooden cross. Simon felt sick to his stomach as he saw the blood begin to trickle down the man's arms and legs.
As the soldiers lifted the cross upright, Simon could see Jesus’ body writhe in agony. The weight of his body pressing down on the nails that pierced his flesh caused him immense pain. The sight was almost too much to bear, and Simon had to look away for a moment to collect himself. He knew that he could not do anything to ease the man's suffering, but he resolved to stay by his side until the very end.
The minutes stretched into eternity for Simon as he stood there, unable to look away from the gruesome scene, his own shoulders still and aching. Every second felt like an hour as he watched the man suffer and struggle for his last breaths. The air was thick with tension and despair, and even the birds had stopped chirping. It was as if the whole world had come to a standstill to witness this momentous event.
Simon felt like he was trapped in a nightmare, unable to escape the horror unfolding before his eyes. He watched in despair as Jesus’ body began to sag under the weight of his own pain. Every breath was a struggle, and each time he exhaled, his body convulsed with agony. Simon could see the beads of sweat on his forehead and the tears in his eyes, and he could hear the man's laboured breathing.
But even as the man suffered, Simon was struck by his incredible strength and fortitude. He seemed to draw on some inner reserve of courage and resilience, refusing to give in to the pain and despair that surrounded him. Jesus’ eyes remained fixed on the heavens, and a sense of peace and serenity showed in his face, as if he had already left this world.
And as the last breath left the man's body, Simon felt a sense of profound sadness and loss wash over him. He had never known this man, had never even spoken to him, but he felt as if he had lost a dear friend.
The soldiers began to dismantle the crosses, tossing the bodies unceremoniously into a nearby pit. The clatter of bones and the scrape of wood against the rocks sounded as the bodies were thrown haphazardly into the mass grave.
As he turned to leave, Simon knew that he would never forget this day, never forget the man who had been nailed to the cross, who had shown such courage and grace in the face of unspeakable suffering. The image of Jesus was seared into his mind, and he knew it would haunt him day and night and replay itself over and over again in his thoughts like an endless loop.
He still felt the weight of the rough wooden cross pressing down on his shoulder, the splinters digging into his skin. He examined his sores and cuts, the noise of the crowds still in his ears, jeering and spitting at the man they were carrying. But despite the hostility and hatred that surrounded them, Jesus had remained resolute, his eyes fixed firmly ahead.
Even in the midst of such unspeakable cruelty, there had been a sense of hope that radiated from Jesus, a light that refused to be extinguished. It was as though the man knew something that Simon did not, as though he had a secret he carried within him, a secret that gave him strength even in his darkest hour.
In the end, Simon knew that the memory of Jesus, and the lessons he had learned, would stay with him for the rest of his life. He vowed to live his life in a way that would honour the memory of the man who had shown him the true meaning of courage and compassion. Truly he must have been the prophet they said he was.
