The 4-week short-story series of “first-person accounts” for the Easter season continues this week with Simon the Cyrene’s story.
Mark records: Simon, the Cyrene came…just then (Mark 15:21). Just in God’s time. His steps had been ordered from birth, one step at a time. And he arrived at the Via Delarosa at the exact moment that the Father intended him to be there. God is ordering each of our steps with that same exactness.
Please remember that this short story is a fictional first person account just like the others. It includes historical and fictional characters, as well as fictional details that have been added. i have, however, endeavored to keep the story factual as to the details conveyed through the Gospels.
My prayer is that, through the telling, we are reminded of the hope and assurance we have in Jesus as we watch the Father’s perfect plan unfold. To that end, let’s look at this week’s account through the eyes of Simon the Cyrene.
Simon the Cyrene’s Story (This week – April 8)
Simon Peter’s Story (April 15)
All four of these Easter stories will be included in the book The One Who Stood Before Us
Watch for its release FEBRUARY 2021
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My name is Simon. My wife, our sons and I live in the small Roman province of Cyrene situated on the northern coast of Africa. Our city was first settled by the Greeks over six hundred years ago, so our people have been most heavily influenced by Grecian arts, sciences, and culture. Prior to our being conquered by Rome, the rule of the Ptolemaic Kingdom and the Seleucid Empire fostered a significant migration of Greek-speaking Jews to Cyrene. My great-grandparents were a part of that diaspora, so our family is a part of that ever-growing population of Hellenistic Jews in Cyrene.
Every year since my twelfth birthday, I have made the journey to Jerusalem for the celebration of Passover. Next year, my oldest son Alexander will be twelve and he will join me. But this year he and his brother remained at home with my wife. It is a difficult journey for children. The trip involves between three and four weeks of travel each way from Cyrene to Jerusalem, allowing for the fact that as Jews we do not travel on the Sabbath.
Because of the distance, Cyrenian Jews have established our own synagogue in Jerusalem, which not only enables us to study the Scripture together in our own language, but also provides us with a place to stay. Each year I remain in Jerusalem for the full week of the feast, which means I am away from my family for about two months. I look forward to the day my family will be able to make the journey with me.
Normally I make the pilgrimage together with my friends. We typically depart in time so that we have two to three days in Jerusalem to rest from our journey before Passover begins. But this year I was delayed. My youngest son, Rufus, had fallen ill with a high fever. I was not going to leave on a two-month journey with him in that condition. By the grace of Jehovah, his fever broke after two days, and my wife and I knew he was on the road to full recovery. With her blessing, I departed, knowing that I would no longer be arriving in Jerusalem early.
Gratefully, Jehovah blessed me with good weather and safe travel, so I was able to arrive as planned on the first day of Passover. From the moment I arrived in the city, I was overwhelmed by the number of people. There were many more gathered this year than I had ever seen before. My journey always takes me through the city of Alexandria which is said to be the largest city in the world with a population of over five hundred thousand people. But as I arrived in Jerusalem, I heard people saying that there were four times that many people gathered here for the celebration of Passover this year.
As I walked through the streets, people were standing shoulder to shoulder. There seemed to be an unusual tension in the air. As I passed through the crowd, I kept hearing people speak of the Man called Jesus. I had heard much about Him on my last two trips to Jerusalem. Some had called Him Teacher. Many had spoken of His miracles. Some had even told me how three years ago He had driven the merchants out of the Temple.
Last year I personally heard Him speak as He was teaching in the outer courtyard of the Temple. He spoke with a knowledge of the Scriptures and an authority that surpassed any rabbi or priest I had ever before heard. But today as I pressed through the crowd, the people weren’t talking about His teaching or His miracles. They were saying, “Jesus is being crucified!” I couldn’t imagine what He might have done that earned Him that punishment. But some spoke as if they believed He deserved it.
My progress to the Cyrenian synagogue suddenly came to a halt. A group of Roman soldiers was making a pathway in the crowd. They were escorting three men who were each carrying crosses. Obviously these men were being led to the hill I had passed on my way into the city – the hill they call “the place of the skull.”
Suddenly I saw one of the men stumble and fall under the weight of the cross He was carrying. As I looked closer, I saw that He was bleeding from deep wounds all over His body. His face was bruised and cut beyond recognition. Someone had pressed a crown of thorns deep into His skull. He obviously had been brutalized in the most inhumane way I had ever witnessed. I couldn’t imagine what anyone could have done to earn that kind of punishment. As I looked on this poor broken Man, a wave of nausea passed through my body and I felt like I was going to be ill.
But right at that moment, the hand of a Roman soldier reached out and pulled me into the pathway. He brought his face right up to mine and shouted at me, “You… carry His cross!” I was tired from my long journey. I was overwhelmed by the crowd that had been pressing in around me. I felt ill from the revolting sight of this man who laid before me. Whoever He was and whatever He had done, no one deserved to be treated like that! And now I had been startled and man-handled by this soldier. My first reaction was to let my fist fly across this soldier’s chin. But wisdom prevailed and I stayed my hand.
The soldier must have realized what I was thinking, because he raised the handle of his whip and struck me across my face. Some of his fellow soldiers were now beginning to make their way towards me as well. I knew that anything short of compliance would be fruitless, so I raised my hand to yield to the soldier. He again shouted at me, “Pick up His cross!”
I reached down and lifted the weight off of the Man laying before me and placed it across my shoulders. It was a heavy burden for me to carry. I could not imagine how this Man had been able to carry it to this point with the injuries He had sustained. The Man looked up at me through His disfigured face. At that moment, I knew who the Man was.
He didn’t look anything like I remembered… except for His eyes. Through that brief moment when I looked into His eyes, He told me so many things. First, He was thanking me… for taking up His cross. Second, He was showing me… the full weight of the burden He was carrying. And third, He was telling me… that He still was the One with authority… even in the midst of this chaos and evil. At that moment I was no longer carrying the cross because of the soldier’s threats. I was carrying the cross to ease the burden of this Man.
The soldier shouted in my ear, “Move or you will be put on a cross beside Him!” I was now a part of this procession of death. I sensed that Jehovah God had ordered my every step from the moment I first left my home until now in order to time my arrival. I had unknowingly arrived in the city, at the exact moment, to carry the cross for Jesus. As we continued along the path made by the soldiers, I began to hear shouts from the crowd. Some were shouting, “Crucify Him!” Some sneered, “If You are the Son of God, where are Your angels to help you!” But most were crying out in broken-hearted disbelief, “Jesus!”
There were a few women in the procession following Him. I heard their grief-stricken cries. After a short distance, I heard Jesus turn to them and say, “Daughters of Jerusalem, don’t weep for Me, but weep for yourselves and for your children.”(1) He went on to briefly tell them what would happen in the days to come. Even as these soldiers were leading Him to His death, He was speaking as One in authority!
The soldiers continued to lead us through this sea of humanity, as they shouted at us to move on! And on more than one occasion, I felt the sting of a Roman whip across my back. When we arrived at the place of execution, the soldiers shouted at me to put down the cross. Then the soldier who had pulled me from the crowd, pushed me away and told me I was free to go.
As I staggered a few feet, no longer under the weight of the burden of the cross, I knew that though the task for which I had been impressed was now complete, I was by no means free to go! My heart compelled me to remain right there at the foot of the cross. The women who had been following Jesus stood there crying as His hands and feet were nailed to the cross. I learned that one of the women was Jesus’ mother. She and the others were joined by two men who told me they were followers of Jesus. One was named John, and the other’s name was Shimon. I knew that Jesus had many followers, so I asked John and Shimon where the rest of them were. They told me that many were fearful and had gone into hiding. Some had abandoned Him. Some had denied Him. And one… had betrayed Him.
I looked at this handful of men and women, and something within me that I can’t fully explain compelled me to say, “I will not abandon Him. I will remain here with Him until the end.”
I had so many questions. But right then, they didn’t seem important. Because I knew that the One who they were affixing to that cross was so much more than a mere miracle worker.
The earth shook as the cross with Jesus on it was dropped into the hole in the ground. The cross that held Jesus was in the center, and the other two men who had carried their crosses in the procession were now hanging on each side of Him. One of the men called out to Jesus, “So You’re the Messiah, are You? Prove it by saving Yourself – and us, too, while You’re at it!”(2) But the other criminal said, “Don’t you fear God even when you have been sentenced to die? We deserve to die for our crimes, but this Man hasn’t done anything wrong.”(3) Then he said, “Jesus, remember me when You come into your Kingdom.”(4) And Jesus replied, “I assure you, today you will be with Me in paradise.”(5)
Even on a cross, Jesus was extending mercy and grace. Who but the Son of God could do that? My heart was so heavy, I could not process all that I was seeing. As I watched, I was witnessing a brutal murder – an injustice. But I would come to learn that the cross was the only way whereby we could truly be redeemed from our sin and reconciled to a Holy God. God the Father was allowing His only Son to be brutalized in such a way in order for Him to be the sacrifice for our sins. His blood was pouring out of His body for me!
After all the pain that had been inflicted upon Jesus leading up to the cross, and His sufferings on the cross, I could see that Jesus was “spent”. His physical body was dehydrated and depleted of any moisture. He was parched. I heard Him whisper the words, “I am thirsty.”(6) One of the soldiers took pity on Him and moistened His lips with the cheap sour wine that the soldiers had been drinking by putting a soaked sponge on the end of a branch and holding it to His lips. That bit of moisture didn’t quench His thirst, but it was all He needed in order to speak His last words, “It is finished!”(7)
My heart was filled with grief and sorrow as I saw His body slump. The sky had earlier turned dark, and now it fittingly seemed even darker. I fell to my knees and began to weep uncontrollably. I sensed that somehow this was a part of God’s plan, but at the time I could not comprehend what it might be. All I knew was that I could not move from this place. Somehow it had become holy ground and the One there on the cross before me was the one true Passover Lamb whose blood had been shed so that I could escape death – the death of sin! Today I had witnessed the everlasting Passover!
After some time had passed, I saw two men who appeared to be members of the Sanhedrin. I later learned their names were Joseph and Nicodemus. They were claiming Jesus’ body from the soldiers in order to bury Him in a tomb. As His body was taken down from the cross, I approached the two men and asked if I could carry Jesus’ body.
I said, “The soldiers compelled me to carry His cross. But now I believe God is compelling me to carry His broken body to His tomb.” With that, I picked up His body and carried Him to the place which they had prepared for Him.
I knew that my journey with Jesus hadn’t ended at the cross, and somehow I knew it wouldn’t end at the tomb. I knew that the One who had stood before me on His cross would still somehow call upon me to take up my cross and follow Him.
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(1) Luke 23:28 (NLT)
(2) Luke 23:39 (NLT)
(3) Luke 23:40-41 (NLT)
(4) Luke 23:42 (NLT)
(5) Luke 23:43 (NLT)
(6) John 19:28 (NLT)
(7) John 19:30 (NLT)
Copyright © 2020 Kenneth A. Winter All rights reserved.
First published on kenwinter.org 08-Apr-20