Sunday, April 9, 2017

Sunday of the Passion 2017

(as Simon of Cyrene)

I was there, you know.

My name is Simon, and I was in the city for the Passover festival.

My pilgrimage was more than 900 miles to reach Jerusalem. I knew there would be people from all over Judah, but it was even more crowded than I expected. And they weren’t just excited about the festival; there was something else in the air. There were people shouting angrily while others shrank back, whispering in fear.

I heard the crowd before I saw it surging up the street. Have you ever been in a crowd like that, where the people move like a wave, and you’re not really even touching the ground anymore?

I tried to stay out of the soldiers’ way, but I guess I failed. And then they ordered me to pick up the crossbeam for that man – the one they call Jesus.

When a Roman soldier tells you to do something, you do it.
At least,
if you want to live.

I wanted the chance to return home, so I followed their orders.

It was so heavy, probably as much as carrying both of my young sons – Alexander and Rufus – on my back.

The wood cut into my shoulder and made me wince, and I think I still have splinters in my palm.

But the weight of that cross wasn’t as heavy as the burden of others carry. They are the ones who crucified him.

The high priest here Jesus blasphemed, that he spoke against the Holy God of Israel, and there are others who say he was sent by the ruler of demons.

But, I had heard about this man Jesus from merchants at our ports back home.

They were laughing because he was heard calling people “fishers of men.” Ha!

They want to fill their nets with the catch of the day, not more mouths to feed.

But they also shared the stories of how he healed people from their diseases and sicknesses, and even revived Lazarus. They said he was a good rabbi, too; he knew the Torah and the words of the prophets of old. Some even said he was the Messiah – the anointed one, and, you know, I wondered.

I never expected to come face-to-face with him though. But there, in the street, I lifted the cross off him, and carried it beside him, as we trudged toward the place they call Golgotha.

He was exhausted, beaten and bruised, but he wasn’t defeated.

I watched with the others, as they raised him on the cross.

They mocked him calling him King of the Jews and Son of Man, but, I can’t help but look at how his life fulfilled the Scripture – from the words of the psalmist to those of Isaiah, Jeremiah and Zechariah.

A Nazarene born in Bethlehem,
He was scorned, spat on and struck;
His followers fled, scattering like sheep.

And, now,
he’s been killed.

I confess, that’s not how I imagined the Messiah coming.

I thought at least our enemies might be driven away and we would be free to worship without persecution.

I thought we might know restoration and jubilee,
but maybe we will see that in the kingdom of heaven Jesus described.

Or maybe, that is what is left for us; maybe that’s what he meant when he talked about the kingdom of heaven. He said the kingdom of heaven will come to us who are merciful and who are humble. But I don’t think that means we can shrink back in fear. Sometimes we have to walk the way of the cross, even when it means we will be reviled for our faith or persecuted for righteousness – for standing up for God and God’s people.

After Jesus was crucified, I heard the soldier call him God’s Son. And you know, I think he was right. I cannot understand why Jesus died on that cross, but I can look at how he lived, how he loved people, and how he loved God and follow him.

Shalom.

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