Simon of Cyrene
...I was numb with disbelief as I stooped to pick up the cross. It was slippery with his blood, but I got it on my shoulder, the rough wood digging into my flesh...
Bible passage
Mark 15:16-24
16 The soldiers led Jesus away into the palace (that is, the Praetorium) and called together the whole company of soldiers. 17 They put a purple robe on him, then twisted together a crown of thorns and set it on him. 18 And they began to call out to him, ‘Hail, king of the Jews!’ 19 Again and again they struck him on the head with a staff and spat on him. Falling on their knees, they paid homage to him. 20 And when they had mocked him, they took off the purple robe and put his own clothes on him. Then they led him out to crucify him.
21 A certain man from Cyrene, Simon, the father of Alexander and Rufus, was passing by on his way in from the country, and they forced him to carry the cross. 22 They brought Jesus to the place called Golgotha (which means ‘the place of the skull’). 23 Then they offered him wine mixed with myrrh, but he did not take it. 24 And they crucified him. Dividing up his clothes, they cast lots to see what each would get.
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Background
Simon of Cyrene is mentioned in Matthew, Mark and Luke’s Gospels. And his two sons, Alexander and Rufus, are mentioned in Mark’s version of the crucifixion
The fact that they are named in the Gospels probably means Simon and his sons were likely to have been well-known to the early church. I’m sure that Simon would have often shared the story of his encounter with Jesus on the way to the cross… hence his story was included by the gospel writers.
Cyrene was an ancient Greek and later Roman city near present-day Shahhat, Libya. It was the oldest and most important of the five Greek cities in the region.
Cyrene is mentioned several times in Acts:
Acts 2:10 - On the day of Pentecost, Jews from Cyrene were among those that heard the disciples speaking in their own language.
Acts 6:9 - Some Cyrenian Jews argued with Stephen, one of the seven disciples appointed as deacons in Acts 6:5
Acts 11:20 - Jewish Christians from Cyrene are mentioned as people who, along with believers from Cyprus, first preached the Gospel to the gentiles;
Acts 13:1 - Lucius of Cyrene is named as one of several people the Holy Spirit led to appoint Barnabas and Saul (Paul) for missionary service.
According to Google maps, Cyrene is 1141 miles from Jerusalem by road. Given the distance, I suspect people would have travelled from Cyrene to Jerusalem by sea. Despite the distance, many people made the pilgrimage to Jerusalem for the festivals (as we know from Acts 2:10). However, verse 21 says that Simon was ‘on his way in from the country’, which I think implies that he’d moved from Cyrene at some point and settled somewhere in the Judean countryside.
Maybe he’d he was an economic migrant, or he was a Jew that had come to Israel seeking a bride.
Another thing to note in verse 21 is that he was ‘passing by on the way in from the country’. ‘Passing by’ implies that he was unaware of all that had happened with Jesus and his arrest and trial. He arrives at Jerusalem that Friday and is immediately confronted by the crowds and the sight of the men being taken out to be crucified.
We don’t know why he was coming to Jerusalem. It may have been to celebrate the Passover, or maybe it was because he had heard that Jesus was in Jerusalem.
Other than the soldiers that crucified Jesus, this is the last encounter Jesus has with someone before he is nailed to the cross.
So for a Good Friday reflection, I thought it would be good to look at the story of the crucifixion through the eyes of Simon of Cyrene.
Before reading on, read the passage from Mark’s Gospel again (Mark 15:16-24)… and then imagine that you have Simon of Cyrene with you, sharing his story and witnessing to what he saw and felt on that day.
As you read through the Bible passage and the story:
Take time to notice how you feel about what you are reading.
Are there things in the story that jar, or resonate with you? Why is that?
How would you react if you put yourself in Simon’s shoes?
At the end of the story, before moving on to the thoughts and questions for reflection, pause and ask God what he wants you to take from this story.
If you find it helpful, make notes in a journal as you read and pray.
Simon’s story
I was there when he died.
I’d never met him before that day… I’d heard about him, but I’d never met him.
Rumours of the amazing prophet from Nazareth had even reached the backwaters of the deep south in the small farms around Beersheba. My wife, Doja, and I moved there from Cyrene many years ago in search of a better life. It was not brilliant, but I found work in the fields, and we made ends meet.
Doja and I were blessed with twin boys, Alexander and Rufus, and I thought my life was complete. But they got sick with a fever when they were just a year old. We tried everything, but they went rapidly downhill over a few days. Nothing we did seemed to help, and I was losing all hope.
It took three days for the news to reach us that Jesus, the miraculous healer, had arrived in Jerusalem. Almost immediately, the insane idea popped into my mind that maybe he could help. If I could see him, maybe I could persuade him to come and heal our boys.
I was desperate, it seemed impossible that he would come and help me, but it was my last hope, so I clung to it tightly. I asked friends and neighbours to support Doja and my sons, and I set off to Jerusalem early on Thursday morning.
Getting there is normally a good 2-day journey, but I hardly stopped. I walked through the night, only stopping to eat and grab a couple of hours sleep when tiredness overwhelmed me.
Tired and aching, I arrived on Friday morning. As I walked up the Hinnom valley, I could hear the noise of an angry crowd. I quickened my pace, followed the road, and caught sight of them as I walked up the hill towards the Gennath gate.
I’d seen crowds like this before in other places… humanity at its worst, baying for the blood of someone who had crossed an unforgivable line. I could feel the anger and hatred in the air as I drew near. Hundreds of people were shouting as a group of Roman soldiers came through the gate with three prisoners carrying their crosses following the path towards Golgotha. I shrank back. I had witnessed crucifixions before; I’d seen the life slowly drain out of people as they died a horribly painful death. I didn’t want to see another one, so I walked slowly along the wall, planning to go through the gate when the macabre procession had passed by.
I remember being surprised to see a lot of Pharisees there; I thought they’d stay well away from things like this to avoid the contamination of their religious purity. And then, just when I thought I could slip in through the gate, one of them shouted, “Why don’t you save yourself, Jesus? Come on, let’s see one more miracle! If you are the Messiah, save yourself!”
I froze, not willing to believe what I had just heard. I felt the panic rise in me. Surely, this was not the Jesus I’d come so far to see. I had to find out, so instead of going through the gate, I ran around the crowd to catch up with the procession and then pushed towards the front. I’m a big man, head and shoulders above most people, and it was easy to force my way to the front of the crowd.
It is funny the things that stick with you when you think back on big events in your life. As I neared the front of the crowd, I caught sight of a young woman amongst all the angry faces. The anguish and tears on her face are etched on my mind. Such a sharp contrast to the heaving mass of angry humanity surrounding her.
I was just a couple of rows from the front of the crowd when I saw him staggering along under the weight of his cross. I felt weak and light-headed as any hope I had drained from my body.
Then, as I watched, Jesus stumbled and dropped his cross. It fell towards the crowd near where I was standing. They all quickly moved to get out of the way… and suddenly, I was at the front, and I could see him clearly for the first time.
It's a sight that I will never forget. Here was the man I'd come to see to beg for healing for my sons, and he had almost no life left in him. He was prostrate on the floor beside his cross, beaten and bloodied. Hardly a scrap of flesh was left on his back and legs. The Roman soldiers were shouting at him to pick up his cross. He was struggling to get to his feet, and it was obvious that he had no strength left to carry the cross.
The Centurion looked round and saw me; my height and darker skin must have made me stand out. “You!” he shouted, pointing his sword in my direction and fixing his eyes on mine. “You! Come here and help him carry this.” I didn’t move, but one of the other soldiers grabbed me and pushed me toward the cross.
I was numb with disbelief as I stooped to pick it up. It was slippery with his blood, but I got it on my shoulder, the rough wood digging into my flesh. Jesus struggled to his feet beside me. He leant on me, and we shuffled on up the hill together.
I remember thinking about the irony of it all. I’d come to Jerusalem to seek this man’s help so that my boys might live, and instead, I ended up helping him so that he might die.
As we staggered up the hill together, he turned his face to look at me. He was a mess. A crown of thorns was jammed on his head, with blood flowing freely from where the thorns pierced his skin. His hair and beard were matted with blood, and his face was disfigured by the beating he had received. One eye was so bruised that it was completely closed, his nose and teeth were broken, and his lips were split from repeated blows to his face.
He looked at me with one semi-good eye and… and my soul sang. That sounds crazy, I know, but it’s the only way I can describe it. Something in his gaze filled me with hope and peace. I would have fallen then myself, but, for a moment, strength returned to him and… and he steadied me!
We reached the top of Golgotha, and he looked at me again. “Simon,” he said through bloodied lips. Blood sprayed from his mouth as he spoke, and we were so close that it spattered my face and tunic. I stumbled again in shock… He knew my name! How! “Simon,” he repeated, “know that your faith has saved your boys.”
At that moment, the Romans pushed the cross from my shoulders, knocking me to my knees. One of them kicked Jesus and sent him sprawling to the ground. Once again, I could not move. He knew my name and all that I needed, and at the end of his life, even though he was in great pain, he was still focused on serving those around him.
I can’t tell you how long I stayed there on my knees… everything faded into the background. I heard the jeers of the crowd and the weeping of some women. I heard as they hammered the nails through his flesh into the wood of the cross. I heard them hoist the cross upright and heard the moans of pain from Jesus as they did so. I remember it growing very dark and the noise of the crowd dying down… but I don’t remember seeing any of it.
I just knelt there… in the dirt, looking down at my hands and clothes that were covered with his blood.
Every year on this Friday, I reflect on that transforming moment. I sometimes wonder if he stumbled and dropped his cross on purpose. Maybe he was following some prompt from the Holy Spirit to fall at that moment, so I would have the chance to meet him and receive his blessing.
Questions for reflection:
How did this story make you feel?
Were there things in the story that jarred, or resonated with you? Why is that?
If you were there and were singled out to carry the cross for Jesus, how would it feel?
I don’t know what you have been through in recent years or what you may be going through now. I don’t know how heavy your load is to bear. I don’t know the grief and pain and frustration that you carry.
BUT I do know that God is with you, that he weeps with you in your grief, that he wants to take your load from you, that he longs for you to know how precious you are to him.
Imagine you were there on that Friday outside Jerusalem, watching the procession, forced into carrying the cross with Jesus. As you struggle together under the load of the cross, as you meet with the suffering Jesus… imagine that he looks at you with love and forgiveness and compassion.
As he looks at you, knowing all you are going through and aching for you… what do you want to say to him? What do you need to hear from him?
Sit with this scene in your mind for a while, and when you are ready, finish with the prayer below.
Prayer
Lord Jesus,
You knew the pain of rejection, betrayal, and being denied by those closest to you.
You knew the agony of flogging and suffered excruciating pain on the cross.
You have shown us that you aren’t indifferent to the suffering of this world, as in your compassion you stepped into it, bringing your healing, compassion and love.
When life is impossible, and all hope seems lost,
when we don’t know how to go on and we feel overwhelmed…
help us to remember that you know and understand our suffering,
and that there is nothing that can separate us from your love.
When we can’t see a way forward,
give us the faith to trust in you,
the ears to hear your guidance,
and the strength to take another step on the way.
As we meet with you on this day,
help us to give you our burdens
and help us be open to receiving your peace
Amen
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Thank you for these really helpful reflections, Barry. Just catching up on them a bit now post-Easter.