Nearly too late

No, it wasn’t the best day of his life. He didn’t feel proud or pleased with himself. But at least he was able to make some tiny positive contribution to the otherwise entirely negative scene. His shoulder will probably always show the scars where the splinters embedded themselves. And the sheer weight of the wood rubbed the skin raw, but he undoubtedly thinks it was worth it.

       He went down to Jerusalem from his hometown of Cyrene a few days before the Passover, to catch some of the flavour of the capital; especially the old town. He told everyone he thought the night-life might be cool, and knew there was a chance of bumping into one or two old pals he hadn’t seen for a few months.

       He’d also heard a bit about this Jesus of Nazareth character, and thought he might catch one or two of his lectures before attending the temple for the Passover rituals. But when he arrived in Jerusalem, he met an old friend who lives just outside the city, named Nathan. He was deeply dischuffed, because his best donkey had been stolen from outside his house at the weekend. Honestly! You have to lock everything up these days!

        ‘Some chap with a beard and smelling of fish came along,’ Nathan explained, ‘grabbed Stubnazzar’s reins, declared The Lord hath need of it, and took off with the animal! I wasn’t too thrilled, Simon, I can tell you. I’ve had to look into getting some sort of alarm system to make sure my next best donkey doesn’t go the same way. There are several about, you know – there’s a CrookLok which fits across the animals’ front legs, or SteadyNeddy and EeyoreBeSecure, which are bell devices. I’ve considered BurroNoSorrow and CoolMule, but they seem cheap and not all that effective. The most expensive is the own-brand one from MulesRAss. These opportunist thieves…’

       Even as Simon was listening to Nathan go on and on about it, a chap turned up with Stubnazzar, returning him with thanks. The animal was fine, and the bloke who brought him back seemed very grateful for the lend. So old Nath calmed down a bit.

       Simon found out later that Jesus of Nazareth had entered Jerusalem riding on Nathan’s donkey Stubnazzar (he wasn’t a mule, but he was sometimes as hard to persuade as one, hence the name). The people had welcomed Jesus, waving palm fronds, making a fuss and shouting Hosanna – which means save now! Funny how these things happen.

       Anyway, back to the story. In the vicinity of the temple, on the Thursday of his trip, he saw a notice saying there was going to be the traditional prisoner release that morning, so he decided to check it out. That’s a thing they do round here: one prisoner is released just before the Passover. It’s a sort of amnesty. Regular, apparently, too.

       So, he joined the crowd and saw right off why he hadn’t been able to listen to Jesus or find where he was doing his lectures. He’d been arrested! Less than a week after riding through the streets on a hijacked donkey, he’d been hauled up before the Beak.

       He was there, looking very beaten-up, on the platform along with Pontius Pilate, the Roman governor. Pilate addressed the crowd and explained what he would do: set one of the prisoners free. The choice was Jesus of Nazareth, described as a political activist, folk-hero, Pharisee-basher, magician, poet and rabble-rouser; or this other nasty-looking character, Barabbas, also a political activist, but actually also a murderer.

       There was no contest as far as Simon was concerned.

       Set free someone who hadn’t committed any crimes except to irritate the Romans and question religious self-righteousness, or set free someone who’d murdered another man and almost certainly incited others to do the same? He felt sure Jesus would be released and would be able to give his lecture that afternoon.

       But some priests were moving through the crowd, along with some other men, handing out money and doing deals with people.

       Before Simon knew what was happening, the crowd started to shout for Barabbas to be released and for Jesus to be crucified. He thought at first they’d just got the names muddled up, but then realised there was something odd and dangerous and mysterious and rather evil going on.

       It didn’t take long for that man-pleasing, self-serving Governor Pilate to give in. He took a large bowl of water and publicly washed his hands, showing the crowd that he was blaming them for the decision he was about to take. Talk about hedging your bets! He sent Jesus down, setting Barabbas free.

       Simon was not at all peaceful about any of this, but what could he do? He went back to his hostel-room and had dinner.

       The next day, he was in the bazaar doing a little sightseeing and looking for souvenirs for young Rufus and little Alex, when he heard a lot of fuss going on in the street outside. He pushed his way to the front of the crowd, and was amazed to see a troop of Roman soldiers marching up the pavement, with three sorry-looking characters behind them, each carrying large wooden beams on their backs.

      With a start, he realised one of them was Jesus of Nazareth, being led away to be crucified. He couldn’t help feeling pity for him. He was in a dreadful state, as he’d been beaten already and these soldiers really know how to do their job of inflicting pain. It was very clear to Simon that Jesus’ reactionary, anti-establishment, rabble-rousing adventure was over. There would probably be another preacher along in a while.

       But just as Jesus came past, he stumbled and fell to the ground with a quiet groan. The timber hit the deck with a thud – it was a huge bit of wood for a weakened man to carry. Simon could see his back and legs were badly cut up by the whipping from the cat o’ nine tails, and his face was red raw. He’d obviously been spat on repeatedly, and the large thorns of the mock crown were digging into his forehead, which was bleeding. One eye was puffy and he looked completely stricken by God; utterly afflicted.

       Before he could do anything about it, a soldier grabbed Simon by the arm.

       ‘You! Carry the wood.’

       ‘What? No, but I…’

       ‘Carry the wood.’

       There was no arguing with him. Actually, Simon didn’t really want to refuse. Jesus was in a mess and Simon supposed this was the least he could do to try to make his last few hours a tiny bit less horrific. He didn’t stop to think at the time that this could also be interpreted as actively contributing to the execution.

       The wood, of course, was the horizontal beam of the cross on which Jesus would die.

       Simon didn’t complain, because the prisoner needed the favour. Jesus was staggering along in front of him, and looked dreadful. Great drops of sweat splashed down onto his ragged clothing and the roadway, along with blood from his many wounds, making the cobblestones slippery.

       It was a serious bit of wood, Simon quickly discovered. And it was a long way out of the city, through the gates and up to the top of that Skull Hill. He almost fell himself a few times, and he was shattered by the time they arrived. He looked at Jesus as they both half-fell, half sat on the grass, panting for breath. Neither said a word, but suddenly Simon felt awful, having participated, in a way, in the torture Jesus was about to face.

       But an amazing thing happened. Instead of sneering, or staring at him to make him feel worse, Jesus, this man of sorrows, just smiled, everso slightly.

       Perhaps it was simply an acknowledgement of assistance. Maybe it was gratitude that Simon had relieved him of some small part of his punishment. Could it have been a friendly gesture of connection? Or something more than that? Simon suddenly felt like his trip from Cyrene wasn’t accidental, and the timing of the visit was more than coincidence. There was a divine plan behind it. Or is that just an over-dramatising of the circumstances?

       He had no intention of staying to watch the execution, but suddenly, right in front of him, the soldiers grabbed Jesus, stretched out his arms and started to nail him to the beam Simon had carried. The sight was appalling, but compelling. He hadn’t yet recovered his strength for the walk back to the city, so he was still sitting there as the horrific scene unfolded in front of him. Jesus was hoisted up, and the long ordeal of crucifiction began.

Simon has sat and pondered that smile so many times in the years that have gone by since that dreadful morning. But what did the smile mean?

       While Jesus was actually on that cross, as he died, he asked God to forgive his executioners. Simon contributed to his execution, so he’s included in that pardon. He knows Jesus forgives him for providing the cross on which he died.

       What an attitude! What a guy! And yet, Jesus didn’t deserve to be there at all. No-one had brought any serious criticism or accused him of any real crime… Why did he just take it all?

       Simon knows that if he had been in Jesus’ place, he’d have made a right fuss, spoken up about innocence and brought in lots of witnesses to explain what a great bloke he was. Why didn’t Jesus do that? And why didn’t he complain? And where were all his disciples and friends and groupies? And why were the Romans involved in what could only have been a religious issue, since he was accused of blasphemy? Doesn’t add up.

       Simon hasn’t been back to Jerusalem since that day.

       He really couldn’t stomach it.

Press-ganged to carry the cross of Christ (or was he willing?)

Why did Jesus borrow the donkey? Why Stubnazzar?

Why did Pontius Pilate send Jesus to be flogged and crucified?

If it had been you watching Jesus on the cross, what might you have seen in his eyes? Sadness? Pain? Resentment? Pity? Judgement? Anger? Resignation? Love? Anything else?

Is Jesus’ forgiveness limited to the soldiers who physically crucified him? Or could it include Simon? Pilate? Barabbas? Or even reach as far as you?