A short story by Julius Machado, based on the Biblical fact – Simon of Cyrene carrying the Cross of Jesus
TO THE north of Africa, where lies present-day Libya, was the city of Cyrene. Founded in 630 BC by the Greeks, quite a few of the inhabitants of this city were Jews. Cyrene was the capital city of the Roman province Cyrenica.
Sitting in front of his modest dwelling in the Jewish quarter of Cyrene, Simon was busy preparing for the long voyage that lay ahead for him. He was to start for Jerusalem the next morning. Nothing new in that, for Simon had been to Jerusalem a couple of times before as a trader. But Jerusalem was too far away and it was not possible to make the arduous journey often. It was a nine hundred mile journey filled with rigour and took almost a month to cover the distance. Not only did the journey test one’s nerves it was also beset with potential danger. Unpredictable and sudden change in weather, the trek through the hot and dry desert, and possibility of attack by wild animals and bandits were only some of the vicissitudes. Nobody travelled alone; it was always a caravan of traders with their camels laden with goods for trade.
Simon however had much more to look forward in this journey than mere trade. Like every other devout Jew, it was Simon’s dream to celebrate the feast of Passover in the holy city of Jerusalem at least once in the lifetime. Simon’s earlier sojourns to the holy city had never coincided with the Passover. But this time he expected to be there right before the Passover. Absorbed in sweet thoughts, Simon whistled as he packed his bedding, clothes and merchandise and loaded it on the camel.
“Father, could you bring me David’s harp from Jerusalem?” Simon turned around. It was his son Rufus. In Jerusalem’s bazaars everything was available and Simon knew that David’s harp was a popular musical item which was sold there. “Yes my son, I will surely get it for you,” said Simon, lovingly caressing the curls of his son.
“And what’s Alexander up to? Does he not want something for himself too?” asked Simon to Rufus. Alexander was Rufus’s brother, Simon’s first born.
“He’s playing chariots with our horse cart wheel”, said Rufus. Simon smiled. Alexander had been mighty impressed by the sight of robust, handsome Roman officers going about in their chariots with imperial haughtiness. He liked to imitate their gait and style; rode makeshift chariots made out of cart wheels and tied a wooden baton to his waist like a sword. Simon knew for sure that if he was asked what he wanted he would have asked for a sword or a replica of the Roman armour and helmet. Simon allowed him the luxury of his dreams fully aware that none other than pure blood Romans were ever inducted in the army as officers. As a Jew, Alexander never stood a chance. As he came out of his reverie, Simon felt a tinge of sadness envelope his heart, with the prospect of being away from his wife and sons for over two months. But, he thought of all the blessings and the grace of God which would come on his family because of his celebrating Passover in the Holy city and found much solace.
Luck favoured Simon and his fellow traders and the caravan reached Jerusalem safely, without many hindrances on the way, two days before Passover. Simon had done handsomely in trade. He had a free day before the Feast and he decided to go the market to buy the Harp he had promised his son, Rufus. But there was something in the air in Jerusalem that made him uneasy. There was more crowd in the streets than necessary. Groups of people stood on the pavements, roadside corners and discussed something animatedly between them. Simon turned into the lane where he knew street side vendors sold musical instruments and other knickknacks. He was looking for David’s Harp. Surprisingly the street was bereft of any traders. This was strange, Simon thought. A passerby whom he asked hurried past him before saying, ”You won’t get anyone here today. Everyone is headed to Golgotha, to watch the fun”.
“Fun,” wondered Simon, ”what fun there could be today?”
Simon returned to the main street. This was the street which turned right to go to Golgotha. He tried to hear what the people were speaking among themselves. There was a middle aged man who said, “I don’t think his crime deserved a punishment as severe as crucifixion.” He was immediately countered by a young man who retorted, ”He said he was God. Isn’t that blasphemy? He invited this upon himself.” Simon observed that there were a lot of people who looked very sad and some women wept loudly.
As Simon stood among the crowd, he heard an uproar and commotion down the street. He saw Roman soldiers trying to clear the road and ushering onlookers to the sides. Then he saw a man in the centre of the street who was being booed, sworn at and spat on by a mob with blood in their eyes. Simon decided that he better go back to his inn and rest there till the Passover. He had come on a pilgrimage and would be better off staying away from commotions such as these on the street. But then curiosity got the better of him. Who was this unfortunate man, he thought, who was the object of such vile behavior by the crowd. He tried to make his way forward to get a better view. From the conversations around him he gathered that the man was called Jesus of Nazareth. But who was he and what was his crime, Simon wondered. A man next to him who seemed to be in tears told him, “I am a follower of this man and I am unable to comprehend why he has been subjected to this cruelty” In fact he also told him that Pontius Pilate had also not found any fault in him but the crowd had forced Pilate to sentence him and release Barabbas.
Simon edged forward till he could get a clear view. What he saw made his heart sink and his blood freeze. Simon was a tall, muscular, and a physically tough man. But what he witnessed now made his feet wobble and he gasped for breath. In front of him hobbled a man subjected to the gravest of physical assault and cruelty. His face and eyes were covered with streams of dried and fresh blood oozing from what seemed like twisted circular ring of a thorny bush pushed into his head. His body was a mass of bloodied ribbons of flesh stuck to purple pieces of cloth, which was all that was left of his gown. And then that huge wooden cross on his shoulders which lacerated his wounds further. He was egged on by whips to climb uphill with that weight, while his tattered legs wobbled and struggled to keep himself upright. It was a losing battle and as he struggled inch by inch, he landed twice on the ground like a felled tree, only to be kicked and abused back into a standing position.
It was at that moment that something lighted up in Simon’s memory. It was four months ago. He remembered what Romanius, a merchant from Cyrene had told him after having travelled for some months in Palestine. He had some very interesting tales to tell about some divine happenings he had witnessed. He had told how a young man, the son of a carpenter from Nazareth had put the most learned priests and scribes into the shade by his knowledge of and interpretation of the scriptures. He had told about the miracles performed by this young man- how he had made a blind man see, the lame walk, and bring a dead man back to life. He had also fed a multitude of hundreds of people by multiplying five loaves of bread and two fish by his divine power. Simon was shocked. Wasn’t this the same man? But then why has been this man of God been condemned to this grisly fate?
Jesus had fallen again in a tangled heap. The heavy cross lay on his head pinning him to the ground. Despite all the abuses and kicks showered on him, he appeared to be too physically drained and exhausted to make it. Simon was close to two of the Roman soldiers and he overheard them talking.
“I don’t think this man will be able to walk now. We need to crucify him before the Passover or the Jews will create public unrest and we will have to answer to Caesar.”
“I know,” said the other, “but who will carry this heavy cross for him till Golgotha?”
“Hey you, you come here” an authoritative voice was heard somewhere near. As Simon turned to look he saw that it was the Roman centurion Marcus. He was pointing towards Simon. Nonplussed, Simon looked around him. Again the sound was heard and it was clearly directed at Simon. “Hey I want you. Come and pick up this cross and carry it for this man.”
“No, no,” said Simon, I cannot do this. Let me go. I have…” Before he could say more two soldiers grabbed Simon and brought him into the middle of the road.
Within him Simon fumed and cursed the Roman centurion. Touching that cross or that man would have defiled him and he would not be eligible for taking part in the Passover. All the trouble and time taken by him to arrive in Jerusalem for Passover was to go waste now. But he knew that as a Jew he was a second class citizen of the Roman Empire. There was no way he could refuse the order of Caesar’s legionary. He looked around to see if he could escape. But the crowd was too thick to make that possible. Resigning himself to his fate, he looked at the fallen man and his cross. His eyes met those of that bruised tortured flattened man under the weight of the cross. At that moment something like lightning went through his nerves. It appeared that a circle of divine light had appeared between him and the man in front which made it seem that he and the man were the only two people present there. In the eyes of that man he saw everything that was divine, he saw mercy, and he saw love, tenderness and forgiveness. He felt a spiritual invigoration envelope his body. He felt like a new man. Simon bent down. His strong muscular arms lifted the Cross off the man’s back. Then he gently helped him get up on his feet. Heaving the Cross on his own shoulders, Simon started on his way to Calvary.
“Father, look I am back”. An aged Simon turned to see his son Rufus standing beside him. Rufus had been away for months travelling far and wide with Paul to spread the Good News. Simon was glad to see him after a long time. He vividly remembered that day in Jerusalem. After Jesus had breathed his last on the Cross, darkness had enveloped the city. The earth had shaken and fearful people had fled for their lives. Simon too returned to the inn, shaken. His muscles ached with the strain of carrying that heavy Cross up to Calvary. But witnessing the crucifixion and death of Jesus had stunned him into grief and sorrow. Drained physically and emotionally, it was not long before he fell fast asleep. And then that dream! But it never felt like a dream. It was as if he had been awakened and made to listen to a voice from the heavens. “You are the blessed one Simon”, the voice had said. “Throughout the centuries, till the end of the world, whenever the passion and crucifixion of the Son of God will be spoken of, you will be remembered. Yours will be an eternal memory on earth Simon”. From that day onwards Simon and his family had accepted Jesus. And his two sons Rufus and Alexander, now adults, had made it their mission to spread the Gospel throughout the world.
It was Rufus again. “See Father, I have brought something”. A chord was struck accompanied by the melodious voice of Rufus singing a psalm. He was playing David’s Harp. Simon too joined him as they both sang in concert to praise the Lord.