62-SimonCyrene-A

And We Thought We Knew You:
Soul Journey with the Real Jesus

Simon of Cyrene
THE SHALLOW ROAD

9:00 AM
Thursday, about April 14, AD 30
Jerusalem, Judea

�� Simon has been up all night.� Like Jesus.� Guarding things that are important.� Jesus more so.� Simon's pay is very low.� Jesus' is nothing.

�� Simon is in demand as a night watchman.� In his ten years on the job, he has personally fought off robbers and run off both bears and lions.� He takes pride in his work.

�� Simon's work at a vineyard is done, and he is headed out to the road and home in the city.� Jesus' work is nearly done, and he is headed for the hill and home in the sky. [1]

�� His road has been hilly so far.� Soon he steps onto a road that goes down into a shallow valley before it rises to an infamous horrible peak called Place of the Skull, Galgatha.

�� Out on that road, everyone seems to be talking about the same thing.�

�� "Did you hear?� They're executing Jesus this morning.� They're taking him to execution hill now.� He was supposed to be our king.� That's a laugh."� Some, indeed, are laughing about it.� Some crying.�

�� Simon is disturbed.� He has heard Jesus speak; he was harmless.

�� At that same moment, Naomi is at her next-door neighbor's gate.

�� "Eunice, are you going with me to visit the sick today?.� If so, we have a special case to make today."

�� "Don't I always go with you?� But who is the special case?"

�� "Haven't you heard?� They're crucifying Jesus this morning.� He's going to need a lot of comfort and encouragement."

�� Most people wouldn't think of comforting a criminal ~ guilty or not ~ at their execution.� But Naomi and Eunice are not most people.

�� "Okay, I've got the bread rising and everything else in order.� I'm ready to go." [2]

�� Jesus is led through back gate by armed soldiers and toward still more soldiers and Temple guards.� He knows his next stop.� The mockery of court and sentencing is over.� The worst is yet to come.

�� How can he do it, Jesus?� He cannot possibly take much more.� Oh, father, help him....� What if he dies too soon?� Help him hang on long enough for them to kill him.

�� He strains to remember another psalm.� "Keep me alive..."� Yes, go on.� What's next?� "...so I can obey...." [3]

�� Jesus is pushed out into the street with the butt of a sword shaft.� In his weakened state of exhaustion, he falls to the ground.� It is so good to rest at last.

�� Rest?� No!� You cannot rest yet, Jesus.� You still have work to do.�

�� "Get up there!"

�� "I think we can trust him without those chains."

�� "He's all but dead anyway."

�� With them free at last, Jesus slowly slides his hands along the ground until they are over his head, then toward himself.� Though his arm muscles are shaky and his back muscles half destroyed, with an iron will he pushes his torso up, then his knees.� Wobbling, he lines up his feet, and gradually raises himself to a standing position.

�� With Jesus' disappearance all night and the near-riot in the street outside the palace this morning, some of Jesus' friends have anticipated the worst and are already at the foot of execution hill, prepared to comfort him.� His enemies arrive to personally escort him into hell.�

�� Simon draws closer to the city.� More and more people are talking about the morning's events.� He does not like what he is hearing.� He has heard Jesus speak and has been impressed with his integrity and understanding of things going on around him.� He makes sense� More sense than what he normally gets at synagogue.� Simon had wanted to meet him.� He continues up the road, not realizing he will still get his wish.

�� At the other end of town, Eunice and Naomi head up the street.

�� "Do you know where to go, Naomi?"

�� "Yes.� Skull Hill.� I hate that name." [4]

�� "I brought along some water and bread.� Do you think they'll let us give it to him?"

�� "I doubt it.� I really doubt it.� I think our sympathy is all we'll be able to give him."

�� ....Jesus is now standing.� He is looking around at the growing crowd.� Gasps can be heard.

�� "I think that's him"

�� "Are you sure?"

�� "It can't be."

�� "They say it's him."

�� "He's the right size."

�� "His eyes.� How can he see?"

�� "He's got blood all over him.� How can one man lose that much and still be alive?"

�� "It has to be him."

�� "Please, God, don't let it be him."

�� Some come closer to him.� Some enemies.� Some friends.

�� "Jesus?� Jesus?" one woman whispers as she approaches the prisoner.� "Is that you?" [5]

�� Jesus breathes a thank you to his father for the voice of a friend.

�� "It IS you!� What have they done to you?"� Immediately tears rush to her eyes and overflow down trembling cheeks.� "Oh, no!� Oh, Jesus.� Don't let them kill you.� You can stop all this if you want to."

�� He must turn away.� It is Satan talking through her.� He must not listen to her.� Well intended though she be, he must not.� Oh, how he wants to.� How he wants to.�

�� Seeing her tears has brought tears to his own eyes, although he dreads them.� The salt in them just adds to the fire engulfing his face.� He regains control by turning away from her.� She, too, turns away.

�� Shortly six burly soldiers in twos join the waiting group.� They are carrying three large wooden beams. [6]

�� A whoop of approval rises from the crowd.

�� Meanwhile, Simon sees a road blockade up ahead.� Rather than turn around and head for another gate, he eases on up to where a soldier is standing.

�� "Hey!� What's going on?"

�� "The public execution!"

�� "You don't mean Jesus...."

�� "You got it!"

�� Even though Simon has never met him personally, his mind the last few minutes has been on what he heard Jesus say.� He remembers how touched he was.� The guy had guts, as far as Simon was concerned.� He was willing to call a spade a spade; something Simon nor any of his friends had ever been able to do.

�� "Better turn around."� The soldier warns.

�� Simon looks up at the rolling clouds overhead, clinches his teeth, and slams a big fist into his open hand.

�� "Why him?"

�� "Sir, you've got to move out of the way."

�� "They can't do that!"� Simon is surprised at the emotions coming over him.

�� "Sir, either turn around, or go over to the side of the road and wait for them to pass."

�� Meanwhile, Eunice and Naomi have arrived near Pilate's palace.

�� "Look at all those people!"

�� "Jesus was a good man.� It'll be tragic to see him go," Eunice comments.

�� "Were you there for his parade?� How fickle people can be these days!" Naomi asks and answers.

�� "Yes.� I sang with the people up on the city wall."

�� "He never married, did he?"

�� "No.� No wife.� No children." [7]

�� "There they are!� Hurry!"

�� ....To Jesus' surprise, a second prisoner has been waiting nearby.

�� "I don't wanna die!� I don't wanna die!" he hears.

�� "Why, you sneaking thief...."

�� A soldier raises his foot and thrusts it into the prisoner's shins and he falls backward to the ground.

�� "Please, please don't make me die!"� He crawls over to the centurion, but only to find his face in the dust with a heavy foot mashed down on it.

�� "He acts like he doesn't want to die!"� The amused audience laughs in approval.

�� "But I didn't do anything."

�� "Did you hear that?� He says he didn't do anything!"

�� "Nothing but swindle the poor tax man.� Why, he ought to be ashamed!"

�� The high priest stands proud and self-sufficient.

�� Crouched in the dirt, he lies whimpering, "Oh God, save me.� I don't want to die...."

�� A shadow falls over him.� He looks up.� Astonished, and for a moment forgetting his own plight, he sees a torn, beaten figure standing over him.

�� The stranger looks down into fear-struck eyes, and holds out a bloody hand.�

�� "Here, I'll help you."

�� Help?� Why he can barely stand himself.� But he really means it.

�� "What can you do?� You think you're God or something that you can change man's fate?" he replies bitterly.

�� "Go ahead. Take my hand." The words are garbled, but he understand.

�� Silence.� Then, "There's something about you.� Who are you?"

�� "Bring the other prisoner out!"

�� "Hurry.� It's almost time to go."

�� He bends down and the two struggle to their feet.

�� "Look at them, like two old women!"

�� "Hey, look what I've got!"� A man darts quickly around the soldiers, pulls out a bag of money and shakes it in front of the thief's eyes.

�� One of the soldiers turns.� "Hey you, get back there!"� And just as quickly, he disappears back into the crowd.

�� "Take your filthy hands off me!"

�� The commander turns.� A gigantic man is brought out.� Two soldiers hold on to him.�

�� "So, you're number three.� What did I hear you say about someone's hands?� Well, since you don't like theirs, how about trying mine?"

�� "Oof!"�

�� An iron fist sinks into the prisoner's middle.� Again and again.� Each time the blow finds its mark.

�� "You're killing him!"

�� "Okay.� We've got the beams ready.� Let's get him and his two buddies out of here and up execution hill."

�� A soldier approaches Jesus, walks behind him, and without warning jerks off the royal robe.

�� "Ahhhgggg!"

�� Wounds from the lashing now dried and attached to the robe are suddenly opened again, and it is as if the whip has gouged into his back a thousand times again.�

�� Jesus doubles over, his head swirls, cloudlikeness hovers over his mind, he senses he is falling into nothingness, and he desperately begins repeating his father's name in an effort to remain conscious.

�� Another psalm.� Quick!� Another psalm!

�� "Don't let the flood overwhelm...swallow...save me." [8]

�� A burst of approval erupts from the temporarily dormant crowd and drowns out the sound of wailing followers and friends of the condemned.

�� Simon has decided to stick around and see what is going on.� He works his way backward through the crowd searching for the soldiers and Jesus.� Up ahead he sees soldiers assembled.� They will be coming his way.�

�� Simon decides not choose to wait for them to come to him.� He has been known to look for trouble in the past.� Why stop now?

�� His strides are wide.� His confusion and anger intensify inside of him like an awakened bear.� He had not expected such a response to what's happening to this relative stranger.� But, there was something about him.

�� Naomi and Eunice arrive at the crowd and work their ways into it, trying to spot Jesus.

�� "There's three of them.� I only came prepared to help one," Eunice comments.

�� "But look at the one.� Look at Jesus.� Can you see him?"

�� "Now I can.� Oh, no!� Look what they've done to him, Naomi.� Are you sure that's him?"

�� "Has to be."

�� "That poor, poor man."

�� ...."Bring one of those crossbeams and signs over here!" the centurion calls out.

�� "Here, you thief," he announces, shoving the cross into the condemned man's middle.� "Be more careful next time!"

�� He moves on to the second.� "And here's a sign for your friend!"� Another shove.�

�� "Where's the third sign?"

�� The sign is tossed over to the centurion, he glances at it and bursts into laugher.� "Whoever thought of this one is good.� Real good.�

�� "Listen everyone!� It says ~ would you believe, 'JESUS OF NAZARETH, GALILEE, KING OF THE JEWS!'� Did you hear that, mighty Jews?� How do you like that?� We're about to crucify your king!"

�� The soldier shoves the sign indicating his crime at Jesus and nearly knocks him over in his weakened near-death state. [9]

�� "A king, he says!� Look at him!"

�� The Sanhedrin representatives gather around and begin protesting.� "No, that's all wrong!� Write that he claims to be the King of the Jews."

�� But they are interrupted with a voice from a balcony.� It is Pilate.� He glares down at the high priests resolutely and angrily.� All eyes watch them.�

�� "The inscription stands!"� It's the least he can do for Jesus. It's what he could have been. A king.

�� With that, he turns.� He is careful not to look at Jesus.� Immediately he disappears back into his palace. [10]�

�� "We have something for you, Jesus," a soldier announces.� "Your turn is coming up."

�� Cheers and wailing arise in a discordant duet from the crowd.�

�� The first beam is shoved down at the big one.�

�� "Come on, Number Three, pick it up!"

�� The criminal looks at it, but says nothing and takes hold of his cross.

�� The second one is dropped in front of the other thief.�

�� "You too, old woman.� Well, tell us all about how you don't want to die!� How about it!� What's the matter?� Change your mind?"� He too says nothing, but only bends down and takes hold of his cross.

�� "What's wrong with these men?� They act like they're looking forward to it!"� The crowd cheers.

�� He proceeds on to the last one, still standing where he left him.� "Surely now, you've got something on your mind you want to declare.� Want to make a proclamation or something?"

�� Jesus looks into his eyes.� The crowd is suddenly silent.� The people stand there, each eye fastened on the pair.� Will he strike him dead with lightning?� Still the two stand there.� Not a word, not a whisper.�

�� The soldier breaks the spell and looks away.� Then, glancing back very quickly, oh so quickly, he shoves the heavy instrument of torture into Jesus' legs, and gives out a repulsive, insane laugh.

�� Jesus falls over his cross, and for the first time the crowd can see clearly the shredded remains of a human back.� All but the most insensitive gasp in amazement that the victim can still be alive.

�� "Well, what are you waiting for?� Get up and carry it like a man!"

�� Simon has at last reached the soldiers and gathered crowd.� Being taller than most, he has some sense of where the center of attention is.� Being as large as he is would make it easy for him to bully his way through the crowd to get a better look.� He decides to wait.� He doesn't want to get too involved.� Just watch.� That's all.

�� "Look at the way they're treating him!" Naomi shouts over the din of the crowd.

�� "If we could just help him somehow."

�� ....A wild roar of delight spreads over the mob.

�� "Well, pick it up!� Let's get this over with!� I've got a date tonight!"

�� Jesus, still on the ground, looks down at his cross and glides his bloody hands around the wooden beam.

�� Jesus, the carpenter.� The man who loved wood.� The smell, the strength, the versatility.�

�� Led by his father to a trade that is honorable and full of rewards.� Now led by his Father to trade with the dishonorable and full of their punishment.�

�� He has lived with wood.� Now he dies with wood.�

�� Jesus struggles to raise himself a little with his arms until his legs can take over.� The pain, ever present, burns its way deeper into his body.� His mission, ever present, burns its way into his heart as he struggles to complete it.

�� Finally back on his feet, he leans over one end of his cross, his back ablaze and oozing with both blood and serum.� Innocent blood.� Mocking serum.�

�� He becomes dizzy.� It happens so easily now.� He stands back up to regain stability.� Then slowly Jesus kneels before his cross.� He pauses to make sure his dizziness does not return.� He keeps his head and back as upright as possible.�

�� Fingers caked with blood, he manages to work them under the wood.� His hands grasp it, then he pushes up with his knees until he is standing once more.� This time with his cross.

�� To test its weight, he walks backward a few steps.� It is heavier than he'd expected.� He recalls happier days when he easily hefted beams of wood this heavy.� But that was before.

�� Still walking backward, he pulls the beam.� He makes some progress, but knows he cannot walk his last mile this way.�

�� "Come on!� Get with it!� We don't have all day!"

�� Jesus works his way around to the side of his cross and grasps the beam under one arm.� He places his other arm under the beam from the other side.� As he clings to his cross, he finds this an adequate position for the task ahead.

�� But the rawness of his back keep him from succeeding very far.

�� "This man was arrested with more clothes on that this.� Where is his robe?� Anybody know?"

�� A soldier runs back into the courtyard where Jesus had been beaten and picks up the robe they had torn off him before the scourging.� He runs out and throws it over Jesus' back.

�� Jesus once more looks down at his cross.� Once more he bends down in the manner he had moments earlier, determined to pick it up.� Once more the crowd sees him defy pain, loss of blood, and exhaustion.� Friends and enemies alike grow in their admiration of him.

�� And so, the procession begins.� Away from the palace grounds and into the street.� Foot and wagon traffic have been stopped.� The public awaits.

�� Jesus is surrounded by a mob insane with unreason, their warped minds closed to any form of mercy, any form of humanity.

�� The clamor grows louder and louder until....� But it reaches a peak and is sustained there.� Dogs run back and forth barking at the confusion.�

�� The crowd grabs stones and sticks.� They spit in Jesus' face� They call out, "Hypocrite!"� "Satanist!"� "Dog!"� Their delirium is overpowering.� Only the Roman soldiers keep him from being mauled at this very moment.� They have other plans....

�� "eep moving!"

�� A small voice from the wild crowd timidly asks, "Where is everyone going?� What's wrong with that man?� Why is everyone laughing and mad?"

�� "Let's go home.� This is no place for either of us."

�� They slip away unnoticed ~ unnoticed by all but one.� Jesus turns his head toward the small voice, and looks at the child as if to say, "It's okay.� Everything will be all right.� I promise."

�� "Let's go get this over with!" shouts the soldier to his left.�

�� Trembling, exhausted hands clutch at the beam, and Jesus resumes his last walk on earth, dragging his cross with an unshattered will.

�� Slowly....Slowly.....�

�� Don't hurry.� This is the longest, blackest walk the world will ever know.�

�� His endurance continually defies logic.

�� "How can he even pull it?"

�� "Where is he getting the strength?"

�� ....slowly....slowly....first one foot, now the other, and the other.� His shoulders, now made up of pure raw meat, stoop.� His back bends low.� But still he clings to his cross.� He fights for strength.� His muscles combat with tried nerves.� But his strength is overcome at last and his knees again fall to the earth.��

�� "Hey there, get up!" shouts an amused spectator, kicking his side.� He grimaces, then looks up at him with sorrowful, loving eyes.� Surveying the curious mob, he wipes his bloody brow with dirty, wounded hands, and begins to rise and again take hold of his cross.

�� He whispers to himself, "Oh, my God, my father...."

�� "Let them through!" orders one of his Roman escorts.� "Move back there!"

�� Still the crowd persists in its cruel diversion.� The people spit on the three condemned men, throw anything they can lay their hands on, poke them with sticks, kick them as they pass, and tug at their garments.� Still they continue on down the long street.� Slowly....slowly....

�� So many things torture Jesus' soul.� His spirit is shaken in agony and torment.� How can they do this to you, Son of God?� How can they treat you?� But then, they don't understand.

�� "Oh my God...."�

�� His spirit groans, his soul trembles.� He searches the hearts of the crowd.� The strain grows almost unbearable.� He continually falls to the pavement.� So degraded, so downcast, so rejected.� And for whom?� Once one of the soldiers helps out, supporting the cross a moment while the already tortured Jesus struggles back to his feet.� Boos arise from the crowd in protest.

�� Constant threats from the soldiers toward the crowd save the three condemned men from being assaulted.� But this does not keep away the stones which torture the Savior's body nor the shouts which torture his spirit.

�� "Oh, my God, please forgive them."�

�� Jesus' cross once more slips from his trembling hands, this time on his foot.�

�� "Aggghhhh!"

�� Once again he wrenches in pain.� No one is allowed to help him.� So he bends over and agonizingly struggles to roll the beam off his foot.� His back screams in protest.

�� It is off.� Once more his bloody fingers work themselves around the end of the beam until he has his grip.� But he's growing dizzy.� And he feels as though he is slipping into another realm.� Slipping....� slipping....

�� No!� Come back!� Not that way!� You've got work to do yet!� The hardest still awaits you!

�� Think!� Another psalm!� "...afraid...mere man?� Lord on my side...." [11]

�� Jesus regains control of his senses, and gets a grip on his cross, and once again begins to drag it up the street.� But once again it falls out of his useless clutch.� Jesus' cross falls.� Jesus falls.� The weight is too much.

�� "How many times am I going to have to tell you to get up off the street?"

�� Slowly he looks up from the dirty street and sees ahead of him a hill.� He recognizes it.� He will die on it very soon.

�� His head falls again.� Now prostrate, he collapses into the trash on the road.

�� "It's no use, Sir.� He won't be able to make it up the hill ~ not in this condition.� He's going to need help with his cross."

�� "All right!� Who in this crowd is going to carry his cross up the hill?� We'll never get there at this rate."

�� The centurion looks around and notices a man behind the crowd.� It is hard for Simon to hide because of his size.

�� "Hey, you!� Come forward!"

�� The people stand aside and all eyes follow Simon, his head high and fists clinched.� He hadn't wanted to get involved.�

�� "State your name!"

�� "Simon of Cyrene, sir." [12]

�� "I'm recruiting you to carry this man's cross." [13]

�� Okay, Simon.� You feel sorry for Jesus.� You think they're treating him unjustly.� You don't think he should be forced to carry his cross.� What are you going to do about it?

�� He looks down at the man prostrate and broken on the street.� Jesus looks back up at him through swollen eyes.� Simon realizes Jesus may be broken in body, but not in spirit.� Somehow he can tell.

�� "Master," he whispers.�

�� Simon now reaches down his strong arms and lifts the beam.� It is heavy, and roughly hewn.� He is amazed at the strength Jesus must have had to carry or even drag the heavy beam this far.

�� "Get up there!� You have no excuses now!"

�� "At least they got some help for him, Eunice," Naomi tells her friend.

�� "How can he keep going?"� Eunice is crying.� "He's so pitiful."

�� And so the crowd moves slowly out of holy Jerusalem with its mission of death.�

�� Some of his close friends follow, already bewailing him.� Their tears and sobs mingle with merciless shouts and rush to the ears of the victims.�

�� But Jesus continues to weaken as he walks.� Exhaustion.� So much blood lost.� So much sight lost.�

�� And his wounds.� Festering.� Infection spreading.� Swelling.� Tightness.� Loss of strength.

�� Stay alive, Jesus!� Stay alive!� You must stay alive long enough for them to pierce you and kill you!� Stay alive!

�� Get your mind off of it, Jesus.� Try to think of something else.� Be strong for someone else.��

�� Jesus looks from one face to another.� The tears, the heavy hearts, the souls.� So sad.� So lost.� Wailing.� Crying.� Especially the women. [14]

�� They go to all the synagogue events.� They can always be depended on.� And funerals.� They're the first to arrive with solace.� They want to help you, Jesus.� What can they do for you?� How they ache for you.� All of them, including Naomi and Eunice.�

�� He stops.� His swollen lips part.� He can hardly talk.� But he does.�

�� "Daughters of Jerusalem...."� A soldier pushes him forward.� He stumbles but continues to speak brokenly as he goes.

�� "Don't cry for me."� His lips sting.� "Instead cry for yourselves and for your children...."

�� What does he say?� Don't cry for him?� But look what those barbarians are doing to you.� You're no longer thinking straight.

�� "....things seem peaceful for you today."� He tries to swallow.� They can hardly understand him.� "But your own time of persecution is coming."

�� His words are slurred, but understandable to those close by.� His mouth thickened with swelling, he strains to speak.� "You're going to be gr....� gr.... grateful if you don't have any.... any....� any child...ren."� He holds out bloody hands to the crowd.� "You'll....� you'll.... be sep...arated from them.... and, and you'll be....you'll be....lead to your own tor....� torture and execution."�

�� Oh, not us.� We belong to the synagogue.� We know our religious leaders are persecuting you.� But they won't persecute us.� We're safe.

�� Jesus trips and stumbles forward.� "Maybe even....� Maybe even your.... your children too."

�� What's he talking about?� Is he delirious?

�� He looks into their eyes as he passes ~ all so confused, so anxious, so....

�� "You'll beg the mount.... mountains..." he continues between gasps, "to fall on you....and....and hide you."

�� What terrible thing is he foretelling?

�� Ladies, how deep does your religiosity go?� Deeper than� synagogue socials and weddings and funerals?� How much of God's Word do you know?� Enough to comfort you when you need it?� Enough that you don't blame God when tragedy hits?

�� One last time.� He must get his message across.� Time is fast running out.

�� His vision is dimmed with tears.� "If this....� If this....is the way they treat one who so....� so.... sees God, what will hap....� hap....� happen to you with your sh.... shallow faith?" [15]

�� See here, Jesus.� We know you're in a lot of pain.� But you don't have to take it out on us.� Aren't we at synagogue every time the doors are open?� Don't we organize dinners and benevolence and welcome committees?� Didn't we help cut palm branches for everyone to wave at your parade a few days ago?� We're dedicated to God.

�� Jesus says no more.� So many are missing it.� He will not try to explain any more to them.� He cannot.� His voice, his legs, his eyes are so weakened. [16]�

�� Troubled clouds move restlessly overhead, rolling about, bumping confusingly into each other.� A strangely sad sun filters onto the crowd as it starts up the hill.�

�� Jesus once more falls to the ground.� The hill is too steep.�

�� Simon, too, stops.� He lets the beam down a moment to rest.� At the same time, he watches Jesus' every movement.� Where is he getting the strength?�

�� "Oh, Jesus...." he whispers, "you'll never make it."

�� Try, Jesus!� Try!� Satan's talking through that good man. Don't listen, Jesus. You still have work to do.

�� Struggling with unbelievable courage, Jesus manages to get up once more.� He gasps for breath, and takes a few more steps.� How can he keep going?

�� But once again he is on the ground.� Someone from the crowd steps forward to help.

�� "No!� Leave him alone!" shouts a soldier.

�� "Oh, Jesus," Naomi utters softly.� "No man deserves to be treated like that."

�� Eunice gets out a handkerchief for her friend.� Their tears of sympathy flow freely.

�� "Oh, Jesus.� Poor, poor Jesus."

�� With every weakened muscle, with every pain-embroiled nerve, with every ounce of tenacity Jesus pulls himself back to his feet and takes still a few more steps.

�� Just a few more horrible hours, just as few more torturing steps, and it will be over.� One step....now another....and another....and another.� But again he stops, his head swirling with the black foreknowledge of his coming pain.

�� Once more Simon stops behind Jesus.� Simon now knows he is in the presence of someone who seems to be drawing strength from somewhere outside of his body.� His eyes never leave Jesus.� He hadn't wanted to get involved.

�� "If I could just help you more," he whispers.

�� "Oh, Jesus," Eunice cries out.� "Why did you let them do this to you?"

�� Eunice and Naomi cling to each other in mutual comfort as they watch an already broken man be tortured to death.

�� "Get going there!"

�� But Jesus cannot.� He looks up.� He strains.� But nothing happens.� He can force his legs to move no further.

�� "Sir, he'll never make it."

�� "Well, he's got to live long enough to be crucified.� If we don't carry out the sentence, we'll be executed ourselves.� All right, you and you, pick him up and carry him!"

�� Two soldiers walk forward, yank Jesus up by his bloody arms, then throw them over their shoulders.� They proceed up the hill, but his feet are dragging and holding them back.� They stop.� Still holding his arms over their shoulders, they clasp hands to form a makeshift seat.� They carry Jesus the rest of the way up the hill and to his doom. [17]

�� Finally, having reached the crest of the hill, Simon lets loose of his Master's cross and it falls to the ground.� One end strikes a rock.

�� "You fool!� You want to crack the thing?� We'd have to wait around another hour while they prepared another one.� Here you!� Jesus!� Get down on that beam where you belong!"

�� Simon stands back to get out of the way.� As he does, his head swims and he is plunged into confusion.� Simon had thought he had all the time in the world to meet Jesus personally.� But time is gone.� Jesus is about to die.� It could have been Simon.� Either way, he would have been out of time.

�� "I would rescue you from all this if I could, Jesus," he thinks, strangely hoping Jesus can hear him.� "But there are too many of them.� Still, somehow, I think you're going to outwit them.� Somehow.� I don't know how.� But I'll be here when you do." [18]

LIFE APPLICATION

1.�� Think of a time when you were just minding your own business, then suddenly you were thrust into some good cause that you had not planned to be part of.� Were you glad later that you didn't just mind your own business afterward?�

2.�� There are good works to be done all the time.� We often condemn churches for not doing enough good works.� But what are we doing personally?� The church is made up of individuals.� What good work that you think churches should do will you start now doing personally?

3.�� It is easy to blame leaders when things go wrong.� But leaders must have followers in order to lead.� Followers are sometimes fickle, going with whoever they think will "win."� Have you ever followed something you did not like and later wished you had refused to follow?� If anything similar happens again, what will you do to get out of following?�

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