A CROSS IN MY BELLY
A Monologue of Simon of Cyrene
Introduction
There are several Simons in the New Testament. Two of them were called by Jesus to be His disciples. One was Simon Peter and the other one was Simon the Zealot. One of Jesus’ half-brothers, son of both Mary and Joseph, was named Simon. Then there was Simon the Pharisee, at whose house Jesus ate. There was also Simon, the grumpy judge on American Idol. No wait. I meant to say, Simon, brother of Alvin the chipmunk. No wait, not that either… Just kidding. Today we are looking at another Simon - Simon of Cyrene.
Listen as I read Mark 15:21-24 “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. They brought Jesus to the place called Golgotha (which means “the place of the skull”). Then they offered him wine mixed with myrrh, but he did not take it. And they crucified him. Dividing up his clothes, they cast lots to see what each would get.”
Cyrene is a city (now Tripoli) in Upper Libya, North Africa, founded by a colony of Greeks around B.C. 630. There was a fairly large number of Jews living there.
So let’s use our imagination this morning and visualize Simon of Cyrene coming to talk to us. Oh, by the way, you might want to use an extra bit of imagination to help you visualize our guest a good bit darker in his skin tone – since he was a Jew living in arid Africa.
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Monologue
I had dreamed of that day all my life. My friend Reuben and I had talked as boys of someday going to Jerusalem. For those of us of Hebrew heritage, it was the most important place in the world. It was where Abraham almost sacrificed his only son Isaac. It was the city that King David made his capital. It was where Solomon built the first Temple. It was the place where Jeremiah and Isaiah prophesied and Nehemiah had rebuilt the Wall. And I wanted to see the new temple. “Herod’s Temple” is what they called it because King Herod had expanded and remodeled the old temple. It was the most endearing structure in the world for all the descendants of Abraham.
But I didn’t just dream of going to Jerusalem, but to be there during its grandest time, Passover! Those who live within close enough proximity make the journey every year. For others, like myself, it was a dream just to get there once in a lifetime.
Ever since I was a boy, my family observed Passover. When I was the youngest at the dinner table, I would ask the opening questions beginning with: “What makes this night different than all others”. And each year I would be mesmerized at the story of how God used Moses and ten plaques to melt Pharaoh’s heart to the point that he would let the Hebrew slaves go. I would get a chill down my spine when they told the story about the Passover Lamb whose blood was placed on each family’s door, requiring that the death angel pass over that home. And as we completed each year’s Passover observance we would all declare “Next year in Jerusalem”.
And every year those words seemed so empty, with no real means to become a reality. After all, it would require a journey of over 800 miles just to get there. It would take well over a month to walk that distance [not to mention the trip home], and an enormous amount of funds for such a pilgrimage. But I was determined to see it and participate in it someday. It was my dream.
Poor farmers were all we were, yet I started saving a little bit every time money came into my hands. It was slow to accumulate enough money but over the years it did mount up. I had hoped to take the whole family but when I felt like we had enough and could afford to be away from work that long - my wife was pregnant with our third child. She insisted that I take our two sons and travel without her. It had been the dream of both of us, but she was persistent, and you know how persuasive wives can be.
Reuben chose to accompany us and since he was not married he could help with the boys. Cyrene was located along the coast of the Mediterranean Sea. One of my relatives knew a man who knew a man – well you know how that goes. Anyway we were able to book passage on a sailing ship at a much reduced rate. That was sure better than taking the land route around the sea. We would sail to Joppa, along the Palestinian Coast. Joppa is best known as the port Jonah had sailed from before being swallowed by a great fish. I could not escape the irony that Jonah left Joppa running way from God. And we, on the other hand, were sailing to Joppa in order to experience God in a meaningful way. From there we could walk the 35 miles or so to Jerusalem.
After stopping in several ports to load and unload cargo and passengers, the day finally came when the ship docked in Joppa and we began the walk to the Holy City. It was about noon of the day before Passover when we first got a glimpse of the Holy City. And it was magnificent! The walls were thick and formidable. But most impressive was the temple. It was so big. It dominated the entire city. Indeed the gold was glistening in the morning sun.
We covered the last mile or two as fast as the little legs of my youngest could make it. The closer we got to the city, the more crowded the road became. Finding lodging once we arrived was more difficult than I could have ever imagined and a whole lot more expensive than I had bargained for. But a lifetime dream was now being realized and I couldn’t let the highway robbery of the inn keeper ruin our once-in-a-lifetime experience. So we paid the fare.
We had a few hours before sundown to make a quick tour of the city. It gave Rueben and I an opportunity to teach my sons about our people and our faith. We were surprised to hear so many talking about a possible Messiah who had come to town for the Passover. Certainly it couldn’t be true – I mean our people had been looking for the Messiah for hundreds of years. Whoever this person was, to show up all of a sudden and proclaim He was the Messiah, was a bit much for me to believe. No, our Messiah had to be a mighty warrior and I wasn’t impressed with the things we heard about this fellow. He was just an itinerant Rabbi or something like that. It certainly would make for some interesting talk when we got home.
Our walk from Joppa and the fast tour of the city found us very tired and heading for bed early. Reuben and I got the boys up with the sun. We wanted to purchase our Passover lamb before the crowds were too thick. No sooner was that accomplished then we noticed some kind of processional moving through the streets below away from the temple area. Since this probably would be our one and only visit to Jerusalem, we hurried off to see if we could catch up with the crowd – we wanted to take in all the pageantry. We had to push our way through masses of people to get a better look. My stomach was not prepared for what my eyes would see. There were three men carrying the full weight of huge beams of wood struggling down the road. Several Roman soldiers carrying whips were pushing them along. It began to dawn on me that what I was watching was a death march and the three men carrying the beams of wood were going to be crucified.
We knew better than to get involved with local problems, yet curiosity got the best of us and we ventured closer to the processional. The anger of the crowd was intense. Most of the shouts of the crowd were directed primarily at the second of the three men. Someone in front of this one was carrying a sign that read: “Jesus of Nazareth, King of the Jews”. As the man with the cross beam struggled toward us I noticed what looked like a woven band of thorns shoved down on his head like a cruel joke for a crown. He looked exhausted, staggering under the weight of the beam.
Reuben turned to an old man standing by and inquired. “Who is this one for whom there is such a cry for blood?” He replied, “Have you not heard of the prophet from Nazareth named Jesus? Today it is He that is being crucified.” Reuben then asked him, “If He really is a prophet, for what crimes is He being crucified?” The old man’s head dropped and with sorrow in his voice he said, “This man has committed no crimes, neither does He deserve this treatment. But the religious leaders considered Him a threat because He said He was Messiah, the Promised Anointed one sent from God.”
Suddenly I felt a gruff hand grab me by the sleeve. A soldier pulled me into the road and said, “You carry His cross”. I looked down to see that this bloodied and so-called Messiah had fallen under the weight of the wood. But I hesitated, because to touch that bloody cross would make me unclean. And if I was “unclean” I could not observe the Passover as planned. And if I carried it through the streets, the people would assume that I was the criminal. YET I knew that I had not received a request but an order. So I knelt down and lifted the cross and I was prodded from behind with a sword. I did look to Reuben and say, “Watch my boys” and to my sons I got out a “Watch the lamb fellows”. But a lash from a whip ended that conversation. It was ironic that in just a moment I went from being at the one place in the world that I wanted to be more than anywhere else, to wanting to be anywhere else other than where I was.
Under my breath I cursed the man who had stumbled – who was the reason for the predicament I found myself in. I cursed all the people yelling in our direction and for the spit that occasionally found my head as a stopping point. The soldiers received a good bit of my whispered raging as well. And the weight of the cross, as I struggled to keep moving forward, just about did me in. Anger was all around me and anger was boiling up inside my belly. Something was about to explode.
As I struggled up the hill with the cross, the real criminal’s blood mingled with my sweat as He walked beside me. At one point I looked over to see this condemned man staring right back at me. That one glance began a dramatic change inside of me. His expression was not of anger or even remorse, but it was a look of gratitude – more than gratitude – it was a look of compassion. I quickly remembered the old man’s words and wondered, “Is this man innocent? Could He truly be the Messiah, sent from God?”
When we finally reached the top the soldiers told me to drop the cross and leave. Well, I did the first, but not the second. I couldn’t leave. So I watched from a distance. I watched the rough nails being driven into the hands. I watched the cross beam with the man attached to it raised up between heaven and earth and watched Him jerk as they dropped it on the standing vertical beam already in the ground. Then I watched as they nailed His feet to that standing beam. I heard the mocking crowd, including many finely dressed men some of whom were wearing priestly vestures, yelling and railing at Him.
If His look of love began an amazing work in me, the words He continued to whisper out sort of sealed the deal for me. He kept saying, with every new atrocity they would bring His way, “Father forgive them”, “Father forgive him”, “Father forgive her”, “They do not know what they are doing”.
I knew those were not the words of a criminal. Those were words only a man from God could utter. And sometime while I was taking in all that was unfolding before me my mind was suddenly filled with the realization that the man above me was more than a man. He was undoubtedly the Messiah. It was then that I felt a tiny hand grab mine. Then another tiny hand grabbed mine on the other side. Their eyes were red from crying. So I bent down and asked what was wrong. Alexander, my oldest, looked like he wanted to say something but nothing was coming out. Then Rufus blurted out, “We’re sorry daddy, you told us to watch the lamb, but we were watching you carry that wood and then we were watching those men being nailed to the wood, and we let loose of the lamb. Please daddy, please forgive us, we’re sorry but the lamb ran away.”
I was kneeling down with my children within the shadow of Jesus’ cross. And another amazing thought flooded my mind. Where were these ideas coming from? I wasn’t capable of figuring these things out on my own. It had to be God who opened my eyes and understanding. But it became clear to me that the real sacrifice was not the Passover lambs that at that moment were being slain on the temple altar. No, the real sacrifice was the man Jesus, the “Lamb of God” sent by God and slain on the cross before me – the very cross I carried – and now on which He was carrying the sins of the world.
With a hand under each child’s chin I lifted them to look in my face as I said, “I do forgive you. I love you and I forgive you. We don’t need that ole lamb anymore. So you did a good thing by letting it go”. Then I lifted their chins a little bit more and turned them ever so slightly. Then I said, “Alexander…Rufus, the man you see on that cross is more important than all the lambs in the city today. Watch Him, because He is the Lamb of God. He was sent by our God out of love to do what all the lambs in this city could never do – to be sacrificed for all of our misdeeds and wrong doings. Boys, you are watching the greatest event in all of history”
Alexander finally spoke and said, “Daddy your hand is hurting me!” I pulled my hand away from his smooth face and noticed a bit of blood. And there in my hand was a rough splinter. It must have come from His cross as I carried it. And suddenly it was as if an unseen hand lifted my chin and turned it toward the Lamb of God just as I had done with my sons. Jesus was looking straight at the four of us. Then He smiled. He didn’t speak yet suddenly my mind was filled with the following words, “Simon, I have taken your cross for you. And now as you bore this cross up this hill for Me I want you to take my cross back to Cyrene. Let them know what I’ve done on their behalf as well”. When I say my mind was filled, I mean I just couldn’t get away from those words.
Then a tug on my other hand brought me back to our situation. Rufus was asking if that was a splinter in my hand. I looked at both boys and said, “Yes. This is a splinter from His cross.” Then I reached down and painfully pulled it out. “Now boys”, I said, “I was able to pull this part of His cross out of my hand, but there is a part of His cross in here, my belly, that will always be there. And I believe God wants me – in fact all four of us - to tell everyone we know about the Lamb of God and how He was sacrificed on the cross for all of us.”
We never did observe the long anticipated Passover Seder that day commemorating God’s deliverance of our people from slavery and the first-born from death. But we did observe and participate in God’s new Passover up on that hill. The Lamb of God gave His life for me, for my growing family, for Reuben, and for you. But that is only part of the story. We watched Him die, we watched some folks take His body down to bury Him. We just couldn’t pull away from the scene for quite a while.
It was our plans to return home the day after the Sabbath so that we could catch the return boat. The next day we made our way to the temple to observe the Sabbath, but were so angered with the priests as they criticized Jesus and gloated over His death. We just left and had our own private time of prayer up on the hill they call Golgotha. The three posts were still in the ground where two men and our Messiah had died the previous day. There were a few other men and women gathered there as well. Our hearts were torn between deep sadness for a man we had just met and deep joy for the newness that pervaded our bellies.
The morning after the Sabbath, Reuben suggested we trek up the hill one last time before beginning our walk to the coast. The boys weren’t too excited to visit the execution spot again, but I agreed with my friend. We were the only ones there. After a few tearful prayers we turned to go and suddenly there was Jesus. He smiled that wonderful smile and said, “Remember, I’m counting on you to take my cross with you when you leave.” And then He was gone. Reuben and I looked at each other for verification of what we thought we saw was really true. Then Rufus said, “That was Jesus”. And Alexander cried, “Is He really alive daddy?” “Yes my sons”, I said, “That was Jesus. I don’t believe it was a ghost. I really believe that was Him and He is alive. Did you hear what He said to all of us? He wants us to tell other people about His cross and I’m sure He wants us to tell them that He is now alive”.
Now friend let me assure you that just as the death angel passed over the homes of Jews in Egypt so many years ago as they applied the lamb’s blood to their doors. So you too must make a decision. Eternal death awaits you and the only way to avoid that death angel is for you to apply the blood of God’s Passover Lamb to your life. Are you covered by His blood? If you aren’t would you turn to God today by placing your faith in Jesus the One who died for your sins? If you are covered with His blood, would you tell others who do not have the protection of His blood on their lives? When you get His cross in your belly, you have to share it!
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[I took my headdress off, donned my glasses and spoke to the congregation as pastor] Now certainly I have used a great deal of imagination in bringing to you a story we have very little facts to go on. But just as a real Simon carried Jesus cross up that hill, God wants you to experience the reality of that cross for yourself and then to carry it to others. How will you respond to God’s love gift for you? On Resurrection morning Jesus walked from His tomb to verify that what He did for you on the cross was victorious and accepted by God the Father on your behalf. What love! Will you receive that love today? Will you share that love with others?
