Clergy/Leaders’ Mail-list No. 3-072 (Devotional)

SIMON RECALLS THE CROSS

by Roy W. Johnsen

My name is Simon. I come from Cyrene in Africa, and I shall never forget that day in Jerusalem. Years have past since then but I can still picture those events in my mind as though it were yesterday. Allow me to share my experience with you

I am a Jew, and, along with every other Jew, my life-long goal was to go, at least once in my life, to Jerusalem and there eat my Passover meal. I tightened my financial belt. For years I scraped and saved, and finally I had enough money for the journey. I made preparations, set out on my trip, and finally arrived at the Holy City.

I must confess, I did not know what to expect. However, one thing was for certain. I knew this would be one of the religious highpoints of my life. To be sure, I did not know just how transforming my experience was going to be. Jerusalem was in an uproar. Everywhere I went, people were talking about Jesus.

Some spoke of Him as a highly controversial figure. Some expressed their opinions that He was a political revolutionary. Some spoke of Him as just another religious fanatic. And a few simply stated their personal contacts with Him. I overheard one man in particular who said he was not sure what to make of Jesus. He only knew that before he met Him, he was blind, and then, when Jesus touched him, he was able to see. Jesus, Jesus, Jesus. All Jerusalem was buzzing with conversation about Him. People were for Him or against Him. Everyone seemed to have strong feelings.

I heard of His trials, first by the Jewish leaders, and then by Pilate himself. I learned that He had been condemned to death by crucifixion, but I never dreamed that I would be involved.

I was standing along side of the road, along with the many others, I could plainly see the procession: A hollow square of four soldiers came marching down the street. In the middle of the square was Jesus, carrying the heavy cross. In front of that group was another soldier, who carried a sign made of a board, stating the crime of which Jesus was guilty. The sign read: ‘He calls Himself the King of the Jews.’ This procession took the longest route to the place of crucifixion, winding back and forth down every side street, so that as many as possible could see what happens to troublemakers.

The procession approached my location. I could plainly see that Jesus was collapsing under the weight of that load. There were signs of pain in His face, and blood showed through the clothing on His back. I thought to myself, ‘I don’t believe he will make it to that hill called Golgotha,’ for that was the place of execution.

I looked up when they were directly in front of me. To my shock and great dismay, I saw the flat of the spear of the one soldier come down toward my shoulder. It touched me. I was doomed. This was the mark of impressment. Right on the spot, I was selected to carry the cross for Jesus, and there was nothing I could say or do about the matter. I was filled with bitter resentment; I was angry with the Roman government; I was angry with Jesus for getting Himself into such a mess, and thus inconveniencing and humiliating me in front of that large group of onlookers. Initially, I thought I would fling that cross down on Golgotha, and make my exit as quickly as possible. I wanted out.

But I continued. And just being that close to Jesus caused something to grab a hold of my entire being. We got to the hill and I could not leave. I felt an inner compulsion to linger near the cross. Call it fascination; call it curiosity; call it whatever you choose. Something grabbed a hold of me.

The cross was laid flat on the ground. Jesus was stretched upon it and His hands were nailed to it. I will never forget the sound of the nails piercing His hands and penetrating the wood, blow by blow. No other sound could be heard except the thuds and the cries. His legs were loosely bound with rope. Between His legs there was a ledge of wood called the saddle, to support His weight when the cross was lifted upright. This saddle prevented the nails from tearing through the flesh in Jesus’ hands. They lifted the cross up, and set it forcefully in the hole prepared to receive it.

And there, Jesus was left to die between the two other criminals. I learned that some of the prisoners would hang for as much as a week before dying on the cross from a variety of reasons – hunger, thirst, pain. His death took only a few hours.

There was on act of kindness. A few pious and merciful women came to every crucifixion, offering the criminals a drink of wine mixed with myrrh, to ease the terrible pain. Jesus refused the drink. He remained undrugged, fully bearing the pain and the agony to the cruel end. He was resolved to taste death at its bitterest and to go to God with open eyes.

Off to the side, the soldiers distributed His clothes among themselves, tossing dice to see who would get which pieces. Imagine, they were insensitive to His pain and suffering, only concerned to get the modest spoils of His few garments.

And somehow, it did not seem fitting for Him to be crucified with those two thieves. For, as I walked with Him, I became convinced of His goodness. He was not like one of them. He was filled with pain, yet filled with love. And that love touched me. And I have never been the same.

I came to Jerusalem to eat the Passover, remembering God’s deliverance of His people from Egypt. I learned that this Jesus was the Deliverer of the entire world, God’s Messiah. I discovered Him as my deliverer. I realized that He was on the cross in my stead; He was dying for my sin. Indeed, I learned that it was fitting for Him to be crucified with sinners, for it was for sinners that He died. I grew to believe in Him, to thank Him for His great love. And His love continues to fill my life. I thank Him, I love Him, and I take joy to share the story of His love with you. At first, I was compelled to carry the cross, but now I would gladly carry it, for He is my Lord and my Savior.

After that life-changing trip to Jerusalem, I returned home. Life for me would never be the same again. When I arrived home, my wife immediately noticed the difference in me, and wondered what had happened to me. I told her of my incredible experience with Jesus, elaborating upon the details, which I have also shared with you. How blessed I am! She, too, believed in Jesus as her Lord and Savior. The Lord used her to minister His love and support to Paul, the great missionary and Apostle. Paul even came to affectionately call her ‘Mother’.

Our faith transformed our home and our family. I even had the joy and honor of witnessing to my sons, Alexander and Rufus, about the Savior, and they, too, became strong Christians, and leaders in the Church. Praise the Lord! My entire family is now believers! God is good!

Dear friends, what Jesus has done for me, He will surely do for you. While we were still sinners, He died for us. And through Him you, too, can be forgiven of your sins and made right with God. Call on the name of Jesus today.

– Roy W. Johnsen <>