Simon

“Will you please go to the market, we need ingredients that I may make bread?”

“You mean we have none left over from Passover, it was just last night?”

“If we had anything left, would I be sending you to the market?  Now please go…”

The woman hurried about the house gathering and cleaning as the man prepares himself for a trip to the market.  The sun was breaking through the clouds as if playing hide and seek with the people gathered in the streets.  As the man prepares for his trip, bells toll.  He makes eye contact with his wife, both confused by the sound of bell.    

The road vacant only dust followed the man as he walked toward the marketplace.  Lost in his thoughts, the man never noticed two men run past him with the sound of a second tolling of the bells.  For reasons unbeknownst to himself, the man began to hasten his step.  As he neared the city he saw groups of people gathered in the square, some shouting and waving their arms as if they were angry; as if there were rioting among the crowd.  Intrigued yet somewhat frightened, the man swiftly walks toward the commotion.  Gathered in the square are hundreds of people most yelling hurtful words, mocking someone walking in the streets.  He pushes his way closer to the street, through the crowd where the taunting is ear piercing and horrifying.  Cheers and jeers much louder, something must be happing yet he just cannot see; though straining to see above the crowd, he is still left befuddled.  More cheers and now laughter; his curiosity peeked for his initial instinct of fear diminished for the intensity of the crowd invigorates his spirit and he quickly finds himself willing participant of this horrific scene.  He yells, he laughs, he perniciously screams at an innocent stranger.  The guards get closer and the man pushes his way to the front of the crowd with the intention to further ridicule this unknown stranger.  As the guards get closer, their Galeas reflect the light from the sun almost blinding the intense spectators.  With each crack of the whip there is a loud cheer and; with each crack of the whip, blood splatters onto the crowd.  Sweat pours from the brows of the Roman guards and their exhaustion is felt with each step for as they lumbered along, anger their motivation and hatred their beacon, their voice and whip their outlet of such intense feelings.  The man must have fallen for the guards have stopped and they begin to yell, with frustration in their voice, they begin to whip the man while on the ground out of complete surrender to enervate energies seemingly forcing their hand.  It is with this beating that the crowd goes wild, they cheer as if tossed free items in a parade.  The man, too, cheers and loudly for the emotions of the crowd are contagious.  Movement in the streets and the man things to himself he says, “Finally, I will get to see this criminal, see him for what he is…a menace to our way of life.”  The excitement within him builds, anticipation mocks him with yet another pause in the procession.  This time there seems to be silence, the crowd speaks no word and a heaviness is felt.  Someone seems to be crying.  The moment seemed to last forever and the man is left with only his thoughts, “Could this be?  Could someone cry for this man?  Wasn’t this a cruel man, being given his due?  Why would anyone cry for a man such as him, a criminal?”  The sun blazing, the heat oppressive and the man visibly uncomfortable, impatiently waiting for this criminal to pass; anxiety overtakes his body and he finds himself covered in sweat looking fretfully for the procession to continue.  Ahh, the now familiar sound of cheers, the process back underway.  Finally, he would get to see the criminal and show his distain for him by acting as the crowd and spit upon him.  Yes, his time is coming, he is getting close.  Anticipation building…there, there he is…suddenly a blinding light and the man covers his eyes for protection, the Galeas the cause of his blinding and he thinks, “No, this can’t be, I must see him, I must see the awfulness of this man, I have waited and it is only fair that I see him.”  As his mind races, a hand grips his wrist and he feels himself being pulled forward.  Though he does not know what is going on and still blinded by the light, he does not resist and he hears the crowd boo.  When he is able to open his eyes, he finds himself in the middle of the street with the soldiers forcing a huge wooden cross upon him.  The crowd spits upon him, the yell horrid things at HIM, “Me?  Why are you yelling at me?  I have done nothing wrong.  I am innocent.”  Yet the shouting and mocking continues.  As the wooden beams are placed upon his shoulders, the man pauses and gazes at the criminal.  His characteristics are difficult to surmise as he is covered in blood and sweat.  Lesions dripping with blood, some starting to scab over cover his body, even his brow bleeds.  Their eyes meet for but a moment and in that moment, the anxiety, the fear, the trepidation the man felt when handed the cross and hearing the crowd dissipate.  The eyes of the criminal show no signs of evil, no signs of hatred or anger; they only show love and compassion.  It was this look of compassion from this perfect stranger that strengthened the man that he may carry this heavy wooden cross.  He carried the cross for what seemed like eternity and the criminal walked to the side of the man encouraging him with a simple look.  The crowd now directing their hatred toward this man; their words directly piercing his heart for the hatred in the stale air could be cut with a knife.  The man walks, the weight of the cross intense and his legs begin to buckle.  The guards quickly pull him from the cross so as not to make the criminal look super human for this man has only taken10 steps and cannot withstand weight of the cross and the criminal now processing for at least an hour.  The man shoved back into the crowd; but before he goes, he again makes eye contact with the criminal.  His eyes say thank you and the man nods in response.  With that the criminal is handed his cross and continues to process along the streets.  The haunting cheers resume.  The man pushed into the crowd who begins to manhandle him, some beat upon him and yell, “You traitor, you helped this criminal…what, are you are friend of his?”  The blows continue as do the insults until the man can break free and run for safety.  No one follows for the are more interested in watching the innocent criminal suffer.

The man had been running for a while and finds himself alone on a vacant street.  It is here that the man collapses.  Pain, fear, humiliation these emotions run through his mind and then he looks down, he is covered in blood.  He begins to panic but then realizes that it is not his blood, for moment this is settling then he lets out a loud scream.  Shaking he attempts to wipe the blood from his tunic, without success he begins to sob.  The events of the day replay in his mind and he finds his sobs louder and less controllable.  “The criminal, the man, his eyes, his eyes…with all the hatred that surrounded him, with all the painful beatings, with the weight of that cross, his eyes spoke only of love and compassion.  Why?  How?  Why was he not angry?  Why was he not filled with hatred?  I felt love, I felt gratitude, I felt strength but strength like I have never known, inner strength with came not from my own being.  Who was that man?  Why was the attitude of the crowd so contagious?  I felt hatred for this man yet I knew him not. I yelled hurtful words though I met him not.”  The chanting, ‘Crucify him, crucify him’ echoes in his being.  Partaking in such a day will forever change this man as he sits on the ground tears still stream from his face.  Struggling with his mind and heart the man continues  to banter with himself.

The sky darkens, ominous clouds cover the village and finally the man stands to ready himself for his journey home.  The route home looks different and as the man walks he begins a conversation with God.  The look in the criminal’s eyes will never be erased from his memory and each time he remembers he feels love.  Oddly enough, among the hatred, among the mocking, he felt love.  And he speaks to God about love, “What is love, God?  Love?  I live on this land, I work, I do what is necessary for the survival of my family and still have never encountered love such as today.  Love among beatings, love among a bloodied body, love God, love.  I know not my purpose in the events of the day but I know I was given a gift today, a gift of love.  Please help me to bring this love to others for the only explanation of such love is you.”  The man made his way home and upon entering the door found his wife still hurried among the house.  She immediately comments on his disheveled look and questions about the the whereabouts of the yeast.  No sound does he make.  He walks over to her and hugs her.  With tears streaming down his cheeks he said only, “I love you”.  No bread was made that night but a meal was had with family.  The gathered, the spoke, they felt love.

Time passed and the man still haunted by moments, by glimpses of the past, sounds of the whip, shouts from the crowd.  Covered in sweat, the man awakens…only a dream, was this only a dream?  Then he looks to the marking above his door, there, engraved in stone the scene from the hill of Golgotha that fretful day, three crosses, the one in the middle bigger than the two on its sides, underneath, also inscribed, the word love.  No, the events real, the fear, the humiliation all real but so, too, love was real.  “Love, I am to be the love this man could no longer spread.  I will be this love.  And each time my mind tells me these events were not real, all I need do is look to the engraving for I will remember, clearly, the weight of that cross and how this stranger looked at me and strengthened me with love.  The cross the symbol of his love for only love could move the weight of that cross, only love could allow one to endure the pain of that wood, to undergo the pain of the whips and the cruelty of the crowds.  Love, the only saving grace of that horrid day.  Love my purpose, love my charge.  I will follow His steps for though His demise cruel and violent, love withstanding, love His purpose.” He turns over in his bed, looks to the heavens says, “Thank you” and holds his wife closer and whispers, “I love you.”