Gathered at the Cross: Simon of Cyrene

This is part of our Lenten midweek sermon series that will examine those who were present at the crucifixion of Jesus.

Text: 2 Cor. 4:16-18, Rom. 5:1-5, Luke 23:26-33

In the name of the Father and of the Son and of the Holy Spirit. Amen.

            There’s being in the wrong place at the wrong time, and then there’s Simon of Cyrene. We don’t know much about this man who manages to get mentioned in three of the four gospels, but we do know that he’s given a monumental task that no one would ever want to be given. He was a man from the wealthy city of Cyrene, near the northern coast of Africa, in modern day Libya, just west of Egypt. Cyrene was known for growing silphium, a now extinct plant that had extravagant use as medicine in the ancient world, until it was harvested right into oblivion because it was so highly demanded. While it was a Greek colony built for trade, Cyrene had a large Jewish population who observed the high holy days and who had the means to travel to Jerusalem to celebrate those festivals. Simon was one of those who was able to come to Jerusalem for the Passover—he just chose the wrong year to celebrate it there and happened to be standing in the wrong place at the wrong moment.

            We can imagine Simon of Cyrene’s bewilderment as he saw the procession out from Governor Pontius Pilate’s headquarters. There trudged along a man beaten and bloodied almost beyond recognition, having been torn up by the whips of the Roman torturers, punched repeatedly by the Sanhedrin’s guards, a crown of thorns stabbed into his brow, blood freely flowing down his face. On His back He carried a large wooden cross—insult to injury, being forced to carry the means of His own impending execution up the hill called Golgotha, the place of a skull. He stumbles, collapsing from blood loss and exhaustion of not being able to sleep between all the changes of trial venues and merciless beatings. The Roman soldiers overseeing this death march look around and spot Simon. They threaten him with violence if he doesn’t step in and carry this cross for this condemned man. They’re not going to drag it up the hill, and they’re well within the laws of the Roman Empire—anyone under Rome’s rule can be compelled to carry soldiers’ equipment for a mile. Imagine the shock Simon undergoes when he has to hoist the weight of the cross onto his own shoulders and back, when he had come here to visit the temple, to eat the Passover and celebrate Israel’s rescue from Egypt so long ago. Imagine the pain building in his muscles as he carries that cross, the burn of the strain, the splinters, the collateral splash of insults and rage hurled at this man condemned to death. Against his own will, against his own desires or plans, Simon of Cyrene is pulled into the pathway to Jesus’ cross—confused, hurting, and scared.

            Fifteen centuries later, Martin Luther would be asked a question by some bewildered believers during the Reformation, “How can a poor confused person tell where Christian holy people are to be found in this world?” There were several answers that were being given by the opponents of the Reformation. Some said that whichever church body seemed to be the oldest, or looked the purest, or had the most worldly success, or was the most powerful must be the true Church. But Luther didn’t look to those outward things. He goes a different direction. He pointed to the presence of God’s Word, the Sacraments that Christ left for His Church, the preaching office, and—perhaps surprisingly—he said that suffering was a true mark of the true Church. “The holy Christian people are externally recognized by the possession of the sacred cross. They must endure every misfortune and persecution, all kinds of trials and evil from the devil, the world, and the flesh.” If Jesus Himself carried and endured the cross, those who follow after Him—literally in the case of Simon of Cyrene, and figuratively for us believers now—those who follow after Him can expect a similar cross.

            We will bear the cross in this life. It’s a given. No disciple is greater than his master, so if our Master has walked this way of the cross, we can expect to as well. If we say that we follow Jesus, we will walk in His footsteps. That means that the cross will be laid on us as well. It may be different for different people. Differing temptations, different struggles, varying forms of persecution, whispers from the evil one and shouts from our fallen nature that will appeal to those parts of us that are unique to our own personalities and characteristics—but it will be the cross all the same. It can—and will—be shocking, confusing, and leave us wondering what’s happening. It will make us ask why this is falling on us. It might seem like a cruel twist of chance, being in the wrong place at the wrong time, or just unlucky, or someone else’s fault, or completely meaningless. But it is the cross. It’s Jesus’ cross, set on our backs. We are to carry it, as surely as Simon of Cyrene did.

            Crosses are not simple decorations or mere symbols. We can sometimes forget that they are methods of execution. They’re built to kill. And so when we wonder why we have a cross to carry in our lives, we would do well to remember their purpose: the cross is given to kill—to kill our fallen sinful natures, to kill our false idols, to kill sin. But it’s not meant to leave us dead. The cross laid on Simon of Cyrene was not meant to just kill him and leave them there in the streets outside Jerusalem. Rather, the purpose of the cross is slay anything and everything that would separate us from Jesus. It’s meant to clear out anything that would steal our faith in Him and what He alone can give us. It’s meant to cast down all idols; anything that we fear, love, or trust more than God. The cross strips away all other false little messiahs, it shows them to be weak and incapable of saving us in the long run, for eternity, or even for this mortal life. The cross is meant to leave us with Jesus and Jesus alone.

            Christian suffering is not like the world’s suffering. The world’s suffering often is meaningless, pointless, the result of living in a fallen creation that can’t—and doesn’t even necessarily want—to save itself. But suffering for those who are under Jesus’ cross, for those who have faith in Him, it does have value. Our Lord’s cross transforms and transmutes our suffering into a flame that refines and purifies faith so that it looks only to Jesus for salvation. The cross reminds us that it’s not all random or pointless, that there is more waiting for us after Golgotha, after death. The cross reminds us that those who walk in the Lord’s footsteps to the cross will also walk His paths to resurrection and life. That is what Jesus ultimately has for us who share His cross. We will also share His never-ending life. In the name of Jesus, the Crucified One. Amen.