Reflections Holy Week: Holy Monday - Rufus and Alexander, the sons of Simon of Cyrene

 

Monday: Rufus and Alexander, the sons of Simon of Cyrene

‘After mocking [Jesus, the soldiers] stripped him of the purple cloak and put his own clothes on him. Then they led him out to crucify him. They compelled a passer-by, who was coming in from the country, to carry his cross; it was Simon of Cyrene, the father of Alexander and Rufus. Then they brought Jesus to the place called Golgotha (which means the place of a skull). 

[Mark 15.20-22]

 

We were there of course; the whole family was, it was the trip of a lifetime for us, a chance to see the Holy City. (We were of Jewish heritage, though we’d long moved to the Greek provinces, and then the Imperia Capital Rome, as my father’s family’s business had grown.) But in that moment everything changed as he was dragged out of the crowd to carry the Messiahs cross.

 

Of course, we followed dad, or Simon was you’ll know him. He knew where we were staying, had the money in his belt, we’d have been lost without him, (Peter is very good at remembering names, and John Mark at recording them.) So, we saw it all: the windswept hill; the crucifixion; the screaming women; the forlorn looking man; the mocking soldiers. But what caught our attention most of all was the dignity of the man himself, of Jesus. He was the still rock in the middle of the swirling maelstrom of action. Even as they crucified him his words seemed dignified ‘Father forgive them’.

 

Our mum wanted to drag us away when they picked up the nails and hammer. (‘Not something children should see!’ she said.) But something made her stop, and so we stayed until the end when the men came to take the body away. The sun was beginning to set by that point, and we needed to rush to get back to where we were staying, we didn’t want to break the Sabbath rules.

 

But from that moment something had shifted for us, something had changed. We didn’t go home when we intended, something kept us in the city until the Feast of Weeks, or Pentecost we now call it, and we were there when Peter came to the window to preach to the crowd. Now we’re awaiting our own calvary along with the other members of our little house church, John Mark amongst them, and oddly enough Simon Peter. (Last night they both laughed with us that they’d made sure to mention us in the story he was writing, along with our dad, wanted people to remember us I guess.)  The laughter that comment raised helped lift our spirits from the thought of tomorrow’s execution. However, we knew that in the morning, like the penitent bandit we will be with our Lord in paradise.