To stand in his presence the way I did was simply gratifying and mesmerizing at the same time. Why did it take me so long to get here? I reminisced of my past, all the wrong decisions and the paths taken. I can see myself going too far down a road; a point of no return. Why did it take me so long to get to this place? An atmosphere of peace and joy filled me like an overflow of water from a glass cup. A cold shiver ran down my spine in response to the lifting of my heavy burdens. I stretch out my arms in submittance, in saying “I surrender all to you.” I longed for his touch and his embrace; the touch of true divinity it seemed. I smelt the aroma of sweet perfume emanating from origins unknown. Basking in all of his glory, his signs, miracles and wonders, I wanted it all. It was as if he inhabited the praises of all these people. A dam broke within my eyes, I couldn’t hold my tears in any longer. I could hear the voices of those around me: the prayers, the shouting, the anguish, the screams of joy. But for the first time, peace became more than just a “feeling”, it became a sound. It was like listening to quiet morning rain storm. The type of storm that would render you within the comfort of a blanket and book to read. I fell to my knees and bowed and a release of discomfort, of pain, of agony was eminent. I was home.
I walk onto the streets to hear the laughing and screams of a large crowd. The desperate cries and the cheering mixing as one, becoming another voice. Puzzled at the commotion, I start to follow the crowd down the road. Pushing past the people to get a better view of the source of all this, I quicken my pace. Slipping through the thick crowds, I see the whips of Roman Soldiers flying in the air. A garrison of them surrounding the soon-to-be-dead. A loud crack is made as the whip hits something familiar: a sound of torture. “Who is today’s entertainment for these dogs, now?” I think to myself, rolling my eyes and shaking my head in annoyance.
An execution I instantly saw. But this was not like the others. This wasn’t entertainment, this was inhumane. I wanted to see the tortured man. Who was he that had made these people hate him so much? I made my way through another section of the crowd. A woman I see shouting in agreement with this mans punishment. “Crucify him! Crucify him!” She began to mock him, as if he hadn’t endured anymore, “Where is your Father now ‘King of the Jews’?” His entire body, beyond depiction of a human being, grotesque in every way. A crown of thorns placed upon his head only continued their mocking.
Limping , spewing his own blood on the dirt road only to trip on it soon afterwards. This man was turned inside out. I could hear him hacking, coughing and attempting to breathe through the gurgling of his own blood. Gasping for air seems to be excruciating. And his sweat became as drops of blood, trickling down upon the ground. He carried a cross, embracing it almost. “Why does he embrace his cross? Who desires to be crucified? Who is this man?” I think to myself.
I see two other men alongside him, who suffer the same fate. The heavy beam of the cross is then tied to their shoulders as the slow journey to Golgotha is made. The man with the crown of thorns I see stumble and fall. The rough wood of the cross gouges into his lacerated skin and muscles of his shoulders. This mocked ‘King of the Jews’ attempts to rise, but human muscles have been pushed beyond their endurance.
The Roman garrison began to notice this man could not walk anymore nor could he carry what he embraced. They look into the crow of people and search for who will be this mans aide. They compelled me to bear his cross; so I did.
My name is Simon of Cyrene, and this is my story.
I see His hand touching the hearts of his people. A brush of his presence over their faces is a windy breeze that lasts forever. It sends a cold shiver down their spine giving them an inclination that “He” is there.
Their prayers answered.
Their mourning, no more.
Their pain, healed.
A presence not so mysterious to those looking for it. A presence that brings safety and comfort; a secret place.
It is He: The One, The Prime Mover, Elohim, Adonai…
"Enter his gates with thanksgiving and his courts with praise…"
Our silence is for but a moment in the midst of our fellow sheep. For there is nothing to establish, nothing to confirm, nothing to utter but only “Glory be to God in the highest!”. Let Him raise up the man, who will be a governor of His glory. Let the Ancient of Days raise up the woman, who will prophesy in His name. Let us shout unto Him with a voice of triumph, “Holy, holy, holy is the Lord God Almighty!”
As we come into one accord with Him, so shall we be in communion.
Let it be so.