Bead Fourteen - Carrying the Cross
Having finally been condemned to death, Jesus was pushed and shoved into the courtyard of Pilate’s palace where the crosses used for crucifixion were stacked up along the side of the wall. Two thieves awaiting the same fate were shivering in the cold, trembling in fear of what lay ahead of them. Somehow, the sight of Jesus, bruised and beaten and yet still radiating a calm dignity, filled one of the thieves with a sense of wonder and awe and calmed his terror.
The three men were lined up and a cross was laid on each of them. Jesus, at the back of the line, was so weakened by lack of sleep and the cruel treatment he had received that his body immediately gave way beneath the weight of the cross and he fell down, bruising himself on the harsh flagstones. The soldiers shouted at him and dragged him up roughly, kicking and pushing him on his way.
Gathering all his strength, he staggered out of the courtyard. A small group of people had already gathered there. Some of them had just come to watch the spectacle, others were curious to see what was going on, and there, amongst them, stood his mother. Mary moved forward instinctively, her arms outstretched towards her son. For once, the toughened soldiers fell back in awe at the sight of the radiant love which shone in the face of the woman before them.
Mother and son exchanged a look which, without words, spoke of a lifetime of love and gave Jesus the comfort and strength he needed to continue on the road he had chosen to take. Close by Mary’s side were John and Mary Magdalene, the latter, a devoted follower and close friend of Jesus. Together with a small group of friends and supporters, they followed on behind as the prisoners, pushed and prodded by the soldiers, trudged their weary way onto the road which led up to Mount Calvary, the place of execution.
As the road steepened, Jesus, weakened from the loss of blood which still trickled down his face from the thorns which had been pressed into his head so cruelly and the wounds on his back from the flogging, fell again. Impatient and irritated, thinking that this prisoner might not even make it to the top of the hill, the soldiers spied a likely passer-by who looked strong enough to be press-ganged into helping to carry the cross with Jesus and seized hold of him.
Protesting was useless against the might of the Roman soldiers so the man had no option but to do as he was told. Jesus was dragged to his feet and the cross was laid on his shoulders again while the man was forced to walk behind, carrying the lower part of the cross on his back. Two young men who had been travelling with the man, gazed in shock and horror as their companion was pulled away. Frightened and worried, they fell in with the crowd which had by now gathered behind.
They were immediately approached by the friends of Jesus who did all they could to comfort them. The young men explained that it was their father who had been taken. The three of them had come from Cyrene in Libya on a 'once in a lifetime' pilgrimage to celebrate the Passover in Jerusalem. Their father was named Simon, they said, and their names were Alexander and Rufus. They walked on up the hill, while their companions explained as best they could who Jesus was and what was happening.
The sons would have followed their father anyway but felt encouraged and protected by the warmth which now surrounded them and began to trust that their father would eventually be safe. As the journey continued up the hill, they passed a group of women weeping and holding each other in grief at the spectacle of their beloved teacher and friend in such pain and anguish. One of them, a young woman, emboldened by compassion at the pitiable sight before her, without thinking of her own safety, ran across to Jesus.
The soldiers were so taken aback by her action, that they gawped in amazement as she pulled off the shawl which had covered her hair and held the soft white cotton veil up to his bruised and battered face and gently laid it upon him, absorbing the blood, the sweat and the spittle which ran into his eyes and mouth. He gazed back at her with so much love that her heart melted. She ran back clutching the cloth which was destined to become her most treasured possession.
She was known forever afterwards as Veronica, a name which meant ‘true image’, because she had the imprint of the beloved face of the man who had shared his life and his love with her and with all the people. She would cherish this cloth for her lifetime and leave it in the safe hands of those who came after her. Little did the perpetrators who had inflicted those wounds upon him know that it was those very wounds which were to etch his face indelibly on her veil, its contours outlined by the blood which they had caused to flow.
In compassion and love and with the whole essence of his being, Jesus found the strength to turn to the women and say, “Don’t weep for me, my beloved daughters; weep for yourselves and for your children.” for he knew that sorrow and grief would never be far away from them in the years which lay ahead.
Labouring onwards up the hill which steepened suddenly towards the top, Jesus fell for the third and last time. Yanked up again by the soldiers, as before, but, this time, with the aid and gentle but strong support of Simon, who was by now, fully caught up in the mystery of this man before him, they had reached the top of the hill and come to the place which was known as Golgotha, which means ‘The Place of the Skull. The final and brutal act of crucifixion was about to take place.
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