A few years ago, in preparation for Easter, I preached through the various people surrounding Jesus’ passion, using Richard Bauckham and Trevor Hart’s wonderful little book (a collection of sermons), At the Cross: Meditations on People Who Were There as a springboard for imagination and interpretation.
One of those homilies was on Simon of Cyrene. I can hear my old homiletics teacher now: “How can you put together a whole sermon from one short verse?!” But there really is great benefit to preaching such a small, obscure text. If you’re going to speak from a text like this, you have to really slow down and notice the details, and you have to engage that part of the human mind that has been so neglected in this age of videos and video games: your imagination.
So, let’s look at Simon for a moment. His text is found in Mark 15:21:
“And they compelled a passerby, Simon of Cyrene, who was coming in from the country, the father of Alexander and Rufus, to carry his cross.”
Not much to it, is there? But let’s pause, slow down, and think about it for a minute. Simon of Cyrene has this defining moment in his life. He’s “that guy who carried Jesus’ cross.” Whenever the Gospel story is told, Simon is remembered as the guy in the wrong place at the wrong time, taken up by events beyond his control, compelled into a story he didn’t want to be in, and defined by that ugly instrument of death.
But there’s more here. Who was Simon? We know he was from Cyrene, a city in North Africa (modern day Libya) with a large Jewish community. We know he was living in Jerusalem and that he was probably working the fields outside of the city, because he was “coming in from the country.” Simon was coming in as the procession was going out, probably heading home from a day’s work. He was just minding his own business when he saw the throng dragging Jesus to be crucified.
We can know, historically, that this was not at all an uncommon sight in Jerusalem, indeed anywhere in the Empire. This was how Rome dealt with criminals: brutally and efficiently. Simon had no doubt witnessed other processions like this. One wonders his response to seeing it come his way. Did he—inwardly, at least—shake his head and wonder how the God of Israel could allow such a thing to happen to his people at the hands of the Roman occupiers? Did he shrug his shoulders, perhaps try to avoid it? This, we can’t know.
But we know that Simon was compelled, drafted by the Romans to carry the crossbeam to the instrument of Jesus’ death. He took the Lord’s cross upon himself and carried it for him to the place of death. Thus, Simon goes down in history forever associated with that brutal moment. He is defined by it.
And so, the story ends. Like Barabbas before him, Simon disappears in the rearview mirror, a “nothing” player in a tragic moment.
Or does he? Unlike Barabbas, the text preserves one more detail for us, one that we’re apt to pass right over, especially if we’ve read the Bible many times. Mark leaves us this one clue, this one seemingly insignificant detail that tells us Simon’s true legacy, that for which Simon should be remembered: he was the father of Alexander and Rufus.
Wait, what? What does that tell us? It tells us that Simon’s sons were known to the church, well known. It tells us that Simon’s sons were in fact most likely leaders in that early church. It tells us that Simon became a Christ-follower after that day.
This one thing that we know about Simon is the one that keeps history from defining who he is by that one moment in time. Simon’s encounter with the cross, that brief moment in time, transformed him. For most of us, Simon is “that guy who carried Jesus’ cross.” For the Bible, Simon is the one who took up Jesus’ cross. He is the one who raised his sons in the Way, sons who carried on his transformed legacy.
The same can be true for us. I don’t know about you, but I’ve got plenty of moments in my past—some my own failings and some into which I was caught up—that I’m desperate not to be my defining moments. I’ve failed people; I’ve made mistakes; I’ve sinned, against people and against God. Plenty. And Simon’s story speaks to me. It reminds me that those moments don’t define me.
Simon’s story teaches us that an encounter with the Crucified One presents us with the opportunity to change our legacy, to be transformed by rather than defined by our darkest moments. That, at its core, is the gospel of Jesus Christ.
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