at the foot of the cross

Who is there at the foot of the cross?

Simon of Cyrene? A visitor to Jerusalem. He was not a follower of Jesus but somehow got caught up in the events and carried the cross for Jesus.

Women who were distraught about the execution of the one who had shown them dignity and honour. Who had spoken of a new kingdom based on love.

People who only a few days before had been singing and shouting, “Hosanna!” which had turned into screams of “Crucify him!”

Those who had schemed and engineered his death. Feeling vindicated. Mocking. Drunk on the surge of power that bullies feel over their victims.

A convicted criminal was there, next to him. He acted true to form and joined in the mockery of the hapless victim beside him. Why did he have no fight in him?

Another criminal, on the other side, who realised he was witnessing an injustice and sought reconciliation with Jesus… “remember me”

Soldiers who had crucified him, watching the effects of their morning’s work, and their commanding officer who, too late, realised they had killed an innocent man.

Those who had been secret followers of Jesus. Wondering whether they should have tried to stand up for him. Is it too late to do something for him now?

Perhaps, at a distance, not wanting to risk catching his eye, some of his closest friends who had abandoned him. Not able to look, unable to tear their eyes away.

You and I are there. Part of the crowd. Represented. How do you feel as you hear the cry, “It is finished!”

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