I walked slowly up the hill, my two sons beside me. I was Simeon, of Cyrene, in Jerusalem for the Passover. It was the first time I had brought my sons, and I was thrilled for them to see the city of God.

"Abba," my oldest Rufus said. "Abba, where will we get the lamb?"

I had thought of that. We had come from across the sea to Caesarea, then up toward the city. Pilgrims were all around us, filling the air with the psalms of ascent. I turned to face my boys.

"We will exchange our shekels for a lamb at the Temple," I said. "Do not worry." I had already talked to a priest in Caesarea, who had exchanged the Denarii of Cyrene for the temple shekels. The psalms grew louder as we came up over the hill, and there before us was the great city, shining like the sun in all its brilliance. We had come at a good time, at sunset, when the sun was to our backs, yet reflected off the gold of the Temple.

My son's eyes dropped open. I remembered when I was with my own father, about Rufus' age, and I had seen the sight for the first time. Always, it was grand, at any time of day or night. I hurried on, pulling on the hands of my sons. I was not as entranced as they were, and I knew we had to reach the city by dark. There was a cousin of mine, Janneus, who we would stay with. I had agreed to provide the lamb in exchange for him providing hospitality.

Alexander, the younger of my boys, found the pace stiff, and I set him on my shoulders. Ah, my boys, too soon men. They were almost already. The death of their mother had matured them beyond their years. I hoped they would not have to witness another.

Janneus was hospitable, filling us with good food and stories. For the first time, we heard of Yeshua, the teacher that was either hated or loved, and how he had ridden into Jerusalem in fulfillment of prophecy. I wondered if indeed he could be the Messiah. I was no rabbi, but I knew enough to know that he met many of the signs for our great deliverer.

"Abba," Alexander said. "If he is the Messiah, what does that mean?"

"It means that all will soon be made right," I said quietly. "Evil we be defeated, and we will once again live in peace."

"I hope so," Janneus said. "The rulers are upset with him." He told about cleaning the Temple, and I privately agreed with Yeshua. Many gentiles in Cyrene were interested in my faith, and some were even God-fearers. For them to have to worship in a marketplace was abhorrent. Still, I could appreciate the tension. I had felt it, walking in to the city, and felt it more now.

"To bed, now," Janneus said. "Tomorrow is the Passover." I heard the bleating of the lamb we had bought, tied up by the front door. "It will be a busy day."

My boys obediently went to bed, and I and my cousin stayed up late, catching up on life and the times in which we lived.

Over a breakfast of porridge the next day, Janneus questioned my plan to have the lamb taken to the Temple. "There are priests all through the city that will do the butchering for you. Everyone wants to go to the Temple. You may not even make it today." Even though Janneus lived in a quiet part of town, I still heard the shouts and yells and singing of pilgrims. For a moment, my resolve wavered, but then it firmed.

"I do not know when I will come again," I said. "I want my sons to see and feel the weight of this day."

"Very well," Janneus said. "I will get the herbs and unleavened bread and everything else that is required, and wait for you."

With that agreed, we parted ways. My boys were eager to see more of the city, and as we climbed toward the Temple Mount, I showed them what I could. It seemed every pilgrim was also headed thay way, many with lambs over their shoulders, and I realized my cousin was right.

There was also anger. I could see it on the faces of many, and the whole air of the city felt troubled, wracked with fear and worry. There should be joy on this holy day, and there was not. My boys drew in closer, and Rufus, who had the lamb on a halter, clasped my hand.

"What is happening?" Alexander asked, his eyes fearful.

"I don't know, son," I said. Turning to another man, almost as dark of skin as I, I asked. His brow creased down, and I felt his worry also.

"The Romans arrested the Messiah last night," he said. "He had taken his disciples to Gethsemane to pray, and now, I do not know where he is." He shrugged and moved on. Others passed me, and they wore scowls.

I had seen and heard enough. The whole city was about to explode, and my boys did not need to be here. We would find someone else for the lamb, as my cousin had suggested. However, when I tried to turn around, we were pressed in by the mob. The only way to go was forward. Holding my sons tightly to me, I persisted, my height helping to make a way.

I nearly bumped up against a Roman spear, and withdrew just in time. I had made it to the front of the crowd, but I was not free. Roman soldiers, wearing the scowl of their kind, made a wall around an empty street. Another, riding a horse, led an odd procession. An odd...I saw the centurion first, then a squad of four, then in the middle...something holding a crossbeam. Now I knew. This Yeshua had been captured, and was now being led away to die. I felt pity for him, not anger. He had seemed a good man, from what I had been told, and even now, he merely walked forward, slowly but peacefully, without curses or cries for mercy. Yet still a false messiah. No true messiah would ever let himself be crucified.

Yet the peace could not last. Not when the nails would begin to fall. I motioned to my sons. "Go!" I whispered. I didn't want them to see this. "You know the way back to your uncle Janneus. Go, quickly." My boys gave a fearful look at me, then Rufus nodded. Grabbing Alexander by the hand, he disappeared back into the crowd, and I breathed a sigh of relief. If there was to be trouble, they would not be involved.

Yeshua's head bowed lower, and then the beam fell from his shoulders. I watched as he knelt, trying to pick the beam back up, and fell again. They needed someone to carry the beam he no longer…

"You!" the centurion was pointing at me. My heart nearly stopped. I tried to melt back into the crowd, but my height worked against me. "You, come here!" His hand rested on his sword, and I knew I had to obey. Slowly, I walked out into the street, my heart pounding inside my chest. What would I be asked to do?

"You're strong," he said. "Carry his cross." I looked at the bloodstained wood. The centurion waved impatiently, and slowly, I bent under the load. It was slippery and sticky, and I nearly gagged on the smell. Forcing myself to calm, I slowly lifted up. It was heavy, and even I, a tall man with full rest, felt my heart begin to strain. How had this bloodstained figure, hunched over with pain, even managed? I didn't know.

Through the streets we walked, toward the place of the skull. I saw it clearly, a hill by the main road, with stakes already placed. I grimaced. I had never liked crucifixions. It was barbaric, and seemed somehow depraved. Even stoning was quickly over.

Yet I stayed, even when we reached the site and Yeshua was stretched out. I didn't know why. Perhaps it out of respect. Perhaps it was from love, love for a fellow, persecuted Jew. Perhaps...perhaps I was curious. To this day, I don't know. But I stayed, and horror turned to awe.

Not a whisper did Yeshua make. He groaned in pain, of course. Anyone would. But he did not curse or yell, as the ones to either side did. He asked for forgiveness for his enemies. Forgiveness. Why? Forgiveness was not the way of the world. But perhaps he saw something I did not. Then...a short exchange with a young man who stood nearby. The young man took a sobbing woman under his arm, and I realized...mother and son, perhaps. Or his mother, and a disciple. Even on the cross, he cared for his own.

Of course, there was the strange darkness to add to the strange man. It came down suddenly, heavy with something stronger than darkness. I was reminded of what my rabbi had said of the plagues. "A darkness that could be felt." I felt it, too. A heavy, brooding silence, punctuated by moaning and cries of pain...I felt alone and abandoned, as though I shared in the pain of this false Messiah. Alone to my very core.

Then…"It is finished!" What? What? Was it the ramblings of a man nearly dead? The crazed words of one tormented by pain? But then I realized...he had also quoted a Psalm I knew well. I had cried it myself in the dead of the night, by my wife's grave, feeling the pain of separation that would not be ended except by the ending of the world and the last resurrection.

Forsaken. And he was. Where were his disciples? His family? Only two stood there now, the weeping woman I was now sure was his mother, and the young man, his shoulders shaking with suppressed tears. And where was his God? My cousin had told me of the miracles...the works only God could do. I shook my head, dazed and confused by the day's events.

I had to leave. I had to go, before I was driven mad by the stark scene and the questions that refused to leave my mind. Tipping my head to the two who stood in grief, I walked away, back toward my cousin's house. Soon enough Janneus met me, my sons with him. They started, and I realized my clothes were stained with blood. I walked slowly toward them.

"What happened?" Janneus demanded. "Your sons were nearly in a panic when they came to me. The meal is ready...and…"

Slowly, I walked inside, and slowly, the words began to come. I told all, feeling release in the telling. When I was done, Janneus shook his head. "I could almost believe," he said. "But...but…"

I knew as well. "Cursed is the man who hangs on a tree." I spoke softly. "I wish...I wish I would have talked to the man who was there. A brother, or a disciple."

"I am sure that was John," Janneus said when I described the man. "He is a disciple, one of the closest. If you can find him again, you can ask all you wish."

"Can we go with you, Abba?" Rufus asked. "Can we try and find them?"

"Strike the shepherd, and the sheep will be scattered." Alexander said slowly. "I remember, Papa. It was a prophecy."

I ruffled my son's hair. "You'll be a rabbi yourself one day," I said. "Yes, it is a prophecy. Are there more? Maybe we can search the scriptures together."

I didn't have to go looking for John. He came to me, later, after an earthquake that shook the house. I thought he was delirious when he talked about resurrection. When he told me he had seen Yeshua, I thought he had seen a ghost.

"You had questions about prophecy. So did we." He motioned to the woman with him. "His mother, Myriam." She was a small woman, with deep, compassionate eyes. "We did not know how he could die and live again. But…"

"Sit," Janneus said. "How did you know where to find us?"

John stopped in his quoting of Psalm 16 and motioned to Myriam. "We wanted to thank you for carrying the cross of my son," she said in a voice torn with emotion. "We asked all through the city, looking for a tall, dark man with bloodstains on his clothes. We were told you were staying here. And I do thank you, Simeon."

I shrugged. I supposed stranger things could have happened. John picked up where he left off. I remembered many of the scriptures of the Messiah, for I heard them Sabbath after Sabbath. Now they seemed to take on new meaning. Janneus fed us and asked questions of his own. Soon we were all convinced that Yeshua was, indeed, the one foretold.

But where was he? No one seemed to know. As the weeks passed, I met others of the disciples- strong, confident Peter; intelligent Matthew; questioning Thomas, and many others. Stories of Yeshua's appearing seemed to be everywhere, but he never stayed so I could find him. I wanted to talk to him. I had carried his cross, after all, and...I felt a connection.

Finally, I had my chance. I was with a crowd of people over on the Mount of Olives, one of many enjoying the Sabbath. My two sons were with me. It was our last day in Jerusalem, for we soon had to depart. I had nearly given up hope, when…

"Simeon." The voice once cracked with pain was now the voice of a trumpet. I turned slowly. The man beaten nearly to his death stood strong, his clear brown eyes holding the depths of eternity.

"Simeon." Yeshua held out his hand. "Simeon of Cyrene. Thank you. You did for me a service...a service few would. And you believed."

I bowed my head. "The Roman guard…" I began to say, to confess my fear.

"Yes, I know. But yet...there was more than fear, was there not?" I nodded. As though seeing myself for the first time, I saw that indeed, there was courage and love I thought my tragedies had driven from me.

"You have always loved well. Simeon, do you love me?"

"You know I do," I said.

"Then when you return to Cyrene, speak of me. Speak of what you have seen, what I have done."

"But I know so little."

"You will know more, for I will not leave you alone. I will come to you, and will be with you forever. In the meantime, search the Scriptures for me. Search, and do not faint. Trials will come, but remember." Then he was gone, but not really gone. Not fully. There was a lingering, a sense of peace I could not fully explain.

"We will help you, Papa," Rufus said.

"I know, my son. I know." In that moment, I knew all would be alright.

Historical notes: Rufus is mentioned as a leader in the church at Antioch, I believe, later in Acts. As for the meeting...Paul mentions a time when five hundred people at once saw the risen Lord. I had Simeon be a part of that, for I do not believe his searching and hope would go unrewarded.

The church in Cyrene is one of the earliest that we know of.

I made Simeon dark skinned because 1) He is from Africa, where the sun is always hot, and 2) Cyrene is on the edge of the desert. I thought for him to be dark-skinned was natural, and meant nothing else by it. I also made him a widower because Jesus seems to have a heart for broken, scared people.