All four gospels mention the journey out of the city of Jerusalem to the place called Golgotha. Three of them mention Simon of Cyrene who was coming in from the country and was enlisted to help carry the cross but John says rather pointedly that Jesus carried his own cross. At any rate the way of the cross has become a Christian devotion and seemingly many parishes in Zimbabwe seek police clearance and organise quite long processions every Good Friday.
This year I joined our parish on rather a marathon three-hour walk in the hot sun. As we trudged along I tried to keep my mind focused on what we were doing but quickly found myself thinking of other journeys, forced marches that people have made throughout history. There were the Jews, for instance, forced to leave their homes in various countries. It happened in England, in Russia and most notably in Germany.
French people fled Paris on foot in 1940 and there were exoduses in the Balkans in the finally years of the last century. But perhaps the most searing image of these trudges is the picture of thousands of Rwandans fleeing their homes with just a few possessions in 1994.
To be a refugee, or a person displaced within his or her own country as so many in our country were in 2005 and 2008 – to be forced to take to the road with a few possessions and little money, must be a dreadful experience. The faces in the countless photos of such people tell a story of blank helplessness and utter vulnerability.
To the women who tried to comfort him on the way Jesus said, weep not for me but for yourselves and for your children (Luke 22:28). It is hard to follow what is happening in Darfur and the eastern Congo but the impression given is of people constantly uprooted, always on the move and in constant danger of being raped or robbed. Jesus shared in this; he had to flee with his parents to Egypt once and here he is once again on a forced and final journey.
As we trudged along all these thoughts came and I looked around at the variety of people we were; men and women, young (even a baby of two months) and old and more people joined in as we went. I wondered what they were thinking. What makes so many bear the midday sun for a long trudge with no tangible purpose?
Probably few would be able to give an answer but somehow we all wanted to share in that journey from the Praetorium to Calvary. And that journey was itself a share in the countless forced journeys throughout history of people in so many countries. For a moment we were in solidarity with Jesus who was himself in solidarity with us.
Post published in: Opinions