I was minding my own business on my way from here to there. (I was not one of his disciples, stack the bibles and I'll swear.) Yet when I was accosted by a Roman with a sword, I was forced to bear the Cross- as certain "points" can't be ignored. The way was steep and rocky and the cross beam hard to bear. On our way up He was silent, perhaps lost in silent prayer. There were sounds of women weeping and jeering Jews who came from town. I was glad to reach to summit- relieved to lay my burden down. It was only then I saw His face, beneath its thorny crown. He thanked me for my labor with a kindly look and word. I said a blessing in return, but I wonder if he heard.
Yes, I recall the day quite well when our paths crossed, then diverged.
His eyes burned in my memory as I stumbled on my way. I did not stay to watch Him die but I was there that day.
A simple man with a strong back helping Jesus bear the cross.