Have you ever felt like you don’t belong?

Yeah. Me too.

Cultural labels never seem to capture the essence of who I am. Even in my hometown, I feel like a fish out of water.

Rejection is a familiar friend. I have been ridiculed for my values, my lifestyle, and the color of my skin. An inner ache of loneliness follows me wherever I go. One question has always haunted me, “Will anyone ever see and accept me for who I truly am?”

I recently took my two kids along with me on a trip to the city. The energy was electric! The buzz surrounded one man. When he opened his mouth to speak, you could hear a pin drop. When he reached out his hand, sick people were miraculously healed. He showed he was strong enough to overturn tables but gentle enough to care for people who were hurting and marginalized.

There was an intense focus in his eyes. Like a runner only concentrating on her next step in a race or a boxer fixated on where he will land his next punch, it was obvious that he knew his purpose.

My kids saw something special in him. They shouted and yelled his name to get his attention. At one point, he smiled back at them and waved. That one interaction got them so excited that they demanded we follow him around for the rest of the week. Every day we wondered what was in store. We were swept up in a wonderful adventure much bigger than ourselves.  

On Friday morning, the adventure turned into a tragedy. We woke up to the sound of a crowd repeatedly chanting, “Crucify him! Crucify him!” I got the kids ready as quickly as I could and we ran into the streets to see what was happening. We arrived just in time to see a brutally beaten and bloody man stumbling down the road with a beam of wood across his back. It took me forever to realize it was Jesus. He was so disfigured that he didn’t even look human. Instinctively, I reached out to turn the heads of my boys. No kid should see his hero looking like this.

I was in shock as he inched closer and closer to us. When he was only a few yards from us, I had the urge to run away. The flesh was torn away from his bones and his ribs were exposed. I choked back the vomit that worked its way up my throat. Just then, he turned his face toward me. Did he recognize me? Could he even see past his swollen eyes?

His body buckled under the weight of the beam. The toughest man I have ever seen couldn’t go on any further.

A wave of pity, shame, and disgust hit me. Before any of those emotions could sink in, a soldier pulled me by the arm and yelled in my face “Carry the beam for that man!”

Time stood still.

Why did the soldier pick me? Was it because I am African? Was it because of my physique? Was I just the closest man nearby?

My boys stared at me. What would I do? Would I stand up for myself or would I willingly take the cross of this man? It was a two-second decision that seemed to take 2 years.

A combination of fear and compassion propelled me forward to take the burden off of his back. I marched ahead of him as we made our way down the crowded streets. People jeered and spit on him. I was a laughingstock in their eyes too.

While the sun beat on my forehead and sweat poured down my face, something strange happened. The more I marched down that lonely road with him, the more peace I felt in his presence. The more I experienced the rejection that he endured, the more courage I had to keep going. By the time we reached our destination, I wasn’t concerned about the crowds. Suffering had connected me to him.

The beam fell off my back and landed with a thud on the ground. “Get out of here!” The soldier yelled at me. I hesitated. I knew they would be nailing him to that same piece of wood. Should I try to defend him? Instinctively, my hand formed a fist out of anxiety and anger. That’s when he looked at me in the eye one last time and whispered, “Thank you”. My hand relaxed. I turned and walked away as my sons ran to me in tears.

At that moment, I realized the sense of belonging I had been searching for my whole life was found on that road of suffering. I was seen and accepted for who I truly am and not even a jeering crowd could take that away from me. At that moment the burden turned into belonging.

The world may say I am a disaster but Jesus says I am distinguished. The world may call me a freak but Jesus calls me a friend. The world might say I am worthless but Jesus says I am worthy. As he was dying, Jesus gave me the greatest gift I have ever received. It is a gift I don’t intend to waste.   

*Simon of Cyrene was considered one of the early leaders of the Christian church. Evidence also suggests, his sons Rufus and Alexander became Church leaders as they grew older.

2 thoughts on “The weight of the world on my shoulders

  1. Thanks John for this fresh way to look at Good Friday – thankful for you and how this helps prepare me to enter Easter Weekend.

    Like

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