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A Meditation John Hill

There are occasions when it is an honour to be chosen to do something. Once the initial fears and trepidation have decreased, after the full realisation and knowledge of the responsibility, expectations have sunk in and there has been an opportunity for what is involved to settle to allow it all to sink in, then slight relief even enjoyment can begin to emerge.
But not on this occasion quite the opposite. I desperately did not want to be chosen, but when I was, immediate fear, guilt, anxiety overcame me. If only I could have refused, if only it could have been something else. If only I had not been around on that day, at that specific time and in that specific place. Already I was full of remorse, of the terrible consequences, yet impossible aware of the powerless position I was now in. I felt helpless, disgusted, when Jesus bore my weight, as he struggled along the dry dusty road to calvary, at least Simon of Cyrene helped him bear some of the load. But as for me I felt culpable in his suffering and death I am so ashamed, but could not avoid or prevent the outcome. Contributing to his suffering and death but unable to stop it or intervene. His blood stains, His pain, His suffering I will be unable to erase, from my surface or my memory.


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