Monologue of Simon of Cyrene who was forced to carry the cross of Jesus Christ to Golgotha. We listen as a stranger to Jesus is drawn into helping Jesus with the heavy burden. After a while, Simon realizes he is in the presence of greatness. He is blessed by Jesus for helping to lighten such a heavy load. Simon is touched forever.

Monologue: Simon of Cyrene

Character:

• Simon of Cyrene

Set, Lighting, Sound:

• No special set, lighting, or sound required.
• A minimalist stage is preferred to keep the focus on the monologue.

Costuming:

• Period-appropriate clothing for Simon of Cyrene.

Delivery Style:

• Intense, reluctant, contemplative.
• The actor should convey initial resistance, frustration, and ultimately a shifting realization through voice and physicality.

Time: 6

Script

(Simon enters the stage, miming that he is jostled by others, reacting as if moving through a chaotic crowd. He mimics being called out, stopping abruptly. He looks out, speaks.)

SIMON

(Indignant)

What do you mean, “carry His cross”?

I’ll have you know that though I am from another country, Cyrenaica, I am a Jew, here for the purpose of observing the Holy Days.

(Scoffs, shaking head)

I tell you, I do not wish to carry His cross!

(Looking around, gesturing to imaginary figures)

Ask one of His friends!

The whole countryside seemed to be rallying behind Him just days ago when He made His triumphal entry, riding that silly colt.

(Beat, arms crossed)

Yes, I was there.

I had nothing pressing, so I went.

(Shrugs, a smirk)

I watched, with some amusement, as the locals were literally falling out of trees, desperate to catch a glimpse of Him—calling out to the Messiah.

(Scoffs)

Hardly my style.

(Tone shifts—more skeptical, analytical)

Look, I barely know anything about Him.

(Beat)

Roots in Nazareth, I’m told.

(Pauses, narrowing eyes, thoughtful)

Although I am not particularly a provincialist, I can understand why some would say, “What good can come out of Nazareth?”

(Shrugs, shaking head)

An insignificant, meaningless little town in an insignificant, meaningless setting.

(Frustrated)

Why do you insist that I carry His cross?

Why me?

(Looking around, gesturing wildly)

There are half a million people here in this town.

What would cause you to choose me?

(Sees someone in the imagined crowd, gestures to them)

See!

There’s a man double my size, muscular—ask him!

I see he even has tears in his eyes—a follower, perhaps?

A fisherman, I would guess.

(Nods to himself, as if convinced)

Yes… I’m sure the fisherman would be anxious to carry this cross.

(Gestures elsewhere)

Or him! The one in the priestly robes—why not ask him?

(Beat)

I’m a common man, a businessman.

I have no interest and no time for politics.

No concern over who the Sanhedrin do or do not support.

(Nods, as if convincing himself)

Yes, yes… the priest—he would most capably handle this task.

A good choice.

(Defiant, pulling back as if resisting someone grabbing him)

Take your hands off me!

(Anger building)

Can’t you see?

I do not wish to be involved!

(Shaking head, exasperated)

Were it not that I just happened by…

(Gesturing to the unseen crowd)

…made curious by the shouts of the crowd…

I wouldn’t even be here!

(Frustrated sigh)

I am not like those who take great delight in public executions.

(Scoffs)

They do nothing for me.

(Beat, pleading now)

Choose another.

(Glancing toward the center of the stage, voice softer, skeptical)

Why should it mean anything to me that He stumbles under the weight of His cross?

(Beat, dismissive)

I’m sure He is likely guilty of whatever crime has been tacked to the top of His cross.

(Curious now, squinting at the sign)

What does it say?

(Mocking tone)

Ummmm… “King of the Jews”?

(Scoffs)

Guilty of madness, more like!

(Beat, gaze shifting, tone becoming more unsure)

His face…

(Pauses, staring, as if seeing something unsettling)

His whole manner disturbs me.

(Shakes head quickly, pushing the thought away)

Choose another for this task.

(Voice lowers, more hesitant)

Normally, those condemned to die on a cross will beg…

(Beat)

They will plead for their lives.

(Soft, confused)

But…

(Looking at Jesus, studying Him)

He appears… not to be begging.

(Frowns, narrowing eyes, as if trying to hear something faint)

He is… mumbling…

(Beat, realization)

He is praying.

(Pleading, frustrated, shaken)

I beg you—choose another to carry this man’s cross!

(Pauses, slowly looking back toward Jesus, seeing His struggle, watching His body collapse under the weight)

(Voice lowers, softer, reluctant)

He… can’t go on any further.

(A realization dawns, spoken quietly)

His beaten, spent body is unable to go one step further.

(Pauses, breath catching, something shifting within)

Someone ought to help Him.

(Looks outward, realization deepening)

Someone…

(Beat, final moment of hesitation, then quietly, almost resigned)

…someone. . .

(Lights fade to black.)

 . . .

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