Two Men Met the Cross

Two men met the cross on the same dark day,
One with silver in his pocket, one pulled from the way.
One had walked with the Savior, ate bread at His side,
Knew the sound of His laughter, still sold Him with pride.
A kiss on the cheek, but the heart was cold,
Thirty coins clinking—love bought and sold.
He knew the scriptures, knew the songs,
But knowing the truth don’t mean you live it strong.
Then there’s Simon, a stranger, just passing through,
Mind on his business, got nothing to prove.
The soldiers grabbed him, said, “Carry this load,”
Didn’t know he was stepping into a holy road.
No silver in his hands, just splinters and pain,
Sweat on his forehead, dust in the rain.
He didn’t betray Him, he bore the weight,
Didn’t choose the moment—but he chose compassion over fate.
Same cross.
Different hearts.
One broke trust.
One played his part.
One used closeness to wound the King,
One used his strength to lift suffering.
One walked away haunted by what he had done,
One walked away changed by the Son.
So when life puts you near another man’s pain,
When you see someone crushed under pressure and shame,
Don’t be the kiss that leads to chains,
Be the shoulder that helps them stand again.
Because not everyone near your cross is a friend,
And not every stranger is sent to pretend.
Some will betray you with “I got your back,”
Some will carry your weight when your knees start to crack.
Two men met the cross—history wrote their names,
One chose silver.
One chose the pain.
And every day, we stand in that space,
Between Judas’ choice
and Simon’s grace.