Are You king? Yes, king I am. A bare-foot-king without marshals and without a throne and without ermine. A king who forgives and who calls God his Father. A kingship not of this world.

Jesus gives a contrary sign. He takes His cross onto His shoulders. He doesn't protest. Even a bare-foot-king strides. With a crown of thorns which presses and the load of the cross - a load of centuries - the sins on his back.

He is falling - falling out of sight of the grown people. Who of the adult watches another execution-candidate in the streets of Jeruzalem. But the eyes of a child are making the suffering more eassy for The Lamb, who is carrying away the sins of the world.

Even if everybody walks away: mothers don't walk away. Marie would literaly wanted to help carry the cross. The new Adam meets the new Eve, those who are without guild carry there cross and confirm thus the new covenant.

The heavy load is pressing harder. The black-bird gets bigger and more penetrative. The bare-foot-king makes his footmarks on the roads across our world. When Jesus sees the face and the strong hands of Simon the landscape lightens up and it is getting warmer.

The birds have their nests but there isn't even a stone for the Son-of-man to lay his head on. There is a piece of cloth. After Marie and Simon there is again a woman not walking away, but breaking throught the barriers. Veronica hands him a towel.

Sometimes you crave for the end. Even the strongest shoulders can take no more. Jesus falls again. There is not a helping hand, no eyes with consolation, no warm beating heart.

Do not cry for me, but for your children! The suffering and the evil will cross everybody's path, that of man and of woman alike, always and everywhere. Paralysed we stare, not capable of comprehension.

Our eyes are familiar with the square screen of the televisionset, which, constantly, shows pictures of people bending, people collapsing. Can you still move sitting in your arm chair, with the cat in the window?

He who will watch becomes a Peeping Tom. You lower your eyes. These images are not to been seen. Only God may be the witness of what happens to Him, and to all of them in Madjanek, Auschwitz and Bergen-Belsen concerning there tarnish.

He who suffers knows his mother nearby. But even she has to let go of her son with a helpless gesture.

From a distance, we see, we experience, we know, that He has given His spirit on the ninth hour, all alone, His hands stretched out to His Father.

Marie with the child back in her lap. Who stays behind is the mother with her wounded heart. She stays a lifetime and even longer. Marie, the mother, never yields.

Jesus is layd down in the tomb. In a scarry, dark grave. Marie and His pupils put Him there. They will be the first witnesses of His resurection on Eastermorning. The barbed wire broken, the forces of the dark chased away.