Carrying the Cross: A Good Friday Memory from Adigbe

Good Friday is a time to pause, reflect, and remember the ultimate sacrifice of Jesus Christ, and it is a sacred day in the Christian calendar. For me, it holds the memory of a deeply personal journey that took place years ago at Our Lady Seat of Wisdom Catholic Church in Adigbe, Abeokuta, in the heart of Ogun State, southwestern Nigeria.

This year, I was chosen to play the role of Jesus in our parish’s annual Passion Play. I was excited — even honoured — to take on such an important part. But what I didn’t realise was how deeply it would affect me, not just as a performance, but as a spiritual encounter that would stay with me for life.

The day began like any other Good Friday, but for me, it was a different experience. The church was filled with faithful parishioners, many holding rosaries and prayer books. The Stations of the Cross were arranged along Adigbe Road, and everything was set for the reenactment.

When I took up the wooden cross and began the slow walk from the school compound at Ita-Baale to the church, something changed. The weight of the cross pressed heavily on my shoulders. The sun was hot, the ground dusty beneath my feet, and the crowd was watching each step I took as I carried the cross. As I moved from one station to the next — Jesus falls, meets His mother, is helped by Simon, is comforted by Veronica — I began to feel not just the physical toll, but the emotional and spiritual weight of the journey.

I can still remember the moment I looked into the eyes of the woman playing Mary, my mother, in the scene as she wept — a reminder of what Jesus must have felt. And though we were simply acting, the pain felt real.

When we arrived at the final station, Golgotha, positioned inside the church compound and the cross was raised, I stood there — arms bound, heart pounding, soul stirred. For a moment, the world seemed to stop. I looked out at the parishioners, many feeling remorseful, and the other female actors filled with tears in their eyes. I realised that this was more than a performance. It was a moment of grace.

That experience transformed my understanding of Good Friday. It became more than a historical remembrance — it became personal. I was no longer just reading about Christ’s suffering; I was walking with Him in my little way.

Even now, years later, each Holy Week brings that memory flooding back. The dust, the chants, and the prayers bring a renewed sense of gratitude and faith.

Good Friday reminds us that love often wears the face of sacrifice. That salvation came not through glory, but through pain. And that even in the darkest hour, there is light ahead.

To those who have never experienced a Passion Play — whether watching or participating — I encourage you to try. It may just change the way you see Easter forever.

Have you ever been part of a Good Friday procession or Passion Play? I’d love to hear your experience in the comments below. Let’s continue to reflect and grow in faith together.