The soldiers had done this many times before.
But the women had not.
Roman crucifixions were designed to be brutal, slow, and public. They were meant to break the body and humiliate the condemned while warning anyone who dared challenge the empire.
The soldiers knew the routine.
Raise the cross.
Drive the nails.
Wait for death to come slowly.
Crowds had gathered earlier.
Some came to mock.
Some came out of curiosity.
Some simply wanted to see the man who had stirred so much attention in Jerusalem.
But as the hours passed and the spectacle lost its novelty, many drifted away.
Yet near the cross, a small group remained.
They stood close enough to see everything.
The blood.
The nails.
The labored struggle for breath.
Most of the men who had followed Jesus were gone.
When He was arrested the night before, fear scattered them.
“Then all the disciples left him and fled.” (Matthew 26:56 ESV).
But the women stayed.
Luke tells us that many women who had followed Jesus from Galilee were there watching.
“And all his acquaintances and the women who had followed him from Galilee stood at a distance watching these things.” (Luke 23:49 ESV).
John adds even more detail.
“but standing by the cross of Jesus were his mother and his mother's sister, Mary the wife of Clopas, and Mary Magdalene.” (John 19:25 ESV).
Among the women gathered that day were several whose lives had been deeply shaped by Jesus.
Through their eyes, we may begin to understand what this moment felt like.
One of the women standing there may have been Salome.
Mark lists her among those watching the crucifixion.
“There were also women looking on from a distance, among whom were Mary Magdalene, and Mary the mother of James the younger and of Joses, and Salome.” (Mark 15:40 ESV).
Matthew describes another of the women present as “the mother of the sons of Zebedee.”
“And among them were Mary Magdalene and Mary the mother of James and Joseph and the mother of the sons of Zebedee.” (Matthew 27:56 ESV).
Many believe these two references describe the same woman.
If that is true, then Salome was the mother of James and John.
Not long before this moment, she had approached Jesus with a bold request.
“Say that these two sons of mine are to sit, one at your right hand and one at your left, in your kingdom.” (Matthew 20:21 ESV).
She believed He was the coming King.
She believed the kingdom of God was about to be revealed.
But now she was standing at the foot of a Roman cross.
The kingdom she had imagined did not look like this.
How could the promised Messiah be dying like a criminal?
Perhaps confusion flooded her mind as she watched the soldiers carry out their terrible work.
Had they misunderstood who Jesus was?
Had they expected something that was never meant to be?
And if Salome truly was the mother of John, another reason may have held her there.
John was standing near the cross.
In fact, he is the only apostle specifically named as being present.
“When Jesus saw his mother and the disciple whom he loved standing nearby…” (John 19:26 ESV).
The others had fled.
But John stayed.
Perhaps his mother stayed beside him.
Not only grieving the death of the man she believed to be the Messiah, but also standing beside her son as he watched his teacher and Lord die.
Confused.
Heartbroken.
Yet unwilling to walk away.
Not far from her stood another woman whose life had been forever changed by Jesus.
Mary Magdalene.
Luke tells us that Jesus had cast seven demons out of her.
“Mary, called Magdalene, from whom seven demons had gone out.” (Luke 8:2 ESV).
At some point before this day, Jesus had stepped into the darkness of her life and done what no one else could do.
He set her free.
From that moment on, she followed Him. She supported His ministry. She remained near Him when many others came and went.
And now the One who had rescued her from darkness was dying before her eyes.
What must that moment have felt like?
The Gospels quietly reveal what she expected in those hours.
On the morning of the resurrection, Mary Magdalene came to the tomb expecting to find a body.
“They have taken the Lord out of the tomb, and we do not know where they have laid him.” (John 20:2 ESV).
Later she spoke to Jesus without recognizing Him, thinking He was the gardener.
“Sir, if you have carried him away, tell me where you have laid him, and I will take him away.” (John 20:15 ESV).
If that was her expectation on Sunday morning, then the cross on Friday must have felt devastating.
The One who had rescued her from darkness was now dying.
Hope itself may have felt like it was slipping away.
And yet she stayed.
But standing among these women was someone whose experience was deeper than anyone else present.
Mary, the mother of Jesus.
She had known who Jesus was from the beginning.
An angel had told her.
“He will be great and will be called the Son of the Most High.” (Luke 1:32 ESV).
She had watched Him grow.
She had heard His teaching.
She had seen His miracles.
At the wedding in Cana, she quietly told the servants,
“Do whatever he tells you.” (John 2:5 ESV).
She knew who He was.
But she was also His mother.
And now she was watching her son suffer one of the most brutal forms of execution the Roman world could devise.
Years earlier, when Jesus was still an infant, Simeon had spoken words that must have echoed in her heart for decades.
“And a sword will pierce through your own soul also.” (Luke 2:35 ESV).
Now the blade had arrived.
Her grief must have been deeper than anyone else standing there.
Yet at the same time, her faith may have been stronger than anyone else present.
She knew who Jesus was.
But knowing the truth did not remove the agony of the moment.
Sometimes our minds know what is true, but our hearts cannot yet accept it.
Jesus had told His followers that He would suffer and die.
He had told them He would rise again.
But the reality of the cross was almost impossible to comprehend while it was happening.
The suffering was too visible.
The grief too overwhelming.
The loss too immediate.
Salome may have struggled to understand what had gone wrong.
Mary Magdalene may have felt hope slipping through her fingers.
Mary, the mother of Jesus, may have carried both unbearable sorrow and unshakable certainty at the same time.
But all three shared something in common.
They stayed.
Before the resurrection.
Before the understanding.
Before hope returned.
Sometimes faith looks exactly like that.
It looks like standing in the shadow of the cross when nothing makes sense.
It looks like holding onto what we know about God even when our hearts are struggling to believe it in the moment.
The women at the cross remind us that the story of faith does not begin with resurrection morning.
Sometimes it begins with simply remaining.
Remaining near Jesus when the future is unclear.
Remaining near Jesus when grief clouds our understanding.
Remaining near Jesus when hope feels fragile.
Because what looks like the end of the story is often the place where God is quietly preparing resurrection.
As you sit with this today, take a moment to reflect on where the shadow of the cross may be pressing on your own heart. Where might you be struggling to hold onto what you know to be true because the pain you are carrying feels too heavy to bear? And where might Jesus be inviting you, like the women at the cross, to remain near Him even before the resurrection becomes visible?
If you're willing, share your reflections or questions in the comments so we can learn and walk this journey together.