On Good Friday, I was blessed to be a part of visita iglesia organized by our Feast. Growing up in a very traditional, Catholic family, the Stations of the Cross is something that I memorized when I was younger, but eventually forgot when I grew older. It was like a lesson in school, say World History – something I know that happened in the past, but not really sure what I can make out of it.
Until we reached the Fifth Station – Simon of Cyrene helps Jesus to carry his cross.
Jesus Christ, son of the living God, our Savior, needed help, from an ordinary man named Simon, to carry his cross.
It hit me.
I am prideful. I don’t ask for help unless I’m down drowning and hopeless. I won’t bother my family, my girlfriend, or even my best friends, for things that I feel do not concern them, like my work. I don’t like getting them involved because I know that they have their own share of problems as well. I don’t want them to think that I am needy and unable to get things done by myself.
But should I? With that kind of mindset, am I not closing the doors for people who might actually care to listen, to help? Would I rather sink down helpless than slowly rise by asking for a helping hand?
We all have our Simons. Maybe he is that friend who never gets tired of listening to your daily rants; your mother who always asks how your day has been; or maybe a kind-hearted stranger like Simon of Cyrene that you are yet to meet. Help is just around, so long as we admit and acknowledge that we need one. The eyes do not see what the heart does not seek. Never be afraid to ask for help.
The Stations of the Cross is not an outdated, useless piece of biblical history as I first thought it was. It is a timeless story of both suffering and resurrection, of defeat and victory, of pain and love. I realized that it is the story of my life.
By Eugene Cruz