The Cross We Cannot See

Recently, my daughter attended a talk at the Catholic Student Center at Louisiana State University, where a priest, Father Hough, shared his testimony of being falsely accused of a crime he did not commit and the aftermath that followed. Deeply moved, she called home and told me about it.

He received the devastating news while having dinner with his mother in New York City. Overcome with anxiety, he stepped into Times Square and wept uncontrollably. Despite the crowds surrounding him, no one stopped to ask if he was okay.

He later told the audience, “If you ever see someone bent over, sobbing in public, stop and ask how they are. It is a Christian thing to do.”

That simple call to compassion stayed with me.

Two weeks later, my husband, daughter and I went out for ice cream. One of the employees seemed overwhelmed as she struggled to manage the steady stream of orders with little help.

As we walked to our car, I noticed her sitting on the curb, speaking on the phone and sobbing uncontrollably. Immediately, I thought of Father Hough.

Part of me hesitated, wondering whether approaching her would make her uncomfortable. But a stronger voice urged me: ‘Go to her. Ask if she is okay.’

So, I did.

“Excuse me, ma’am, are you okay?” I asked gently.

She apologized for crying, but I reassured her. “Please don’t apologize. I want you to know that I see you. I can tell you’re working hard, and it seems like you’re overwhelmed.”

She admitted that she was struggling to keep up without enough help.

I asked her name. Tamara.

“Tamara, I’m praying for you right now. I see that you’re doing a good job, and I’m asking God to send you the help you need.”

Her circumstances had not changed, but her demeanor did. Someone had stopped, noticed and cared.

We cannot always see the crosses others carry. Just as no one stopped for Father Hough in his pain, I was being asked not to pass by Tamara in hers.

This is one way we live the Gospel: we notice, we respond and we help carry, even briefly, the cross of another.

Vivian Gonzalez Marino is a wife and mother of four living in the New Orleans Lakefront area. She graduated from St. Mary’s Dominican High School, LSU with a bachelor’s degree in science, and then earned her master’s in exercise physiology at the University of New Orleans. Her favorite online community is "Many Hail Mary’s at a Time."