The Cross Was Never Meant to Be Carried Alone

Simon of Cyrene, the Good Samaritan, and the humility every leader must learn

I have three wonderful daughters, each unique in their own way.
Our youngest was by far our most co-dependently independent daughter as a toddler. It sounds like an oxymoron, but I assure you, if you knew her then, you understand. She preferred to be near familiar faces, never far from her sisters or from us, but she fiercely insisted on doing everything by herself.

Unintelligible grunts followed by a firm “I do it” still echo in my mind.

She would struggle to scoop food with her little spoon, missing more than she managed to eat, but heaven help the hand that tried to assist. Most dinners ended in a glorious mess, as she abandoned utensils altogether and leaned over her plate to eat like one of our pets, who waited beneath the highchair for the inevitable cascade of toddler approved leftovers.

I laugh now, but I see myself in her more than I’d like to admit.

“I do it” never left my vocabulary. It just got dressed up in adult language.
“Thanks so much, I’ll be in touch” when someone offers help but I’m too guarded to receive it.
“I’m doing great!” when the truth is I’m barely hanging on.

Two decades into ministry, and I must admit, I’ve worn that independent spirit like armor at times. I've heard the same in pastors, staff teams, and weary leaders across the country. More polished, more theologically nuanced, but still echoing the same refrain: “I do it.”

Here’s the part we don’t talk about enough: Even Jesus didn’t carry the cross alone.

As we read the passion narrative, Matthew, Mark, and Luke all include a moment where a man from the crowd, a North African pilgrim (modern day Libya) named Simon, was pulled from the margins and into the center of redemptive history. He was not a disciple. He did not volunteer. He was not known. He was compelled by Roman guards, likely grumbling, confused, maybe even afraid. Yet, there he is, shoulder to splintered wood, carrying the burden of the broken Savior.

What strikes me most is not that Simon helped Jesus, it is that Jesus allowed him to.

The one who walked on water, silenced storms, and raised the dead could have summoned supernatural strength, could have relied on the angels to carry his burden, or chosen to bear the weight alone as a form of self-flagellation. But instead, he allowed someone else to help. He, the sinless Son of God, chose the humility of being helped by a passerby.

As I read this story in the Gospels I thought, “This is not weakness or failure. It is the quiet and cruciform humility and strength that says, ‘I am willing to receive in my darkest hour.’”

There is a hidden dignity in accepting help. It is a kind of surrender that pride cannot imitate. Jesus carried the full weight of our sin, but he made space for someone else to carry the cross. He honored human participation in divine suffering, and in doing so, he gave us permission to set down our independent declarations and receive grace from unexpected places.

The story of Simon reminds me of another moment Jesus told, and I wonder if he remembered it as he crawled toward Golgotha?

A Jewish man is beaten, robbed, and left half dead on the side of the road.
Two religious leaders pass him by. Then, a Samaritan, a person his culture would have called unclean, impure, and untrustworthy, stops. He is not noble and is from the capital of Israel, Samaria. He didn’t carry the pedigree of lineage from the Holy City of Jerusalem, the capital of Judah, the more elite country.

However, this Samaritan does not just notice this Jewish man who needs help, he kneels, he binds wounds, he lifts, he carries, he pays. He helps.

We often focus on the goodness of the Samaritan.
But to truly receive that story, we must imagine being the one in the ditch. Can you receive help from someone you were taught you were greater than?Can you allow compassion to come from someone outside your status? Can you accept comfort from the one you expect you should lead? Can you be vulnerable enough to let another help you dress your wounds or is it easier to stay in the ditch saying, “I do it.”

Sometimes grace shows up through the people we least expect.
Sometimes the most Christlike thing we can do is say yes to someone offering to help.

And at times, the only way forward is to admit that we are the one on the side of the road needing help because we are too wounded and weary to keep going. We are the one buckling under the weight. We are the one bleeding in the dirt, and salvation comes not just in the lifting, but in the willingness to be lifted.

We do not know much about Simon after that moment when he laid down the cross on Golgotha. He appears only in a handful of verses and then disappears. But the Gospel of Mark gives us a glimpse that may be an easter-egg for those who would read his letter. He tells us that Simon was the father of Alexander and Rufus. Why include their names unless the early church knew them?

As we read the New Testament, there is a Rufus mentioned later in Paul’s letter to the Romans. “Greet Rufus, chosen in the Lord,” he writes, “and his mother, who has been a mother to me also.”

Some scholars believe it is the same family. If that is true, then Simon’s one moment of forced interruption became a doorway to legacy. What life changing conversations may have occurred as he went home after watching Jesus crawl towards his death? I wonder if he was one of the 500 people that saw Jesus after his resurrection? I wonder if Jesus thanked him for his help? It’s possible that Simon’s children became part of the movement of the early church. His wife may have become a mother figure to the Apostle Paul. A man who was simply passing by had his life and his family line forever altered by a moment he did not choose, but was chosen for him because of Jesus’ humility to admit that he needed help carrying a burden.

The grace that found him on the road extended through his home. And I believe God still works that way today. I believe there are legacies waiting to be written through moments we never would have chosen for ourselves. I believe the burdens we try so hard to carry alone might become sacred altars where grace is passed to the next generation, not because we endured with grit, but because we opened our hands and let someone into our pain and a holy bond merged with tenderness, mutual suffering, and admitting pain is not meant to be endured alone.

To my fellow pastors, leaders, and friends who carry the weight for everyone else. To the helpers who refuse to be helped, this message is for you. You do not always have to be the Good Samaritan. Sometimes you are the one in the ditch. Sometimes you are the one who stumbles because the wounds are too painful and the weight is too heavy, and sometimes the most faithful thing you can do is receive.

The cross you are carrying may not get lighter, but Jesus, the one who conquered it all, shows us you were never meant to carry it alone.

Let someone help you.

So if you are carrying something today, something that feels heavier than you can name, please, reach out. Do not die with an “I do it” mentality. Do not let pride bury the help that could save you. Live with the humility to receive and let someone into the weight, to shoulder it with you. Let them sit with you in the mess and help bind the wound. Let them carry the cross for a little while, you do not have to do it alone.

Vulnerability can be scary, but the alternative is deadly.

I am here.
Others are here.
You are not as alone as the silence would have you believe.

There is help. There is grace.
There is still time to say yes to the unexpected kindness of another and who, but God, knows the legacy of impact that may come by letting someone in on your pain.