When there's nothing left to do
There are moments in life when there's no more solution to seek, no more word to speak, no more explanation to give. Moments when we are faced with suffering, with the incomprehensible, with loss. On Good Friday, the Gospel places us in this naked reality: a man, crucified. A thick silence. Scattered disciples. And yet, at the foot of the cross, a few people remain. They do nothing. They say nothing. They remain.
Among them, Mary, the mother. John, the beloved disciple. A few faithful women. Their attitude does not cry out, does not shine, does not seek to understand. It simply says: we are here. Present. Together. To the end.
The faith that does not flee
Standing at the foot of the cross is not a heroic gesture. It is not a show of strength. It is a silent fidelity. A faith that remains standing when all else collapses. A trust that doesn't understand, but chooses not to flee.
Marie says nothing. Jean doesn't argue. Neither seeks to intervene, to prevent, to flee the scene. They remain. Their simple presence becomes prayer. Their gaze becomes an offering. Their silence becomes an act of faith.
Sometimes, in our lives, we are called to that kind of faith. The kind that solves nothing. That changes nothing. But which remains. That doesn't turn its back. That holds on, even in the dark.
Staying there, with Him
Jesus, from the top of the cross, sees those who remain. He sees his mother. He sees the disciple. And in that moment of agony, he entrusts them to each other. He makes them a family. This is no easy consolation. It's a deep bond, born in the depths of shared pain.
Staying at the foot of the cross means saying to Jesus: I'm here. I don't understand everything, but I'm there. I cannot change what is happening, but I am watching you. I'm not running away from your suffering. I hold on to it, gently, humbly, with my heart.
This gesture then becomes a response of love. A comforting presence. A way of saying: you are not alone.
Learn not to run away from pain
Our world moves fast. It runs away from suffering. It seeks to explain everything, circumvent everything, cure everything immediately. But there is pain that cannot be resolved. There are losses that cannot be filled. There are crosses that can't be removed.
In those moments, there's only one thing left to do: stay. Hold on. To stand there. Not out of resignation, but out of love. Be there for the other person. Being there for God. Being there for ourselves, without trying to understand.
This silence is not empty. It is full of true compassion. Full of deep love. Full of hidden hope.
A school of fidelity
Staying at the foot of the cross is an inner school. It is a place of self-denial. It teaches us that faith is not only joy and light. It is also faithfulness in the night. It is also presence in pain.
This is not a spectacular faith. It is not a noisy faith. It is a faith that knows God is there, even when all seems lost. A faith that chooses to stay, quite simply, because we love.
And perhaps that is the greatest act of faith: to stay there when everything in us would like to leave.
Conclusion
Standing at the foot of the cross is an attitude of the heart. It is not reserved for Holy Week. It's a posture for all of life. In our trials. In the trials of others. In God's silences. There will always be crosses in our path. And it will always be possible for us to run away from them... or simply to stay there.
It is not in grand speeches that love shows itself most truly. It's in silent fidelity. In discreet presence. In that phrase that you don't say, but that your heart whispers: I'm here. With you. To the end.
