Holy Week just came to an end today, and I’ve found myself sitting with so many emotions, gratitude, reflection, and even a bit of nostalgia.
Growing up, Holy Week always had this sacred, almost mysterious feeling to it. It was that time of year where the atmosphere in the house, in the church, and even in the air felt different. I remember as a child how everything seemed so serious from Palm Sunday to Good Friday. My siblings and I would line up for church processions, waving our palm fronds like we really knew what they meant. Back then, it was more of a family tradition than a personal conviction. We followed along because that’s what we were taught, and somehow, those habits shaped our hearts without us even realizing.
Maundy Thursday was one of those evenings that stayed with me. Watching the foot washing as a child, it looked so odd and out of place why would anyone wash someone else’s feet in church, of all places? But as I’ve grown, I now understand the humility behind it. The lesson of service, love, and leadership in its purest form. As a kid, I was just fascinated by the whole process, but now, I carry the message with me long after the Mass ends.
Good Friday was always the most intense. The silence, the fasting, the Stations of the Cross under the sun it wasn’t just about reliving a story. It was the one day you could feel the collective solemnity of everyone around you. Even as a child, you knew something big was being remembered, even if you couldn’t put it all into words. My parents would insist on total quietness at home around 3pm, and I never really got it until I became an adult. Now, that 3pm silence feels sacred. It feels like everything in the world pauses for a moment to acknowledge the weight of sacrifice.
Now that I’m older, a lot has changed. I don’t live with my parents anymore. No one’s waking me up for morning Mass or reminding me to fast. And yet, this year like the past few I find myself choosing to show up. Choosing to be present. Choosing to observe this Holy Week not just as a tradition, but as a time to reconnect with what matters. It’s funny how as kids we participated with our bodies, but now we participate with our hearts.
I still miss the small joys of childhood Easter, the excitement of wearing new clothes, the Easter rice and chicken, the reunion with cousins. But adulthood has given me a different appreciation. Now I carry the meaning more than the motions. I understand the weight of grace, the beauty of sacrifice, and the power of renewal.
So as this Holy Week ends today, I feel full, not just physically from Easter lunch, but spiritually. And I’m thankful. Thankful for growth, for second chances, and for the journey from childhood faith to something deeper and more personal.
Reading this really put a smile on my face, I could totally relate, especially that I also grow up in a house with my grandparents. The holy week is really something we do take seriously and I just missed how it was when I was younger. Nostalgia really hits after I read your blog. Have a blessed day!
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You are most welcome! 😉
As a child, as long as I was physically present, all was fine. I could be there, in church and at the same time imagining myself with a bowl of rice right in front of me. But like you said, as adults, it is left for us to make the decision of whether to attend it with our hearts or for attendance sake
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