As the Lenten season reaches its most solemn stretch, our kababayans once again prepare for the Holy Week—a time when streets grow quieter, churches fill with reflection, and families gather for remembrance and reflection. Across the country, from bustling cities to far-flung provinces and barangays, traditions we learned from our parents and grandparents come alive: pabasa chants echo through the night, penitents walk barefoot in quiet devotion, and parish churches open their doors to the faithful seeking stillness in a restless world.

In the old Tondo I remember, Holy Week carried a deep sense of shared devotion and quiet sacrifice. By Palm Sunday, television seemed to surrender to the season, with little to watch but reruns of Lenten classics like The Ten Commandments and Spartacus. The days were marked not only by silence and solemnity, but by a strong neighborhood spirit: homes, chapels, and street corners became gathering places for the pabasa, church visits, processions, and the Stations of the Cross. I also remember watching Senakulo performances in the plaza. On Good Friday and Easter Sunday, the observance felt even more communal, with solemn vigils and the joyful Salubong marking the close of the season. Looking back, Holy Week felt less like a private observance than a collective act of faith lived out in the streets.

In recent years, however, the solemn character of Holy Week has also begun to shift. For some Filipino families, the long break now means packing for the beach, heading to a resort, or visiting another country, so the season once marked by silence and sacrifice often comes with sun, leisure, and, of course, the inevitable traffic jam. Social media has also changed the way the season is experienced and shared. Some traditional practices, like the pabasa or even neighborhood processions, have gone online via live broadcast on YouTube and Facebook. Yet even in these changes, there remains an opening: a chance to rediscover the deeper meaning of the season, to bring moments of reflection into new settings, and to ensure that, wherever one may be, the spirit of Christ’s sacrifice—faith, humility, and renewal—endures.

We’re known worldwide for starting Christmas early and celebrating it longer than anyone else. But the way we commemorate the Holy Week is something to behold as well. The Lenten Season in the Philippines is more than ritual—it is a deeply lived expression of faith shaped by centuries of history and culture. It is seen in the humility of those who line up for confession, the patience of devotees walking under the heat of the sun during processions, and the quiet solidarity of families observing moments of prayer together. It’s something you’ll find very little of anywhere else in the world. In these shared acts, one finds a distinctly Filipino spirituality: communal, enduring, and rooted in hope.

When I was a child, older people would tell us to follow Jesus’ example or try to be more like Christ. At the time, I didn’t really understand what that meant. Some of us even joked, “But I don’t want to be nailed to the cross.” Years later, though, maturity and wisdom have given those words a quiet depth. Now, I have at least some sense of what they were trying to say.

Reflecting on Christ’s life and sacrifice reminds me that love isn’t just a feeling—it demands something of us, often in ways that are hard and uncomfortable, but deeply transformative. His willingness to carry the cross makes me think about the burdens we each carry, and how we can face them with patience and grace. His mercy also stays with all of us, as a reminder to be kinder, even when it’s inconvenient, especially in a world where it’s so easy to grow tired, resentful, or indifferent. In the face of adversity and hostility, to react with anger is easy, to respond with love is Christ-like and revolutionary.

Filipinos have long drawn strength from faith, especially in times of hardship. We see it in our history. Whether in the aftermath of natural disasters, during moments of national tension, or in the quiet struggles of everyday life, there is a resilience that finds its roots in spiritual conviction. Holy Week is a powerful reminder of this enduring strength—that even in suffering, there is the promise of renewal.

As Easter approaches, the message becomes clear: darkness does not have the final word. The resurrection stands as a symbol of hope, not only for individuals but for the Filipino nation as a whole. It invites all of us to believe in the possibility of transformation—to rise above division, to heal wounds both seen and unseen, and to work toward a more compassionate and just society.