Many foreign observers criticize our expressions of religiosity during Holy Week. They claim our traditions focus excessively on guilt, sin, suffering, and death. But this is mainly because they come to witness the dramatic spectacles that have become regular fixtures of Holy Week: men flagellating themselves while walking barefoot on scorching asphalt, penitents carrying heavy crosses, or the staged crucifixions in Pampanga. What they see is real, but it is not the whole picture.

For us, Christianity is not only about agony and sorrow. It is also about joy, renewal, healing, and resurrection. Our celebration of the birth of Jesus is known worldwide as the longest Christmas season. We do not just celebrate Easter Sunday, but also experience resurrection every time God’s grace lifts us from failure, heartbreak, or hardship. We are not only “Juan de la Cruz”; we are also “Juan de la Gloria,” a people who glory in being redeemed by Christ through suffering and love. As St. Augustine said, “We are an Easter people, and Alleluia is our song.”

Like Christians everywhere, we Filipinos struggle to avoid two extremes: a cross-less Christ and a Christ-less cross. The first is a happy-go-lucky spirituality allergic to sacrifice. It thrives in escapism. During Holy Week, those who practice this prefer beaches, resorts, or foreign trips, immersing themselves in an orgy of food, alcohol, entertainment, and Easter egg hunts. The second is a faith fixated on guilt, fear, and punishment. Its devotees are paralyzed by scrupulosity, believing God must be appeased through self-inflicted pain or harsh penances.

But the majority of Filipinos, I believe, embrace a religion that sees Jesus and the Cross as inseparable. Without Jesus, suffering becomes meaningless. Without the Cross, Jesus becomes merely the god of many prosperity evangelists who promise wealth without sacrifice, pleasure without discipline, sunshine without rain. As St. Paul reminds us, “We preach Christ crucified… the power of God and the wisdom of God” (1 Corinthians 1:23–24).

Our Catholic faith teaches a rhythm of life that mirrors Christ’s own Paschal Mystery. It involves dying and rising, cross and crown, sorrow and joy. Sociologist Peter Berger once observed that religion provides a framework that helps people interpret both suffering and celebration in light of hope. This is deeply true of Filipino spirituality.

Still, this outlook on joy and sorrow is not mere “consuelo de bobo,” a way of sugarcoating the harsh realities that we Filipinos face today: poverty, soaring prices of commodities, injustice, corruption, and social inequality. Christian hope does not trivialize suffering. Instead, it summons us to action. As Pope Benedict XVI wrote, “The Christian message is not merely about realities that can be known. It is a message that makes things happen.”

In other words, true faith is not an opium that numbs. It is a fire that burns our indifference and fuels our desire for change. If we truly believe in Christ’s Resurrection, then we must also strive to participate in it—by helping others rise from despair, defending the oppressed, working for justice, and transforming the world around us. As St. James reminds us, “Faith without works is dead” (James 2:26).

I am grateful to be a Filipino raised in a tradition that recognizes this sacred rhythm. Life has both Good Fridays and Easter Sundays. As Jesus says, “In this world you will have trouble, but take courage; I have overcome the world” (John 16:33).

Ultimately, joy and sorrow coexist in the human heart. For, we cannot fully appreciate one without having experienced the other. And in this beautiful tension, we discover that the Cross, far from being a symbol of despair, is our doorway not only to personal resurrection, but also to the transformation of our society.