In one of Fr. Jerry M. Orbos, SVD’s books — Just a Moment — he asks a powerful question: “Was there a moment in your life when you experienced God in a very real and personal way?” My answer is a wholehearted yes — not just once, but many times. I didn’t grow up religious. I wasn’t taught to rely on God’s grace. As a child, life felt messy, hopeless, and out of control. I wanted to grow up fast so I could fix the things I hated most — especially the way we were living. Back then I didn’t know it, but God was already working behind the scenes. The first time I truly felt His presence was in 2008, when I passed the bar exam. That year, the passing rate was unexpectedly adjusted — something I saw as God’s perfect timing. Honestly, if that didn’t happen, I don’t know how I would have survived it. It was a turning point that made me believe God sees us, hears our whispered prayers, and knows how much we struggle. From that day, I promised myself to live ri...
Back in
the day, when Holy Week was just around the corner, I’d always feel a bit
uneasy. Not because of anything scary or religious — but because I knew it
meant one thing: another long, “boring” week at home. As a 90s kid growing up
in a typical Filipino household that wasn’t particularly religious or outgoing,
Holy Week felt like being grounded for seven days straight.
There was
no television. Stations would go off-air starting Maundy Thursday, and the only
things you’d hear on the radio were mellow songs or church readings. Even the
usual laughter and noise in the streets would quiet down. Kids like me weren’t
allowed to play outside, and it felt like the entire neighborhood went on a
strict “quiet mode.”
I still
remember the eerie silence, only broken by the sound of the pabasa in a
nearby house, or the occasional procession passing through our street. People
in black sutanas (robes) would walk solemnly, and adults would warn us, "Ayan
na ang mumu!" to make us behave. It was more of a scare tactic than a
spiritual moment for us kids. But that was the Holy Week we knew — solemn,
slow, and serious.
Fast
forward to today, and it’s a different world.
Children
now have access to gadgets, streaming platforms, and online games. Holy Week
doesn’t necessarily mean boredom anymore. Parents, many of whom grew up with
the same quiet and strict Lenten experience, now tend to be more relaxed. They
try to make up for their own “boring” childhood Holy Weeks by planning bonding
moments for their families — a staycation in Tagaytay, a beach trip, or a quiet
getaway to the province.
Despite
these changes, it's heartwarming to see that some traditions remain. More
families now make time for Visita Iglesia, reflecting at each church they
visit. Some do the Station of the Cross together and attend Lenten
recollections or retreats. The practice might look different, but the intention
is still there — to pause, to reflect, and to reconnect with our faith.
In the
end, Holy Week — whether spent in silence at home or on a family retreat —
remains a time to slow down and reflect. It's a sacred reminder to look inward,
remember Christ’s sacrifice, and regain our faith in God. What matters is not
where we spend it, but how we choose to make it meaningful.
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