Why Holy Week Matters (More Than We Think) An Invitation to Dive Deep into the Holiest Week of the Year

Let’s be honest—life moves fast. We’ve got appointments, deadlines, text messages piling up, and maybe a dozen half-finished prayers we keep meaning to finish. But once a year, the Church gives us a chance to press pause on all of that. It's called Holy Week, and it’s not just a tradition—it’s an invitation. A deeply personal, beautifully communal journey that walks us step-by-step with Christ from His triumphal entry into Jerusalem to the empty tomb that changed everything.

But before we talk about what Holy Week is, let’s take a moment to remember where it came from.

A Walk Through History: When Holy Week Became Holy

Holy Week didn’t just fall from the sky fully formed—it grew, slowly and prayerfully, from the lived experience of the early Church. In the first few centuries after Christ’s resurrection, Christians remembered His Passion and Resurrection primarily through intense all-night vigils and local customs. There wasn’t a “Holy Thursday” or “Good Friday” in every diocese—at least, not yet.

It was in the 4th century, especially after the legalization of Christianity under Constantine, that things began to take shape. Pilgrims would flock to Jerusalem to retrace Christ’s steps—literally. The diary of a Spanish nun named Egeria, written around 384 A.D., gives us a front-row seat to how early Christians celebrated this sacred time. It’s thanks to her (and others like her) that we can see how the Church began formalizing Holy Week.

By the time the medieval Church rolled around, the structure of Holy Week had solidified: Palm Sunday, the Chrism Mass, the Triduum, and of course, the joyous celebration of Easter. But even with all its formality, Holy Week remains one thing above all else: personal.

Let’s Talk About the Chrism Mass

Okay, if you’ve never been to a Chrism Mass, you’re missing out.

It’s called to be celebrated on the morning of Holy Thursday (but for practical reasons, it is usually celebrated on Tuesday of Holy Week depending on your diocese), this Mass is the moment when the bishop blesses the holy oils—Oil of the Sick, Oil of Catechumens, and Sacred Chrism—used throughout the year for sacraments. These oils are like the Church’s lifeblood: used for baptisms, confirmations, ordinations, and anointings. They are tangible signs of God’s healing and calling.

But the Chrism Mass isn’t just about oils. It’s a powerful visual of unity—all the priests of the diocese gather with their bishop, renew their priestly promises, and celebrate their shared ministry. It's like a big family reunion, with the bishop acting as the spiritual father of a sprawling, beautiful family.

If you’ve never seen this before—go. The music, the scent of the balsam in the Chrism, the sight of almost all of the priests of your Dioces vested in white...and when they all chant the “through Him, in Him and with Him…” oh my gosh…it’s enough to move you to tears.

Tenebrae: A Liturgy of Shadows and Light

Let’s not forget Tenebrae, the “Service of Shadows,” usually prayed in the evenings of Holy Week, especially Wednesday night.

This isn’t your average evening prayer. It’s dramatic and haunting—psalms are supposed to be chanted or thankfully for me we can recited, candles are slowly extinguished, and the church falls into darkness. The final sound is the “strepitus”—a loud noise symbolizing the earthquake at Christ’s death. Then silence. You just sit there with the weight of it all.

Tenebrae isn’t as common in every parish anymore, but it should be. It stirs something in the soul—a holy discomfort. It reminds us that Christ didn’t die in a poetic, sanitized way. It was brutal. It was dark. And it was real.

The Triduum: One Mass. Three Days. One Love.

Let’s pause here, because this part of Holy Week is something truly sacred.

The Triduum begins at sundown on Holy Thursday and ends at the conclusion of the Easter Vigil. And here’s the key: it’s not three separate liturgies—it’s one continuous celebration, spread across three days. There’s no final blessing after the Mass of the Lord’s Supper. No entrance procession on Good Friday. Because we are walking, moment by moment, with Jesus through His Passion, Death, and Resurrection—without skipping a beat.

This is to me, the heart of our liturgical year.

Holy Thursday: The Mandatum

It all begins with the Mass of the Lord’s Supper. Jesus gathers with His disciples—not just to share a meal, but to become the meal. This is the night He institutes the Eucharist, giving His Body and Blood not just to the Twelve, but to us. Every time we go to Mass, we’re at that table again.

But there’s more. On this night, Jesus gets on His knees and washes His disciples’ feet—an act so humble, so countercultural, that even Peter protests. And yet, Jesus insists. Why? Because love that doesn’t serve isn’t love at all. In some parishes, the washing of the feet is reenacted—a powerful sign of what Christian leadership should look like.

Then, at the end of the Mass, something strange happens: the altar is stripped bare. The Blessed Sacrament is taken in solemn procession to a place of repose—not a tabernacle, but a side chapel or altar. The sanctuary feels empty. Abandoned. Just like Jesus will soon be.

People often stay and pray, sometimes late into the night, in what’s called the Altar of Repose. This mirrors what Jesus asked in the Garden of Gethsemane: “Could you not watch one hour with me?” (Mt. 26:40). If you’ve never stayed for this holy hour—try it. You’ll never forget it.

Good Friday: The Cross and the Silence

This is the most solemn day of the Church year. There’s no Mass—because Jesus, the true Sacrifice, is offering Himself on the Cross.

The liturgy of Good Friday is raw and beautiful. We enter in silence. We listen to the Passion according to John, and we see just how far God was willing to go to rescue us. We venerate the Cross—kneeling before it, kissing it, touching it—not as an idol, but as the wood that bore our salvation. Most times, my brother deacon and I hold the cross as the congregation comes to venerate it. You can see it in their eyes…words simply cannot describe.

There’s a moment during the Solemn Intercessions when we pray for everyone: the Church, the pope, nonbelievers, Jews, atheists, government leaders, those in distress—you name it. The idea is simple: on this day, Jesus stretched out His arms to embrace the whole world. So we lift up the whole world in prayer.

And then… we leave. Quietly. Still no final blessing. No music. Just silence. The Church is holding its breath.

Holy Saturday: The Waiting

This is the vigil of all vigils! This day is often forgotten—but it’s one of the most sacred. Jesus lies in the tomb. The world is still. Heaven seems silent. It’s the day of waiting, of mourning, of uncertainty. For the early disciples, this was a day of fear. For us, it’s a call to hope in the waiting.

And then—the Vigil.

When night falls, everything changes. We gather in the darkness, and the Paschal fire is kindled. A single candle—the Easter candle—pierces the night, and from it, the whole church is lit. It’s a breathtaking image: the Light of Christ spreading among the people.

We listen to readings that trace the history of salvation—from Genesis to the Resurrection. Deacons chant the Exsultet, an ancient hymn proclaiming the victory of Christ. We welcome new Catholics through Baptism, Confirmation, and First Communion. And for the first time since Lent began—we sing Alleluia. The bells ring. The lights blaze. Heaven rejoices.

It’s not just the Resurrection of Christ—it’s a reminder that we, too, are raised with Him.

Easter Isn’t Just a Day—It’s a Feast of 8 Days

And just when you think it’s all over—surprise! Easter Sunday kicks off an eight-day celebration called the Octave of Easter, where every day is celebrated liturgically as if it were Easter Day itself.

That means every day is an opportunity to bask in the Resurrection, to let that joy really soak in. We’re an Easter people—not just for a day, but for life.

And the cherry on top? Divine Mercy Sunday, the final day of the octave. It’s the exclamation point of grace after the Resurrection. The image of Christ with rays of mercy pouring from His heart reminds us that Easter wasn’t just about conquering death—it was about drawing us into eternal love and forgiveness.

Don’t Skip the Liturgy of the Hours (Seriously)

You’ve heard it called the Liturgy of the Hours or the Divine Office—but during Holy Week, these prayers are like the heartbeat of the Church. Morning Prayer and Evening Prayer (Lauds and Vespers) anchor our days in Scripture and praise.

If you want to pray with the Church during Holy Week—like, really stand beside her in prayer—this is the way. And you don’t need to be a monk. You can find apps like iBreviary or Universalis, and pray along with thousands of Catholics all over the world.

So… Why Does Holy Week Matter?

Because it’s not just history—it’s our story.

It’s the story of a God who didn’t just love us from afar, but entered into our mess. Who suffered with us. Who died for us. Who rose so that we could live forever.

And every year, the Church gives us this week to slow down, remember, and relive it. It’s not about liturgical perfection. It’s about participation. Show up. Even if you're tired, distracted, overwhelmed—show up. Because Christ did.

Holy Week is not a burden. It’s a gift.

So unwrap it. Breathe it in. And let it change you.

God Bless