A journey that begins quietly

Holy Week opens like a door. Not a door that slams, but one that is gently pushed open. It does not impose itself. It invites. It draws us into a discreet light, the light of Christ who is moving towards the cross, with gravity, with tenderness, with strength. And those who want to follow him must also slow down. Be silent. Look. Listen.

Walking with Jesus during the Holy Days is not about filling your diary with celebrations. It's not ticking boxes. It's about entering into a different rhythm. It means allowing yourself to be shaped by silence. An inhabited, dense, deep silence. A silence that speaks louder than words.

The silence of Thursday: a word offered

Holy Thursday is a day of gestures. Jesus does not speak much. He gets up from the table, takes a towel, washes feet. He shares the bread, he holds out the cup, he simply says, "Do this in memory of me." These are gestures of total love, silent, almost ordinary.

But it is in this silence that everything is about to change. The gift begins. The Son becomes a servant. He takes the place of the least of these. He leaves his body in the hands of his friends, including the one who will betray him. And then comes the garden. The night. The agony. Jesus prays alone. His friends are asleep. The silence becomes solitude. The weight becomes unbearable. And yet he remains there.

To walk with him that day is to accept that you don't understand everything. It means keeping vigil with him, just for an hour. It's learning to love by serving, by giving, by being silent.

Friday silence: defenceless love

On Good Friday, there is no mass. The Church falls silent. The bells fall silent. The altars are bare. Everything seems suspended. And yet this is the day when love expresses itself most loudly. Not with speeches. With a broken body. With forgiving eyes. With arms outstretched to the uttermost.

Jesus does not respond to accusations. He does not defend himself. He goes through the humiliation, the violence, the hatred. And he loves. To the very end. With no turning back. No conditions.

To walk with Jesus on Good Friday is not to look away. It means not running away from suffering. It means standing there at the foot of the cross, even if you don't know what to say. It means daring to believe that, in this silence of death, a word of hope is being born.

The silence of Saturday: the absence full of promise

Holy Saturday is undoubtedly the strangest day of the liturgical year. God seems absent. Christ is in the tomb. The disciples are scattered, lost, locked in fear. Nothing happens. And yet it is a day of gestation. A day on which we see nothing, but on which life is already breaking through the darkness.

It is the silence of expectation. The silence of the bowels of the earth. The silence of a promise that is being prepared.

To walk with Jesus on that day is to accept that there is no answer. It means believing, even without seeing. It means holding on, without understanding. It is to hope, even in the void. It means trusting in the God who acts in secret.

The silence that transforms

Walking with Jesus in the silence of the holy days means letting the Word sink deeper than usual. Where it can heal. Where it can be fruitful. It's not running away from the world, it's looking at it differently. With the eyes of Christ.

It also means welcoming another rhythm, that of the Gospel. That of the washing of feet. Of waiting in the garden. Of looking at the cross. Of the fragile light waiting in the dark.

In this silence, something is happening. Not immediately visible. But real. God is at work. He is working on our hearts. He is preparing the Resurrection.

Conclusion

Holy Week is not a spiritual performance. It is a journey. A companionship. A breath of fresh air. And to follow it, we must agree to be silent. To make yourself available. To walk slowly, watching Jesus. Not only when he is acclaimed, but also when he is alone, humiliated, broken.

And in that silence, day after day, something stronger than death is being prepared. Something that no noise in the world can prevent: the passage from darkness to light. From the cross to life. From silence to hallelujah.