There was a time when attending Holy Week Masses felt like something I simply followed, something I grew up doing, without really pausing to understand why.
But this year felt different.
I found myself completing the Triduum on my own will. It was not out of routine and not because I had to. Something in me wanted to be there in all 3 church services. From Maundy Thursday to the quiet weight of Good Friday and to the stillness of waiting during the Saturday Vigil.
And I finally found myself at a Mass in the Apostolic Nunciature in Jakarta on Good Friday. I’ve always wanted to attend a mass there, but never got to do it when I was still living close. Hearing mass there on Good Friday settled a quiet kind of grace in my heart.
My Catholic childhood during the Holy Week was a tired memory of long lines and crowded churches. They were unwelcome rituals I dread but had to do anyway. And yet now, I find myself longing for the sounds – the singing, the chanting, the shared silence. Funny how time changes what our hearts hold on to.
Faith feels different now. It’s more personal, probably because it is chosen. It’s something I return to not because I have to, but because I want to.
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The true faith comes naturally, i really feel it hits very different now,