(LifeSiteNews) — Let us begin – In the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit. Amen.
Welcome to “A Shepherd’s Voice.” I am glad you have joined me today as we step into the holiest week of the Church’s calendar.
This episode is a bit different from our usual format. We are entering the most sacred and solemn days of the Church’s year – Holy Week – the final stretch of Lent that leads us to Calvary and, ultimately, to the empty tomb. I want to take this time with you to reflect on what this week really means – not just as a series of liturgical events but as a living mystery we are invited to enter more deeply each year.
Whether this is your first time keeping Holy Week with intention or you have been doing so faithfully for decades, there is always more to discover. The Church gives us this time not just to commemorate what Christ did but to truly participate in it – to be drawn into the very heart of our redemption. These are the days when time seems to thin out and heaven reaches down to touch the earth.
In a world that often races ahead toward Easter, toward celebration and noise and color, the Church bids us pause. She bids us sit still at the feet of the Savior, to walk beside Him as He enters Jerusalem, as He is betrayed, as He gives Himself up in love, suffers, dies, and is laid in the tomb. It is a slow, deliberate, sacred unfolding – and it changes everything.
If you are listening to this while tending to your daily tasks, I invite you to take a breath and let your heart settle for a moment. Holy Week is not something we merely observe – it is something we live through, something we enter into with reverence and humility. The grace of this week is not in the busyness of preparation but in the silence, in the stillness, in the watching and waiting with Christ.
Over the next half hour, I will be walking with you through Holy Week – not as a scholar or theologian, but as a fellow pilgrim. Together, we will recall the spiritual significance and the interior invitation of these days – from Palm Sunday through Holy Saturday – and then to the Resurrection. My hope is that this reflection helps you draw closer to Our Lord so that you walk this path with Him more intentionally this year.
The Church today finds herself at a great intersection – where faithfulness meets betrayal, where tradition meets novelty, where the Cross meets a world that no longer wishes to see it. And it is not only the world that turns away from truth. Within the Church herself, many souls are misled by ambiguity, confusion, and compromise. But Holy Week reminds us that truth is not a theory or an idea – it is a Person. It is Jesus Christ, the same yesterday, today, and forever.
As we walk through the days of this sacred week, we are not merely remembering ancient events. We are entering, once again, into the drama of our redemption. And the Church, through her ancient liturgy, allows us to stand at each intersection – between time and eternity, between sin and mercy, between man and God.
This is the week in which everything comes to a point. The shadows deepen. The conflict intensifies. And the faithful are called to stand where the world – and much of the Church – no longer dares to stand: at the foot of the Cross.
After Palm Sunday and the shouts of “Hosanna,” Our Lord returns not to glory, but to conflict. On Monday, He goes into the Temple and sees what it has become – a place of commerce, not of sacrifice. He overturns the tables of the money changers and drives out those who profane the House of God.
“It is written, My house shall be called the house of prayer: but you have made it a den of thieves” (Matthew 21:13).
This moment is not merely historical. It is a prophetic sign. The Temple is a figure of Christ’s own Body – and of His Church. And today, that Church is once again filled with noise and confusion. Sacred things are treated as common. Reverence has been traded for entertainment. The very House of God, once filled with incense, silence, and sacred music, is now often stripped of its glory.
The money changers may no longer carry coins, but there are those who trade eternal truths for worldly relevance, who speak of dialogue but not doctrine, of accompaniment but not repentance.
Here, we are at an intersection: where the True Priest reclaims His Father’s house – and where we are reminded that the Church must always be purified.
And sometimes, that purification is violent – not in the worldly sense, but in the shaking of complacency, the upheaval of false peace. Just as Our Lord cleansed the Temple, the faithful must reclaim reverence, fidelity, and truth in the Church today.
On Tuesday, Our Lord returns again to the Temple. He teaches, and He confronts. The parables He gives are severe – clear judgments on the leaders of Israel who have failed to recognize the time of their visitation.
“The kingdom of God shall be taken from you, and shall be given to a nation yielding the fruits thereof” (Matthew 21:43).
The Pharisees and Sadducees, filled with envy and fear, attempt to trap Him. But His answers confound them:
“Render therefore to Caesar the things that are Caesar’s: and to God, the things that are God’s” (Matthew 22:21).
“Thou shalt love the Lord thy God with thy whole heart” (Matthew 22:37).
This is the final public teaching before the Passion. The Light speaks in the midst of darkness.
We are again at an intersection: where Christ confronts the leaders of His day, and where we today see a Church often unwilling to confront error. Christ did not remain silent before false shepherds. Neither should the faithful lose their voice in the face of betrayal and confusion.
The modern Church too often speaks in ambiguity when clarity is needed. Where Our Lord taught plainly and with divine authority, many today prefer neutrality, consensus, or even silence – especially when the world disapproves of Catholic teaching.
And yet, there are still voices that speak the truth boldly. Bishops, priests, and laymen who have chosen fidelity over favor. Holy Tuesday reminds us that the truth will be hated – but it must be spoken – in season and out of season.
Tradition calls Wednesday Spy Wednesday – the day Judas goes to the chief priests.
“What will you give me, and I will deliver him unto you?” And they appointed him thirty pieces of silver.” (Matthew 26:15).
Judas – an apostle, a bishop – sells the Son of God for the price of a slave.
“But you, a man of one mind, my guide, and my familiar, who did take sweetmeats together with me …” (Psalm 54:14-15).
This is perhaps the most sobering intersection of all. Judas did not appear to be an enemy. He was among the Twelve. He received Our Lord’s teaching. He sat at the Last Supper. And yet, he betrayed.
Today, we see betrayal within the Church – by those who were entrusted with sacred things. By those consecrated to lead souls to Christ. Judas did not disappear after the first century. He is still among us.
How many betrayals have we witnessed in our own day? How many shepherds have failed to teach the Faith or have actively distorted it? How many have traded clarity for comfort, orthodoxy for popularity?
And still, we are tempted to remain silent. But this is not the time for silence. It is the time for faithfulness. It is the time to remain near the tabernacle, even as others walk away.
We are at another intersection – between false peace and the hard road of fidelity. Between comfort and the Cross. Between Judas and John.
As we draw near to the Sacred Triduum – Holy Thursday, Good Friday, and Holy Saturday – the Passion of Christ becomes the Passion of His Church.
On Holy Thursday, Our Lord gathered with His apostles in the Upper Room to celebrate the Last Supper. It was during this sacred meal that He instituted the Holy Sacrifice of the Mass and the Most Blessed Sacrament of the Altar, giving us His Body and Blood under the appearance of bread and wine. This moment marks the establishment of the New and Eternal Covenant.
After the supper, Jesus went out to the Garden of Gethsemane, where He experienced the agony of soul so intense that His sweat became as drops of blood. There He submitted perfectly to the will of the Father and was betrayed by Judas Iscariot, beginning His Passion.
Just as the disciples fled, many today flee from difficult truths. Just as Peter denied Him, there are voices within the hierarchy that deny the fullness of the Faith. Just as the world cried out, “Crucify Him,” the world today rejects Christ in the unborn, in the sick, in the forgotten, and in the liturgy itself.
We see nations at war. We see economies collapsing. We see disorder in the family, corruption in leadership, and confusion in doctrine. But none of this should surprise us. The Church is walking the Via Dolorosa.
On Good Friday, the Church solemnly commemorates the Passion and Death of Jesus Christ. Having been betrayed, arrested, falsely accused, scourged, and crowned with thorns, Our Lord was condemned to death by crucifixion. He carried His Cross and was nailed to it and offered Himself in perfect obedience and love for the redemption of mankind. From the Cross, He spoke His Seven Last Words, forgiving His enemies, providing for His Blessed Mother, and finally, commending His soul to the Father.
But remember: the Passion was not the end. The Cross is not defeat – it is victory. Christ’s glory is hidden in suffering. His kingship is crowned with thorns.
And the Church, like her Lord, must pass through her own Passion, her own Gethsemane, her own Calvary. But Easter will come.
That is why tradition matters. This is why doctrine cannot change. This is why we hold fast to the liturgy of the ages. Not because we are nostalgic – but because it is through these sacred things that Christ is with us, even in Gethsemane.
As we walk though this Holy Week, let us walk with the Church – not the Church of press conferences and political ambiguity, but the Church of the saints, the martyrs, and the apostles.
Let us remain at the intersection – where truth stands against lies, where the Eternal Priest reclaims His Temple, where the Lamb prepares to be slain.
But as we remain at the intersection of fidelity and confusion, it is not enough merely to observe. Holy Week demands more than sentiment. It calls us to interior participation, to a deeper union with the suffering Christ – not just in memory, but in reality.
Let us ask: How do we enter into these days? Not as bystanders, not as dramatists, but as Catholics – rooted in the Cross, formed by the sacraments, and armed with the rosary.
On Holy Thursday, let us be with Him in the Garden. Let us keep watch while the world sleeps, while even some of His priests fail to believe in the Real Presence they handle. Let us be the ones who remain, who believe, who console.
On Good Friday, let us kiss the Cross not as an object of piety, but as a declaration of loyalty. Let that kiss be a public defiance against the world’s hatred for the truth. Let it be our own “non serviam” to Satan, who still whispers through power and pride and fear.
On Holy Saturday, let us sit in silence with Our Lady. The Church rests. The tabernacles are empty. The sanctuary lamp is gone. This is the silence of Holy Mother Church when Christ is hidden. And yet, even here, we wait in hope – because we know what the world does not: that Christ will rise.
We must live this week not merely as penitents but as witnesses. The world is watching for compromise, for collapse. But what it needs to see – what it must see – is steadfast faith. The kind of faith that will not be shaken by scandal or diluted by novelty. The kind of faith that suffers, remains, and believes.
In these days of betrayal and denial, may we be like St. John, who stayed. Like the holy women, who wept. Like Veronica, who stepped forward. And like the good thief, who said, “Remember me.”
Yes, the Church is wounded. But she is still the Bride. Yes, the world is crumbling. But Christ is still King. And yes, Holy Week is dark – but the light has not gone out.
And although Holy Saturday ends in stillness, we know that the story does not end at the tomb.
Even as we walk through the sorrow and silence of these sacred days, we do so with hope because the dawn of Easter is near. The light of the Resurrection will break into the darkness, just as it did that first Easter morning. Christ will rise – triumphant over sin and death – and with Him, we are invited to rise too.
But let us not rush. Let us linger with Our Lady at the foot of the Cross. Let us keep vigil. And then, when Easter morning comes, we will rejoice all the more because we have walked with Him every step of the way.
As the Easter Vigil we will proclaim, Lumen Christi – the Light of Christ. Even now, it is rising.
So take courage. Fast well. Pray deeply. Walk with Christ.
Be not afraid to suffer with the Church, to weep with the Church, to hope with the Church.
And may this Holy Week be one of true grace for you – one that pierces the heart and opens it anew to the love of Christ.
Until next time, thank you for joining me on “A Shepherd’s Voice.”
May God keep you, may Our Lady of Sorrows intercede for you, and may the truth shine ever brighter in these darkening days.
In the name of the Father, and the Son, and the Holy Spirit. Amen.
