In the liturgical sense of the word, Easter Sunday—according to usccb.org—is the greatest of all Sundays, as it celebrates the Lord’s resurrection from the dead, culminating in His Ascension to the Father and the sending of the Holy Spirit upon the Church. To perhaps frame it in mental health terms, it’s a moment of renewal—a time when the dark clouds hanging over a person might finally lift, dissipating in a potent, all-radiant light.
The whole journey that Jesus Christ took—from His crucifixion to His passion, and finally to His resurrection—is a bleak road toward a redemption arc that has, in many ways, been mirrored and even upended by our own metaphorical journeys of faith.
But somehow, the message has gotten lost in translation, and people—original sinners as they are—continue to fumble along the way.
What follows are glorious tips to help you achieve a personal renaissance, inspired by Scriptural permutations.
Really Reflect
Now, think of this Holy Week as the soundboard of your life. What have you done to better the lives of those around you? Have you, in some way, become your own version of a Herod’s soldier—mocking, judging, or turning away as others carry their burdens? Or have you, at some point, paused what you were doing to become a Simon of Cyrene—stepping in, even briefly, to help someone carry their cross from the fortress of Antonia to Calvary? Think about it. Reflect accordingly
Disengage to the Noise
Back in our youth, when we took our grandparents’ advice to heart during Holy Week, they were always quick to remind us to tone down unnecessary activities—especially excessive noise—simply because the Lord is dead. Today, that noise may come in the form of the distractive hullabaloo of our fast-paced lives or the constant din of the ever-increasing demands of digital toxification. Learn to silence the noise that compels you to shout, and instead, embrace the stillness that allows you to listen.
Find Your Core
Strip away the noise, the duties, the roles you play—and what’s left? Holy Week invites you to sit with that question. Beyond the titles, the deadlines, the expectations of others, there is a core: who you are when no one is looking. Go back to that. Reacquaint yourself with the quiet truth of your being. That’s where grace begins.
In your smallest of ways, be the person who begins again. Not because Holy Week demands it, not because you’re forced to hold up a mirror—but because that’s what being human feels like: the quiet, imperfect choice to try again.
