Holy Week: From Sugar Highs to Sacred Truths

I used to skip straight to the light of Easter. Now I sit with the shadows of Holy Week too.

As a kid, Holy Week came down to three big days:

• Palm Sunday, where I marched through my hometown church wielding my palm cross like a holy lightsaber

• Good Friday, which was scary, sad, and couldn’t end soon enough

• Easter Sunday, the Super Bowl of chocolate mayhem and church fashion.

That was many years before I fully understood the gravity of the rest of the week, when I was blissfully in it for the candy, eggs, and fancy outfit.

Seek and Ye Shall Find a Basket

Easter morning started early. My sister and I didn’t just hunt for eggs—we had to hunt for our entire Easter baskets, which my mom had hidden in the house like national treasures.

After about twenty minutes of frantically looking under furniture and tearing through closets, she’d finally cave and play 'Hot & Cold' so we wouldn’t be late for church.

Once the baskets had been secured and immediately looted, breakfast was served—with Cadbury eggs absolutely counting as a breakfast food.

Then it was off to church in our Sunday best. Easter was my favorite fashion event of the year. Our church even had a red carpet.

Okay, the carpet was just red. But still—it felt fancy.

From Resurrection to Graveyard Games

As soon as the final “Hallelujah!” echoed through the church, all the kids launched out of the front doors into the Easter egg hunt—which, naturally, took place in the church graveyard among the tombstones (not weird at all).

It quickly devolved into The Hunger Games, with kids diving for eggs like their lives depended on it. It got especially brutal when a plastic egg full of candy was spotted. The toddlers had their own roped off section so they didn’t get trampled in the raid.

I'm pretty sure that if Jesus had stopped by and witnessed the cemetery egg brawl, He would've been like, "I died for this?"

Then I Learned About the Other Days

With age, Easter and the run up to it got heavier.

I knew the big moments: the palms, the Last Supper, the cross, the empty tomb. But everything in between? I skipped right over it.

Now, I spend Holy Week meditating on those overlooked days—the ones full of tension, confrontation, betrayal, sadness, silence, and sacrifice.

Jesus entered Jerusalem for Passover—the holiest holiday of the year—which drew the biggest crowds.

He was greeted like a rock star as he entered the gates of the city on a donkey. The streets were lined with thousands of adorers, feverishly greeting him with cries of “Hosanna!” This was the man who had been performing miracles across the region and who people claimed was the desperately awaited Messiah.

But Jesus had plans that no one saw coming.

He stormed the temple, flipping tables and driving out merchants and money changers who were exploiting the sacred holiday for profit. He publicly called out the most powerful religious leaders as hypocrites. He boldly claimed His authority as God—a blasphemous declaration. He deeply unsettled Roman officials.

Then the public turned on him. He was betrayed by one of His beloved disciples. And in the final hours, He desperately pleaded with His Father in Heaven for another way. But there was no other way.

Seven Days, Seven Questions for the Holyish

If you really sit with it, Holy Week holds a mirror up to the rawest parts of faith and humanity. It doesn’t just tell the story of Jesus’ final days—it invites us to find ourselves in it.

So I ask myself some hard questions.

Palm Sunday – The people cheered “Hosanna!” but by Friday, they were shouting “Crucify him.” I ask: Am I jumping on the bandwagon or truly following?

Holy Monday – Jesus flipped tables in the temple. I ask: What in my life needs to be overturned so that something holier can take root?

Holy Tuesday – He taught boldly and spoke truth to power. I ask: Do I really want to hear and speak the truth, or am I just staying where it’s comfortable?

Spy Wednesday (yes, it’s really called that) – Judas made a deal to betray Jesus for thirty pieces of silver. I ask: Where am I selling out instead of standing firm in my faith?

Maundy Thursday – Jesus washed feet and shared the Last Supper with His disciples, knowing what was was coming. I ask: What does it mean to keep loving when I feel let down or betrayed?

Good Friday – Jesus’ sacrifice on the cross. I ask: What am I trying to earn that He already paid for? Am I honoring His sacrifice?

Holy Saturday – A day of silence, stillness, and grief. I ask: Can I trust that God is working even when it feels like nothing is happening?

Easter Sunday – The stone is rolled away. Everything changes. I ask: Knowing how deeply I am loved by God, how will I live differently — even with all my imperfections?

Not Just a Holiday. A Roadmap.

Easter isn’t the end of the story. It’s the beginning.

It doesn’t just ask us to believe in the resurrection—it invites us to live it.

To walk through the hard, the hidden, the humbling, and finally into freedom and hope—carrying that awesome light that overcame death. A journey not just of Jesus, but of all of us.

The real Easter prize isn’t hidden in the grass, it’s in the grace—freely given for all to find.