A Holy Week Reflection

At the end of last school year, my son and I started praying a decade of the Rosary every morning on the way to school. We kept it going into the new school year, and then in January, I made a quiet commitment: I was going to pray the full Rosary every day.

It wasn’t some big resolution or public promise. It just grew from that simple practice. One decade. One small moment of calm before the day really began. After I dropped him off, I felt called to keep going. I continued praying on my commute, and almost every time, I’d finish the final prayer just as I pulled into my workplace parking lot. It felt intentional, like grace was guiding the timing.

Day after day, it became part of our rhythm. My son and I still pray that first decade together, and then we share our intentions: for his teachers, classmates, teammates, our family, our clergy, and anyone else we feel moved to pray for. Then I finish the rest of the Rosary on my way to work. What started small has become one of the most meaningful parts of my day. It’s a steady, peaceful rhythm that keeps my heart grounded.

But during Holy Week, something happened.

As I followed the usual mystery rotation — Joyful on Monday and Saturday, Sorrowful on Tuesday and Friday, Glorious on Wednesday and Sunday, and Luminous on Thursday — I started noticing something I had never really paid attention to before.

It started on Holy Thursday. As I prayed the Luminous Mysteries, I reached the Fifth Mystery, the Institution of the Eucharist, and it suddenly hit me. This happened today. This is the day Jesus broke the bread, blessed the cup, and gave us His Body and Blood. I wasn’t just meditating on a moment from Scripture. I was praying it on the very day it unfolded in the life of the Church.

Then came Good Friday.

That morning, I began the Sorrowful Mysteries as usual, but something felt different. I realized that nearly every event I was reflecting on — the Agony in the Garden, the Scourging at the Pillar, the Crowning with Thorns, the Carrying of the Cross, and the Crucifixion — happened on this very day.

It wasn’t just about the Crucifixion. It was the full journey of Christ’s suffering. I found myself walking through each moment, bead by bead, with a heavier heart and deeper reverence than ever before. This wasn’t abstract. This wasn’t distant. It was today. And the Church, all around the world, was entering into that same Passion.

As I prayed, I could almost feel the weight of the cross, the sting of the whip, the sorrow in the garden. Each mystery carried more meaning and more power. It felt like I was standing at the foot of the cross. Not just observing, but participating. Praying. Being transformed.

The next morning, on Holy Saturday, I met with my spiritual director. I shared what I had experienced while praying the Rosary over the past two days. I told him how powerful it felt to walk with Jesus through each step of His Passion, precisely as the Church was commemorating those same steps. We sat with that for a while.

We talked about how rare and meaningful that alignment is. When the Rosary mirrors what is happening in the liturgical life of the Church, it becomes something deeper. It is more than remembering. It becomes entering in. Intentional. Sacred. Real. He agreed that it was significant. When our prayer lines up closely with the rhythm of the Church, the Rosary takes on a whole new depth. It is not just a devotion. It becomes a living participation.

Then came Easter Sunday.

As I began the Glorious Mysteries, starting with the Resurrection, it all came into focus. This wasn’t just a string of holy coincidences. It was a revelation. The Rosary, for this one sacred week, was fully aligned with the liturgical calendar. Each mystery — from the Last Supper to the Crucifixion to the empty tomb — matched perfectly with the Church’s celebration of those events.

That does not happen often.

Think about it. The Nativity, one of the Joyful Mysteries, is celebrated on December 25, but it moves through the days of the week and only occasionally lands on a Saturday or Monday. The Annunciation on March 25 might fall on any day. Even the Transfiguration, Assumption, and Pentecost do not always line up with their corresponding Rosary days.

But Holy Week? It all comes together.

• Holy Thursday is always a Thursday, perfect for the Luminous Mysteries
• Good Friday is always a Friday, when the Sorrowful Mysteries are prayed
• Easter Sunday is always a Sunday, and the Glorious Mysteries begin with the Resurrection

This is more than liturgical alignment. It is spiritual immersion.

To use a more down-to-earth analogy, it is like listening to Tennessee River by Alabama while driving through Alabama and crossing the Tennessee River itself. The song isn’t just playing anymore. It is real. You are in the middle of it.

And that is what the Rosary felt like during Holy Week.

Not everyone notices it. I certainly didn’t before. But now I see it as one more way the Holy Spirit invites us to draw near. Not just in routine prayer, but in prayer that meets the moment. In prayer that reflects what heaven and earth are celebrating together.

That is why I felt called to share this.

Because maybe someone else has been praying the Rosary every day without realizing how closely it can tie into the rhythm of the Church. Maybe someone out there is like I was, doing their best to stay faithful but not fully seeing the grace unfolding right in front of them.

So here is my invitation.

This year, next Holy Week, or even today if you are reading this during Easter, pray the Rosary with a new awareness. On Holy Thursday, meditate deeply on the Eucharist. On Good Friday, linger in the Passion. On Easter Sunday, rejoice in the Resurrection. Let those mysteries speak to you in real time.

And if you are a parent, don’t just pray for your kids. Pray with them. Even just one prayer a day. It makes a difference. My son and I have felt it. It is a small thing, but it sets the tone for the entire day.