How to spend Holy Week

"Mommy, you're eating meat!" my son had admonished me last Friday. I smiled sheepishly. He had remembered the priest's reminder, given at the beginning of Lent, not to eat meat on Wednesdays and Fridays.

I guess I would have been more conscious about the traditions of Lent had I gone to Catholic school. The things I know about it seem to be superstitions about Good Friday - don't be loud and noisy, don't get out of the house after 3:00 o'clock in the afternoon, don't take a bath. Anyone who disobeyed was called "hudeyo." And until high school, I thought "hudeyo" meant someone evil.

As a child, Maundy Thursday and Good Friday meant that both my parents would be home the whole day. We stayed in and played cards. We ate binignit and biko. There would be nothing on tv except "Jesus Christ Superstar" or some religious drama.

One Good Friday, we decided to go to the beach. We rented a cottage in a small "resort" in Mactan. I kept glancing at my watch, waiting for 3:00 o'clock in the afternoon. At the back of my mind, I worried that something terrible would happen. I waited for God to strike someone with lightning. I imagined a tidal wave coming at us.

Nothing happened. The people continued to gather shells on the beach. The only other guest, a male Caucasian with long hair and a beard, continued to sunbathe. We played cards. I had mixed feelings - relief that nothing horrible happened, and cheated for all the times I had to stay inside the house because of fear.

Years later, I would get the chance to spend some Good Fridays abroad. To avoid major office disruptions, my husband's previous firm scheduled their legal staff meetings during the Holy Week. In Seoul, it was no different from any other working day. Our hotel was in the business district. I saw people in suits walking hurriedly from the subway. Someone in our group of spouses and children suggested that we go to a church. Because of the language barrier and our tight schedule, we never got around to going to one.

In Sydney, I decided to visit a church while my husband had his meeting. From the map, the church looked like it was near our hotel. After two hours of walking, I found myself lost and hungry in the middle of the Royal Botanic Gardens. I ordered beef pie at the first food kiosk I saw and promptly felt bad when I remembered that I was not supposed to eat meat on Good Friday. I never found the church.

My lack of a Catholic school education never bothered me until my son was about to have his First Communion. I worried that I would not be able to answer his questions about religion. I actually bought a book entitled "Catechism for Filipino Catholics" upon the recommendation of the priest who gave a talk to the parents. I have not read all of it yet but I intend to look up the part about not eating meat during Lent just in case my son decides to ask me why in the future. If it's not in the book, I will just have to check the Internet.

Still, there are days when I think that my not going to Catholic school is not such a bad thing. No one brought up the idea of a God just waiting to send me to hell for every little infraction I committed (including eating meat). My friend went to Catholic school from pre-school to college. She remembers being made to go to confession every week. She felt that she had to invent sins so she would have something to say. I suppose it annoyed her so much because she hardly goes to church now.

This Holy Week, I intend to just stay at home and enjoy the peace and quiet of an empty city. While I have not outgrown my childhood compulsion to look solemn and serious (and to feel more religious) on Good Friday, I know that I do not need to wait until then to feel closer to God.

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