I couldn't help but notice a shift during the Holy Week—more businesses remained open during the Easter Triduum compared to previous years. Strolling through bustling streets in the metro, I saw throngs of people doing Visita Iglesia. Restaurants welcomed the influx of customers, albeit struggling with the unexpected volume as skeleton crews hustled to keep up with demand. Staff worked overtime during what was once cherished family time. As I witnessed this, I wondered: what does this reveal about our evolving society?

Historically, Holy Week in the Philippines meant a near-total commercial hiatus from the 1950s through the 1980s. For most of the 20th century, businesses would shut down operations from Maundy Thursday through Easter Sunday. Cities turned into ghost towns as people retreated to their homes or provinces for solemn observances. Commercialism took a backseat to reverence and reflection during this most sacred time in the Catholic calendar.

A gradual transition began with the rise of religious tourism. Pilgrimages to holy sites like Antipolo and Baclaran gained popularity, sparking a nascent industry catering to the needs of travelers. Some entrepreneurs saw an opportunity to provide food, lodging, and transportation to the growing numbers of pilgrims. This marked the beginning of a subtle shift in how Filipinos approached the Holy Week.

Now, selective business operations during Holy Week have become the norm. What was once unthinkable—keeping shops and restaurants open during the Triduum—is now commonplace. Holy Week has become a significant consumer spending period, with businesses eager to capture the pent-up demand of a public that increasingly sees the holiday as an opportunity for leisure and recreation.

Today, businesses grapple with conflicting approaches. The experiences of workers—the often-invisible individuals keeping establishments running—must be considered. Consumer demand drives operational decisions, while business owners find themselves caught between religious observance and financial pressures. Are we witnessing the quiet erosion of a once-universal sacred time?

The Easter Triduum offers a poignant parallel. On Maundy Thursday, we might ask: In today's commercial Holy Week, who serves whom? Is it the businesses serving the needs and wants of consumers, or the workers serving the interests of their employers? On Good Friday, who bears the economic cross—the staff who sacrifice family time and spiritual observance, or the businesses who risk losing revenue by closing shop?

Black Saturday brings a contemplative silence, but do we still know how to truly pause? In a world that increasingly values productivity and consumption, have we lost the ability to step back and reflect? And on Easter Sunday, who experiences genuine resurrection and renewal? Is it the businesses that see a spike in sales, or the workers who finally get a respite from the demands of Holy Week transactions?

Looking ahead, business leaders face questions with no easy answers. How can we balance the competing needs of profitability, employee well-being, and respect for tradition? Is it possible to find a middle ground where businesses can thrive without completely sacrificing the solemnity of Holy Week? What role should consumers play in shaping these norms through their choices and demands?

As a Catholic business educator, I believe we have a responsibility to grapple with these questions and to train future leaders who can navigate these complexities with wisdom and integrity. It's not about imposing a one-size-fits-all solution, but about fostering a discerning spirit that can weigh competing goods and make decisions that serve the best interests of all stakeholders.

The challenges are daunting, but so too are the opportunities. If we approach this issue with creativity, empathy, and a commitment to the common good, we may yet find a way to honor both the sacred and the secular in our ever-evolving society. And in doing so, we can ensure that the traditions we pass down to future generations are not just relics of the past, but living expressions of our deepest values.