Last Holy Week, I was privileged to work with Povo da Rua in Belo Horizonte, Minas Gerais. Povo da Rua is a project initiated by the Diocese of Belo Horizonte, which is committed to accompanying and caring for homeless people. It’s not just providing minimums like food, hygiene, and clothing; it’s going step by step hand in hand with them, struggling for their dignity and rights and building real human relationships based on respect, compassion, and solidarity.

As a Timorese Jesuit theology student, I have discovered this experience to be profoundly transforming and shaping. It brought life to the theory and classroom discussion and flesh and voice to the theological concepts that I read. During this Holy Week, theology became flesh on the pages of my books and fleshed out in the faces and lives of people who live on the margins.

The celebrations began with Holy Thursday, and it was the most poignant experience I ever had. Traditionally, Holy Thursday commemorates the Last Supper, where Jesus washed the disciples’ feet as a radical act of humility and service. That evening, in a humble ceremony among people who know suffering firsthand, we washed each other’s feet as well. It made no difference if you were in a house or on the street, young or old, poor or rich. All knelt humbly before another and washed one another’s feet. In this small act, divisions were overcome, wounds were healed, and a strong message was sent: we are all equal, loved in God’s sight. It was a moment of common humanity, one which words cannot do justice to.

On Good Friday, we pushed as a group. The coordinator challenged each individual to write down his or her individual intentions and prayers and then share them with the group. While they shared, the energy around the room grew electric with unedited truth. A young guy, no more than a couple of years older than me, wrote: “What I truly desire is a second chance at changing my past.” These lines spoke to me profoundly.

After, I had a chance to speak with him. He informed me that he was into drug abuse at an early age and got jailed when he was 23 years old. He did five years and was set free, but what awaited him was rejection from his friends and family when he got back, instead of love and open arms. With nowhere to go and no one to turn to, he was forced to live on the streets, fighting day by day to survive. Listening to him, I was touched by heartbreak and admiration, heartbreak at the injustice and suffering he had to endure, and admiration for his courage, his desire for a second chance, his faith that life could still offer him something better.

It brought me to a stern inner question: where is the theology of liberation now? This theology that blazed so passionately across Latin America, summoning Christians to live alongside the poor and oppressed, cannot still be silent. The cries of the poor, the anguish of the homeless, the outcasts, and the forgotten, they are not historical problems of the past; they are the pressing pleas of today. Theology cannot be sealed in books or elevated chatter; it has to be practiced, it has to turn into action, presence, empathy, and standing up for something.

This experience made me remember that change does not occur overnight. We cannot fix the intricate social problems that drive individuals to the streets, systemic poverty, dysfunctional families, absence of mental health services, unemployment, discrimination. But we cannot be indifferent either. We need to open our eyes to see, open our ears to hear, and open our hearts to act.

Personally, this Holy Week with Povo da Rua has touched me profoundly. As a second-year theology student, I witnessed the living dynamic tension between study and service, between prayer and action, between faith and life. It has led me to continue walking with the poor, to reflect more intensely, and to ensure that my vocation is held strong in real human contact.

Upon my return to my own country, I want to carry these lessons with me, to continue to be a voice for the voiceless, to continue to stay humble in ministry, and to help build communities where everyone is not forgotten or disenfranchised.

This Semana Santa was not just a liturgical experience for me, but an encounter with Christ, who is alive and real in the faces of the poor, homeless, and the struggling. [By: Sch. Nelson Marques, SJ]