I love Holy Week. I always try to spend it in Malta, for that is where I know it and love it best. Years ago, I was invited to spend it in Spain with one of my sisters and her family. This was Andalucia and my first visit to Spain. I enjoyed that, too - it was dramatic, colourful, and at the same time, profoundly sober. I still remember the Good Friday procession, not unlike ours in Malta, though the added beauty of women wearing mantillas made it especially delightful. I couldn't have asked for more.

Here, Good Friday morning - and some of the afternoon, too - was spent in Valletta with one of my sisters. It was a lovely day. We visited four churches instead of the traditional seven, but we savoured every moment, lingering to appreciate the details as much as we could. Each altar of repose was exquisitely decorated with flowers, shining silver, and bowls of vetch (gulbiena) in the cloistered nuns' chapel down Republic Street. I remember interviewing the Mother Superior all those years ago. To our disappointment, St. Paul's was closed for some reason.

The Good Fridays of my youth are gone; back then, every shop closed, and you couldn't find a grocer, bar, restaurant, or café open. We weren't even allowed to thread a needle - a rule that also applied to Sundays. Looking back, I find it somewhat inane, but we obeyed the rules. Nowadays, with so many tourists around, you simply cannot close everywhere.

Valletta felt full  - not quite a tsunami of tourists, but tourism here has exploded. When government officials triumphantly announce their aim of attracting four million tourists a year, I despair. Really big numbers can be hard to comprehend, but we see the impact everywhere we go. Tourism brings in money -  lots of it - and governments seem keen on encouraging its growth. Selfishly perhaps, many of us are not.

On Good Friday, a man was singing in Republic Street. I did not recognize the music or the language, but I felt annoyed. Someone should have stopped him. This is not a day for singing unless it is sacred music. Customs like ours will disappear little by little if we are not vigilant.

I thoroughly enjoyed the evening of music and spiritual reflections at Naxxar Parish Church on Monday. The Jubilate Deo choir performed, a group I last heard at St. Johns during Christmas - a fabulous concert. That evening, the choir commemorated the 500th anniversary of Giovanni Pierluigi da Palestrina's birth, performing polyphonic works like O Bone Jesu, Adoramus Te Christe, and Sicut Cervus, as well as Gregorian chants from the Holy Week liturgy. It was a spiritual and serene experience - a taste of heaven.

Maestro Christopher Muscat later explained to me that reflections, written by chorister Joseph Calleja, were read by Mary Rose Bonnici and Tonio Vella. I was looking at Tonio and he was very familiar.  Of course he is an actor. I have seen him on TV. He plays Majsi apart from many other characters, on stage and small screen.

These thoughtful reflections focussed on biblical characters from Holy Week - the penitent thief, Mary of Bethany, Simon of Cyrene, the Centurion, St. Peter, and Mary Magdalene - and how their actions might inspire our spiritual lives.

The Jubilate Deo Choir brought deep emotion and resonance to Palestrina's works. Sicut Cervus, based on Psalm 42:1 ("As the deer longs for the water brooks"), is a pinnacle of Renaissance polyphony, celebrated for its purity and balance. Each work uplifted the soul, a perfect preparation for Holy Week. The intertwining voices created harmonious and prayerful melodies, leaving an impression of serenity.

Gregorian chant reminds me of the great film Des Hommes et Des Dieux (Of Gods and Men), a deep and powerful story of Trappist monks in Algeria. The film opens with them singing Gregorian chant - a lingering and poignant moment. If you haven't seen it, I highly recommend it.