Nothing was the same after that moment. I could not be easy, or go on as I had. My lifelong fascination with politics ended — I found I could no longer write about political issues with conviction, because suddenly it all seemed so superficial, transient and disconnected (or only partially connected) to what is real. I sensed that what I had immersed myself in, almost since childhood, was a sinkhole of illusion meant to turn us away from the outreach of love that is the taproot of all that is true, and beautiful and good — the Christ who is reaching out to us, begging us to notice and reach back.
Holy Saturday is the terrible day of the empty; the tabernacles around the world are bare; there is no Holy Mass. All is silence, and we are ourselves bereft, seeking the Lord, mourning his absence and finally, finally reaching out for that pulse of life: Oh, my Lord …
In the subterranean Gethsemane of Penn Station, I learned that this longing is the merest fraction of the longing he endures for us.
Elizabeth Scalia is Editor-in-Chief of Aleteia’s English edition.