On that morning when I woke up no longer believing in God, the only place I could go was to the foot of the cross. Not to understand it but to be enveloped by it. To face the abyss of being forgotten, being abandoned – and risk falling all the way in. And then to linger, even loiter, in that place where eternity and time, death and life, despair and hope and all we’ve lost and still might gain embrace. To allow the bend from anamnesis to epiclesis to stretch out.
