As I write this post, I sit in my dialysis chair at home and look into the empty air pondering the great mystery of salvation. Sunday means salvation, the Lord’s day, Easter. But what of it? Do I see salvation? Do I taste it? What is salvation exactly?

Death was definitive before this day. When the ancients died, they were dead and buried. True, there were whispers of a resurrection, but before Easter, no one really expected it. Time and experience proved death unavoidably tragic and concrete, like the last raspy breath of a newborn born only to die in his mother’s arms. The world lived and died without hope before this day.

Salvation is now and later. Now, insofar as I am not a slave to mortal sin that is spiritual death, because I live to hope for Heaven and love God because He has loved me first. Later, because salvation in its fullness is only tasted in death, when the sweetness of the saintly life is finely relished beyond the touch of sorrow and suffering. For the saint, death is a door into a palace of many mansions. For the sinner, death is a door to a dungeon as dark as a black hole from which not even light enters, let alone escapes.

Today is Easter Sunday, and no doubt you are home today and probably alone. But I hope you are not unhappy. I hope you rejoice, for the faithful little ones of Christ are His chosen. Those who do not bend or break their conscience in order to appease the world are looked on by the world as insane ridiculous rebels who have no clue. If all God asks of me is to be a fool for Him, I count myself blessed and spiritually spoiled. In the times of yore, my faithful spiritual kin were killed by molten lead poured down their throats or their skin torn to tatters by seashells. We are asked to be faithful by not attending a sacrilegious mass, and we bemoan our outcast state.

O Lord, however will you find faith on the Earth when you return? Do not delay. I’m afraid we cannot endure too much life.