ABSTRACT
I had left the noon Good Friday service at Vaals and walked outside to the gardens behind the monastery. The voices of the monks, the sung mass expressing the sadness and loss symbolized by this holy day, still reverberated as I walked uphill along the wide tree-lined path. Ahead I could see the simple graveyard where van der Laan is buried. The day was overcast but suddenly the sun pierced a space between the clouds and illuminated the slice of earth where I stood. Shadows vibrated on the moss-covered surface of the path and the world was instantly vivified in a manner that struck me right in my chest. I started to cry. A few tears at first, then heaving sobs as I staggered upward. It was not sadness but a different kind of joy. I only stopped when I noticed one of the brothers behind me, a tall black-robed figure striding through the sun and shadow. We chatted briefly, my face unashamedly still wet with tears. A few days later we spoke again and he said that what I had experienced was God bursting into my heart and I agreed. The church, the mass, the path, the light and shadow – my apprehension and fatigue – all had coalesced at that moment. The sun parted the clouds and had opened my heart.
