Walking into the church through the same entrance used by the bomber, I was struck by the eerie silence. We were escorted by one of the bishop’s assistants and several church workers were already inside, but the only sound I could hear were our footsteps on the marble floor. When we spoke, we felt compelled to only speak in the softest of whispers. I was embarrassed by the sound of the shutter on my camera.
About twenty feet inside the church is the spot where the detonation occurred. A marble column just a few feet away bears the huge shrapnel marks—as big as the palm of my hand.