It was my first day of seminary. The group moved around the room, weaving betwixt and between itself. When two of us made eye contact, we would pause, stand before one another, and one of us would say:
“I am here to be seen.”
“I see you”, came the response.
I was hooked. …
I spent the better part of my childhood clambering over the rocky, gorse-kissed landscape of a tiny Greek island called Kythera. Like so many of those islands, it had succumbed to mass migration early in the 20th century; the population when I was a child stood at around 3000 souls, and only half of that was actually Greek. Studded all over this wind-ravaged outcrop were little white churches, the majority of them an abandoned testament to a once larger and more fervent population. I encountered them on my travels through the landscape; unlike my contemporaries, I was discouraged from the trappings of modern life – which is to say, I wasn’t glued to the television – and so, when I wasn’t glued to a book instead, I set myself to becoming an intrepid explorer and conqueror of my environment. As I grew, and the first seeds of spirituality began to take root, I dreamed of owning, or, better yet, building from scratch, a little white church such as the ones on whose doorsteps I would rest and reflect. I imagined adorning the walls with the angelic beings I had begun to commune with, and creating a haven where people of all faiths would be welcome, and those of no faith might be inspired – or at the very least, comforted. …
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