Assisi, 2015. A delegation from Cyprus has come to the pilgrimage celebrating forty years of Faith and Light in Italy. I hold a small regional council meeting with them in the hotel garden, and later, chatting with the vice-provincial coordinator, Peppinos, I throw out an idea: "Next year will mark thirty years of Faith and Light in Cyprus. It would be wonderful to hold a pilgrimage there too." Peppinos makes a face—almost a grimace—as if to say "That's not a bad idea!"—and the conversation moves on.
Except it doesn't end there. The Cypriots talk among themselves, and a beautiful year of celebrations begins to take shape.
Meanwhile, Kimata asks me to take on the role of Provincial Coordinator for four years. In one of our many Skype calls, Peppinos tells me they will organize two events: the opening of the celebrations in Nicosia at the end of January, and then a pilgrimage to the Kikkos monastery, inviting delegations from all the countries that have walked alongside Cyprus.
It sounds like a wonderful idea, and I decide to attend the opening celebration with my family. Peppinos is thrilled to hear I'm coming, and I already know we will be treated like royalty—as always happens when we visit that beautiful island.
When we arrive, Josephine welcomes us. She will be our host and guide throughout our stay.
The next day I travel with Peppinos to Kurmakitis, in the occupied zone. Cyprus still carries an open wound: a nation divided in two since the Turkish invasion of 1974, which led to the creation of the Turkish Republic of Northern Cyprus—a state recognized internationally only by Turkey. Greek Cypriots now call that territory "the occupied zone." I won't wade into the politics of it all; I simply want to recall the strange sensation of passing through a checkpoint where Cypriots must show their passports to cross a strip of mined land that cuts Nicosia—"Europe's last capital still divided by a wall," as a sign at the border reads—and the entire island, entering a place with a different language, people, and landscape that, to the world, "does not exist." Getting to this point took a war, with deaths and deportations. But now a window for reunification is slowly opening, as it naturally must, since what happened is not easy to forget and because much has changed.
We pass through villages, sometimes inhabited only by Turkish soldiers, but where there are churches attended by Christian faithful who come here from the Greek side every Sunday to celebrate Mass. Religion in the occupied zone is fundamentally Islamic, so Christians come to the liturgy to keep the churches from falling into disuse for lack of worshippers. After about an hour's drive, we arrive at Kurmakitis, Peppinos's hometown, where his family lives and where a community of Maronite Catholic Christians is based.
This village too has suffered from the division. For many years, residents could not see their loved ones who had remained on the Greek side of the island. Now it is slowly repopulating, and people are thinking about establishing a small Faith and Light community here. True, most residents are elderly, but a Faith and Light community could be a small sign of the proclamation of peace.
I attend Mass with Archbishop Antoine Soueif Youssef on the occasion of an important feast for the Maronites—the celebration of the three Patriarchs—and listen to the liturgy celebrated in Greek, Arabic, and Aramaic. The welcome from everyone is splendid, as always.
That afternoon, back in Nicosia, the actual celebration of thirty years of Faith and Light begins. We are hosted in a very ancient hall, owned by the State, where the communities have set up a beautiful photographic exhibition that chronicles all the work done over these years. Many priests are present, the Maronite Archbishop, and—for the first time—a delegate from Orthodox Archbishop Chrysostomos (who, fortunately for me, speaks excellent Italian). We begin with an ecumenical prayer, led by both the Archbishop and the delegate. Watching them together, first in prayer and then seated chatting warmly, I cannot help but think about how Faith and Light manages, in the simplest way, to create harmony where there are divisions: through encounter, mutual understanding, the building of friendships. The reunification of Christians, particularly the Catholic and Orthodox churches, can present countless difficulties. But as always, it is our young people who teach us the way forward beyond all these problems: friendship, listening, welcome, making people feel wanted, the awareness that they matter for who they are, not for who they should be.
The day continues with a candlelit procession, followed by a series of speeches. The three who have served as national coordinators or vice-provincial coordinators—Maria, Josephine, and Peppinos—each describe ten years, interspersed with remarks from parents and young people. With each speech, an enormous boat is built. The last piece—the mast and sail, with a beautiful drawing of the Faith and Light boat—they ask me and my family to install.
That evening we all have dinner as guests of the Orthodox community's coordinator. It was a beautiful evening, a wonderful feast.
On Sunday, after Mass in Nicosia's Maronite cathedral, we all gather in the same place as the day before, and they ask me to speak for half an hour about Kimata—in English!!! Among other things, I float the idea of starting a new Orthodox community in a part of Nicosia where we don't yet have a presence. The stone is cast!
After lunch together, it is time to say goodbye. Back in Italy, we carry in our hearts the images that accompanied us those days: the embrace of the young people, Josephine's hospitality, Father Mikalis's smile, Peppinos's helpfulness, the welcome of everyone. In September we will return to celebrate again, with friends from other countries who have walked alongside the communities of Cyprus.
Pietro Vetro, 2016