Like many people, I have a love affair with old churches. I lived in Rome a few years ago, and I am surprised I was at all coherent during that period. The wealth of churches—small ones down little cobblestoned side streets, gloriously gaudy ones at the end of large piazzas, and sparse haunting ones with so much history you could almost feel the weight of it—were quite literally everywhere I turned, and left me either speechless or in desperate need of something so say, but with no words that seemed adequate.
And then I went to Greece and lived in the

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