Sacred Sunday: On a tall, giant rock in the middle of Lake Bled in Slovenia, sits a church. There are nearly 100 steps from the water to the first landing of this church. Inside, its history is meticulously maintained. Original art fading in places, statues of saints that have been excavated on the property lean on one another in a corner and a single worn rope hangs in the center of the sanctuary. The bell. I rang the bell. In that moment I imagined residents from around the lake, hundreds of years past, hiking up their skirts and stepping into boats to row to church. It’s the only way to get here.
On this day, although there were a couple of boat loads of people here, and there was a gift shop, cafe and ticket taker, it still felt reverent. It still felt solid and still. There were pockets on this church island empty of people and that’s where I would try to find myself most often.