Luke is My Name
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Antioch is a significant crossroads of the world where civilizations meet. Luke, one of the authors of the Bible, lived and wrote in this breathtaking city. Now, we will read his story from another, contemporary writer of Antioch, Necdet Ozkaya. "We believed in everything he said. We were listening to Him, whatever he says, however he describes what, with our mouths wide open. We were gathering in a thirteen feet deep cave. We climbed up the foothills of the mountain. We were walking without drawing any atten-tion, as if we were out there collecting herbs to heal our wounds. Women were bending...
Antioch is a significant crossroads of the world where civilizations meet. Luke, one of the authors of the Bible, lived and wrote in this breathtaking city. Now, we will read his story from another, contemporary writer of Antioch, Necdet Ozkaya. "We believed in everything he said. We were listening to Him, whatever he says, however he describes what, with our mouths wide open. We were gathering in a thirteen feet deep cave. We climbed up the foothills of the mountain. We were walking without drawing any atten-tion, as if we were out there collecting herbs to heal our wounds. Women were bending over to the ground, carrying their children. They sat, collected herbs they were familiar with, smelled them and put them in sacks bound to the sides of their skirts. We were passing by them without a word, entering through the mouth of the cave and taking deep breaths as soon as we were in; the cool air rejuvenated our numb souls. We were walking towards the man we wanted to reach, who was filled with the Holy Spirit, with slow steps - calmly and quietly without hurry. His inside was full with the Holy Spirit and he was telling us about that. The teller was coming from where He is, telling us about Him, his pain, his experiences. We were drinking the water that leaked from the cave walls and puddled in the deep hollow. We were putting the water on our faces, understanding that we were resurging. We were looking at his face, in his eyes, on his body as if we saw Him in every corner of the teller; feeling the pain he went through in our hearts and weeping together. We were gathering with a quiet, calm and slow walk; without mak-ing ourselves seen by the residents of the neighborhood next to the cave. The women sitting on the ground, collecting herbs, were entering the cave last with their little children and were washing their and then their childrens' faces with the leaking water that puddled in the hollow. The water increased as we drank and used it, it wasn't decreasing or ooding. It was like a refreshing, cool potion. We were sitting on the ground of the ten feet wide cave and listening to the teller; never wanting for the tremor of our souls through the things told to end, cease or vanish. For the teller was coming from where He was. His face glimmered, his eyes and hair shimmered and he was speak-ing with his soft voice, caressing our souls. We all listened to him, including little children and babies, without a sound; for he was coming from where He is, with his inside full of the Holy Spirit. We weren't asking questions. He understood the questions we were to ask and continued to answer and explain with his voice as calm as always, that caressed our souls..."
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