Arrival in Athens

After nearly 13 months of planning and preparation, we have arrived in Greece to begin our semester abroad. It is hard to believe that we are here; yet I have been poring over photos, itineraries, maps and plans for so long that it also seems almost normal.

When we first begin talking about the possibility of leading Europe Semester 2013, we were strongly attracted to the theme of pilgrimage and exploring what it means to be resident aliens. Now I am getting ready to teach my course on Christian Pilgrimage; and featured prominently on my syllabus is the quote from Martin Luther (on the upper right of the blog). So it's probably no surprise that as I thought about blogging the experience, I conceived of the experience as a developing story, a movement toward something--Someone.

And so, for the portion of our greater story that is bound within fall semester 2013, we have now been to the bookstore and bought the book (or, perhaps more modernly, the shippers of Amazon.com have delivered it) and it's all ready to read. We don't yet know what we will find within its pages, but trust that the One who wrote every one of our days in a book before we came to be will work out good things in the story and works he has created for us to walk in.

In spite of ourselves (and unlooked-for complications), we arrived safely and on-time in Athens on Tuesday morning (local time). It was perhaps for the best that our Monday was only 14 hours long. Navigating the train system from the airport to our apartment at the foot of the Acropolis (!) was an exercise in humility and an early window into the graciousness of strangers that has continued to be extended to us. Various people helped get suitcases off the Metro through the throng in the 20 seconds we had; woke Carmen up so that she wouldn't miss the stop; helped me strap Margaret on my back in a crowded train; and hefted our suitcases on the stairs.

When we emerged from the last Metro station, blinking in the sun and wondering which way to turn, it was only moments before I heard someone calling my name. I could not see her but I knew it was our host calling from the balcony of our apartment. As I looked for her from terrace to terrace, I was struck by how marvelous and comforting it felt to be in a foreign city, another world, and to be recognized and called by name. Called by name. And I gave thanks--ευχαριστώ--for a place to call home while on the road.