This trip wasn’t just a vacation or a sightseeing tour where you eat gelato (we definitely did) and pretend to understand ancient ruins. It was part of the 3E Internship - a journey focused on learning, growth, and spiritual formation. I had the privilege (and responsibility) of traveling with the group to Italy and Greece, exploring places packed with history, faith, and enough stories to make your head spin. It was an opportunity to visit where the early church took root, to stand in spaces where the gospel was shared, and to wrestle with what those stories mean for us today. Standing where the early church began gives you a lot to think about - and even more to feel.
Rome: Big, Loud, and Confusing
Rome is overwhelming. The Colosseum, the Forum, the Vatican - these places are massive. They remind you of how much power Rome had and still has. But walking through them, it was hard to think.
We were herded through crowds like sheep. Everywhere, cameras were flashing, tour guides were talking, and people were rushing to the next site. And then, there was the freaking traffic. Let me just say, Rome’s traffic isn’t for the faint of heart.
When I finally made it to St. Peter’s Basilica, I was floored. It’s stunning - huge, beautiful, and full of history. But standing there, I had this question in my head: Where is God in all of this?
I thought about Jesus, walking on dusty roads, eating with sinners, sitting with the poor. Would He feel at home here? I’m not sure. The gold and marble - it’s amazing, but it also felt far away from the Jesus I know. For some reason, I left feeling sad. I don’t know why, but I’m still thinking about it.
Thankfully, there was gelato to brighten the mood. In Italy, gelato is a way of life. If you don't know gelato is more than just a frozen treat, it's a culinary masterpiece with a fascinating history. Its origins actually date back to ancient Rome, so gelato became a pause, a moment to reset before diving back into the chaos.
But pizza? That was a different story. I came to Italy expecting to find the perfect pizza, the kind that would ruin all future pizzas for me. Instead, we found good pizza - decent pizza - but not the transcendent experience I’d imagined. Still, there’s something special about eating pizza in Italy, even if it doesn’t live up to the dream.
I felt the same push and pull in the museums of Vatican City. There was too much to take in, too much to see, and too much to capture. The Sistine Chapel, though, it was something else. The ceiling practically demanded a picture. The urge was undeniable, as if snapping a photo could somehow hold onto the awe I was feeling. What if I just let the moment sink in without trying to freeze it in time? Whether or not I took the picture… well, that’s between me, Michelangelo, and God. But it made me think about how often our urges to grasp or capture distract us from simply being present.
Orvieto: Surviving Underground
After Rome, Orvieto was like taking a deep breath. It’s a small town with its own kind of beauty.
The city has seen its share of hardship - bombs, sieges, and years of war. Yet somehow, its golden cathedral survived intact, standing as a testament to the resilience of its people. Their strength wasn’t just in surviving above ground but below it too, in the hidden caves they dug to adapt to the needs of different times.
There’s an entire underground city, a network of caves used for different purposes. During war, they farmed pigeons and worked in these caves - not because they wanted to, but because they had to survive.
Hearing their story made me think about how often faith and survival go hand in hand. Sometimes, faith doesn’t look beautiful or powerful. Sometimes, it looks like digging caves because that’s all you can do.
Philippi: Chains Broken and Baptized on Water
Philippi was quiet. Peaceful in some parts, but our journey began in a place full of tension - Paul and Silas’s jail. Standing there, we had a devotional as a group, reading the passage about their imprisonment, their prayers, and the miraculous earthquake that set them free. It was surreal to imagine the chains breaking, the walls trembling, and the jailer falling to his knees in repentance - all happening right there.
Adding to the moment, there was an apparent mad guard stationed nearby, pacing back and forth. It was almost too fitting, as if history itself was echoing around us. We asked her to take a group picture, and while she did, her patience was clearly running low.
After the jail, we visited the peaceful riverside where Lydia was baptized. By the water, I felt a strange connection to the simplicity of it all. No crowds, no monuments - just a place where people gathered, talked, and started something new.
This was the beginning of the gospel in Europe. A small, humble start that grew into something huge. It reminded me that faith doesn’t need cathedrals or big platforms. It just needs people, together, sharing life in Christ.
Later, in the basilica nearby, we sang. Just us, the interns, with our voices filling the space. The acoustics were incredible, amplifying the beauty of the moment. It wasn’t planned, but it felt sacred, like we were stepping into something far bigger than ourselves.
Philippi wasn’t just peaceful; it was profound. It offered us a glimpse of the power of faith - faith that starts in a river, survives in a prison, and resounds in worship.
Berea: Eager to Learn
Berea is a place that makes you think. In the Bible, the Bereans are remembered for their eagerness to learn. They didn’t just take Paul’s word for it; they checked the scriptures for themselves. I wish we were more like that today—open, curious, and willing to learn.
But Berea also has a harder story. During the Holocaust, the Jewish community there was taken to concentration camps. When the few who survived came back, their homes were gone. Their lives were gone. It was the end of the Jewish community in Berea.
Walking through the streets, I felt the weight of that loss. Berea isn’t just about learning. It’s about resilience. About what happens when everything is taken away, and you have to find a way to move forward.
Meteora: Refuge on the Cliffs
Then there was Meteora. Honestly, I’ve never seen anything like it. Monasteries built on cliffs so high it feels like they’re touching the sky. It’s surreal and humbling at the same time. Just the fact that they were built the way they are—it’s unbelievable.
And the story of the ropes and baskets? Incredible! The monks used them to pull themselves and supplies up the cliffs, replacing the ropes “only when the Lord let them break.” Meteora isn’t just a place; it’s a lesson in faith and trust.
I heard a nun there say something I’ll never forget. When asked how long she’d been there, she simply answered: “The years don’t matter. Serving you and others is what does.” Her quiet wisdom stayed with me and made me pause.
Athens and Corinth: Wrestling with Faith and Feasting
Athens was full of questions. On Mars Hill, where Paul preached, I imagined him speaking to a crowd that didn’t know what to make of him. He wasn’t there to argue; he was there to invite them to know the “unknown God.” For many years, I’ve meditated on and sung a song I wrote about this passage. Standing there brought those words to life in a way I hadn’t expected.
Corinth, though, felt messy. It made me think about a city full of problems—wealth, division, immorality. Paul’s letters to the Corinthians could have been written today. Walking through the ruins, I thought about how hard it is to live for Christ in a world full of distractions. It was true then, and it’s true now.
Somewhere along the way, we drove by Mount Olympus. I couldn’t help but get a little too excited, fumbling with my camera to capture the perfect shot of its towering peaks. Maybe I hoped to spot Zeus himself - if he happened to be home. Turns out, Olympus wasn’t hosting any gods that day (or any day), but the beauty of the mountain was unforgettable, and the joke was worth cracking.
And then there was Greece’s food. After the pizza letdown in Italy, Greek cuisine was a revelation. Perfectly seasoned meats, fresh tzatziki, and warm pita bread that felt like a hug for my taste buds. Each meal in Greece felt like a small feast, simple yet extraordinary. It’s safe to say Greece stole the culinary show.
A Journey of Contrasts
Greece and Italy told me two different stories. In Greece, I saw faith that was humble, small, and grounded in community, but not easy. In Rome, I saw faith that had grown into power and glory—beautiful but complicated.
Both stories are part of who we are. But I kept asking myself: Have we drifted too far from the simplicity of the gospel?
This trip wasn’t just about seeing places. It was about hearing their stories and letting them challenge my faith. It reminded me that the gospel isn’t about buildings or history—it’s about people.
And maybe that’s the lesson: Faith doesn’t need to be big. It doesn’t need to be loud. Maybe it’s like the nun said—what matters isn’t the years or the achievements. What matters is how we serve, how we trust, and how we love the way Jesus did.
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