twelve : in the Tokali church

right outside goreme there is a spectacular church cut into a rock. this is like nothing i've ever seen before. the blue and the orange. the cavernousness. the echo of footsteps on the wooden walkways and of cameras beeping into autofocus.

the legend explaining the frescos is in the entrance to the church. forty-seven scenes are listed, numbered and mapped onto a pictoral representation of the church's interior. you have to mentally flip and project the number scheme to connect it to the pictures on the underside of the domed roof. it took me a few tries to find the picture representing the temptation of christ, which is a story that i want to learn more about. it happened in the desert, after all. it is third in, on the bottom row on the left.

all the holy figures have halos, radiant light. only christ has a halo with a cross. count the crossed halos, in from the left, one, two, three, and that is the scene.

on the left there is a short greeney black figure. on the right is the tall halo'd figure. he looks over his shoulder, back at his tempter. his body faces right. you can tell by his feet that he is turning: one foot faces out, half turned. his other foot is turned right as if to lead the step away. christ has his finger raised in scorn. his other hand holds a scroll. he wears a blue tunic and sandals. nearby are what look like loaves of bread, and two-handed vases.

he is turning, not turned.

but the scene that moved me unexpectedly: when i turned to leave, over the vaulted passageway behind me: a picture of the risen christ, arms outstretched, angels above, his twelve disciples folded before him, on the night when he appeared to them and took his seat among them saying, peace be with you.

i am pretty sure jesus, whoever he was, did not rise from the dead. like, come on. but these men felt something. they must have.

it would have come to them like this: twelve of them around a table for thirteen. in their minds the picture of their friend nailed to a cross, set against the burning sunset atop a hill outside the city. that much probably did happen: the pointing fingers and the jeering crowd. and now, twelve around a table for thirteen, sitting hands folded hearts heavy and wondering who will be the first to speak. and after all what do you say? then out of the heavy quiet, out of the uncertainty comes a feeling, not even a voice: peace be with you, and the quiet carries on, but different.

that feeling. it came to them then. it can come again. nothing in my belief system makes me think there can be no such feeling.