(From the "Saint Tekla’s Holy Courage Technique" manual)
This course is inspired by my visit to Sarajevo, the capital of Bosnia and Herzegovina. I didn’t know what to expect when I first arrived in Sarajevo, although I have always wanted to visit that wonderful city. From the moment I stepped into the city, something felt familiar. There’s a quiet rhythm to Sarajevo that made me slow down without realizing it. Streets full of layers, buildings that carry stories, and a kind of calm that settles in after a while. The people move with kindness. They’ll stop for a conversation, guide you without fuss, and make you feel like you’ve been there before, even if it’s your first time.
Sarajevo moves at a deliberate pace. It encourages wandering. One day I was walking through the older part of the city, where stone meets wood and time doesn’t seem to push forward too fast. That’s when I found the Church of the Holy Archangels Michael and Gabriel. It sits quietly in the old part of town, surrounded by trees and old walls. It’s the oldest Orthodox church in Sarajevo, tucked into a small courtyard just off the street. You could miss it if you weren’t looking.
But something about it draws you in. The outside is simple, everything whispers. It avoids asking for attention. Inside, though, it feels entirely different. The air changes. You walk into a kind of stillness that secures you in place. The smell of wax and wood fills the space. You hear your own footsteps more clearly. It is just a church, it is a place that holds memories.
The church holds many icons, some darkened with time, others still bright with gold leaf and color. You feel like you’re being watched gently from every corner. Some saints look solemn, others kind. All of them carry something deep and still. It's a presence, a space beyond a gallery. The icons feel alive, yet tranquil. You experience them, spend time with them, allowing the study to occur naturally.
In the little church shop, just off to the side, I found an icon of Saint Tekla. I wasn’t looking for her in particular. I was browsing slowly, touching the old wooden shelves, looking at the small crosses, incense, and candles. Then I saw her. Her image was simple, painted on a small piece of wood. But something about it stopped me. I picked it up and held it for a while, not saying much. Just standing there, as if waiting for a response I couldn’t hear but somehow felt.
I brought the icon home with me to Belgrade. And even back in the familiar rhythm of daily life, I kept sensing something from her. A kind of steady presence. I’d pass by where the icon stood and feel a soft shift in the air, like a reminder. Quiet and understated. It was simply present. That connection stayed with me, even more than I expected. And over time, it became something I turned toward.
Sarajevo gave me more than I expected. It gave me a sense of how spirit can live in places and people. How something can be soft but lasting. The church was welcoming; it made no attempt to impress. That was enough. And from that quiet welcome, I wanted to share something, just as it was shared with me.
Marijana
