Orthodoxy as a source of hope: Why I became Orthodox?
I was born in Colombia into a story I did not choose, but which from the beginning marked the rhythm of my life. The armed conflict affected my country, and when I was just one year old, my family was forced to leave to protect the only thing of true value: life. We left our land, our roots, and started over, almost from scratch.
I grew up in an environment where the fragility of life was not a distant idea, but a daily experience. Death was neither foreign nor rare. It was close, frequent, almost familiar. However, within this reality, there was something different in my home: a silent certainty, a hope not imposed by words, but rooted in faith. My parents taught me from a young age to look upwards, to trust God, to love Jesus and the Theotokos. This faith, simple yet steadfast, planted within me a desire that, over time, became unceasing: to truly meet Him.
This desire began to take shape when I was twelve years old. In a class, a seemingly insignificant comment opened an unexpected door: the existence of a distant, ancient, different Church. This reference awakened something within me difficult to explain, as if an unknown word touched a memory older than my own. It was the first time I had heard of the Orthodox Church.
What started as curiosity soon became a search. And the search became a decision. The nearest church was twelve hours away. It was not an easy or logical journey for a child. But there are paths not followed by logic, but by calling. One evening I took a bus to the capital, and the next morning I arrived, without knowing exactly what I would find.
What I experienced there was unlike anything I had known before. It was not just an aesthetic or emotional experience. It was something deeper. As if time stopped for a moment and reality gained new depth. The icons, the incense, the hymns… everything seemed to speak a language that, without having learned it, I somehow understood. That first Divine Liturgy was not merely beautiful; it was, in a way, an encounter.
At the end of that day, I met a priest who had just returned from Greece. His reaction to my journey was human and unexpected: concern, care, responsibility. But what he did next profoundly marked my path. He did not merely accompany my enthusiasm; he accepted it, guided it, and gave it form. He returned with me, spoke with my family, became part of my story. He didn’t just want me to arrive, but to learn to remain.
From then on, a period of patient progress began. For two years, through travels, catechism, and visits to small missions, I delved deeper into a faith that ceased to be merely a feeling and became life. What had begun as an inner impulse gradually revealed itself as a path. At fourteen, I was baptized. It was not just a ceremony, but a conscious entry into a new life. At that moment, I also received a name: Timothy Evangelos. A name that contained an orientation, a mission, a promise: to be young and, at the same time, a bearer of good news. Since then, the mission ceased to be an idea and became a horizon.
For years I traveled with my spiritual father, now Bishop Timothy, to various regions of Colombia and Venezuela. Distant places, often forgotten, where life continues under difficult conditions. There, among specific individuals and stories marked by need, I understood that faith is not kept for ourselves: it is shared, it becomes action, it is offered.
At the same time, another path began to form: spiritual and academic pursuit. Mission and knowledge did not conflict, but united. The desire to understand, to deepen, and to teach grew alongside the desire to serve. In time, that child who had traveled to find a church went through various studies: philosophy, religious sciences, psychology, pedagogy, social studies. Each, in its own way, further opened the understanding of that first encounter.
And yet, deep down, everything seemed to return to the same starting point. Today I can look back and recognize that, amidst uncertainty, uprooting, and fragility, the Orthodox Church became a source of hope for me. A living reality, taking form in people, in actions, in paths traveled. There I found not only answers, but a way of life.
Over time, when it seemed that one period had concluded, an inner movement was reborn. After reaching one peak, it is as if another, higher one appears on the horizon. This movement led me to Greece, opening a new chapter that is still being written.
Because there are paths that do not end, but transform. And there are callings that, even when they seem to have been answered, continue to resonate within us… calling us, once again, to begin the journey.
Timothy Evangelos Hernández Zuluaga
