By Nikos Kazantzakis

“When the kings had died, a pauper, barefoot and hungry, came and sat on the throne. ‘God’ he whispered, ‘the eyes of man cannot bear to look directly at the sun, for they are blinded. How then, Omnipotent, can they look directly at you? Have pity, Lord; temper your strength, turn down your splendor so that I, who am poor and afflicted may see you!’ Then – listen, old man – God became a piece of bread, a cup of cool water, a warm tunic, a hut, and in front of the hut, a woman feeding an infant. ‘Thank you, Lord,’ he whispered. ‘You have humbled yourself for my sake. You became bread, water, a warm tunic and my wife and son in order that I may see you. And I did see you. I bow down and worship your beloved many-faced face!’”