The Bread of Exile: A Refugee’s Song of Ashes and Grace
A sacred journey through a refugee camp in Greece unravels a baker’s story of loss, survival, and divine grace—retold through the eyes of a fellow believer and home baker.
DAILY REFLECTIONS
Wandering Armenian
6/29/20252 min read
The Bread of Exile: A Refugee’s Song of Ashes and Grace
In June 2016, amidst the dust-laden air and olive groves of northern Greece, I found myself walking the narrow lanes of a makeshift refugee camp—one among many built in response to the European refugee crisis. The summer sun bore down on faded UNHCR tarps, and children ran barefoot, their laughter fleeting above the lingering echoes of war.
It was there I met Musa. His hands—once used to shaping loaves and crafting delicate sesame-studded bread—now trembled as he sorted lentils for the evening meal. We struck a conversation under a tattered awning held up by salvaged wood and prayer. He smiled when I told him I too was a baker at heart.
Musa was once an expert baker in Aleppo, Syria. His bakery, he said, stood like a warm hearth at the edge of a bustling souq. “People came not just for the bread,” he whispered, “but for hope.” Then came the shelling. In one night, he lost his shop, his brother, and part of himself. His eyes dimmed as he spoke, but not without the occasional flicker—like fire beneath dying embers.
One afternoon, as the golden light bathed the camp in mercy, Musa invited me to his family’s tent. Using flour, he had traded for, and a rudimentary pan, he made flatbread. As the dough bubbled over makeshift heat, he said, “I bake to remember. I bake to thank my God and somehow… to wait on God’s mercy.”
His wife Fatima handed me a piece. It was warm, imperfect, tear-shaped—like his journey. We broke bread together, and I understood something sacred: grace does not wait for perfect places. It visits the grieving, settles beside the broken, and rises, gently, like yeast in a weary soul.
As I walked away that evening, the mountains silhouetted in soft amber, I wept. Not just for Musa, but for every soul that had become a stranger in their own story. In that fragile communion, I felt the heart of Jesus—the Bread of Life—who too was once a refugee, a man of sorrows, acquainted with grief.
My Closing thoughts:
In exile's dust, His mercy grew,
A baker’s hands shaped hope anew.
Though torn by war, still faith stays,
God kneads His love through loss and pain.
