“There is no material difference between being absent in the next room or on the other side of the planet. A friend who, to all appearances, is far away can feel closer than someone physically nearby. It is the same with praying. I never loved my home more than when I was in the Sahara. There were no suitors closer to their sweethearts than the Breton sailors of the 16th Century when they were rounding Cape Horn, growing old before the wall of headwinds. Even as they set out, they were already thinking of their return. Even as their thick hands hoisted the sails, they were preparing for their return. The shortest route from the port in Brittany to their fiance’s house was around Cape Horn. But my refugees resembled Breton sailors who had lost their fiance’s back home. No Breton sweetheart was lighting her humble lamp at the window for these men. They were not true prodigal children. They were prodigal children with no home to return to. So it is here that the real voyage begins, which is outside oneself.”