COTY in Torquay

 
On 18 April 2026, when the Paschal joy had not yet faded from the hearts of the faithful, something small -and perhaps easily overlooked- took place in the seaside town of Torquay.
 

It was announced as the first Orthodox youth gathering there. The kind of thing people imagine will be full-laughter, crowded church, voices echoing through the nave. Yet that morning, the church of St Andrew Torquay stood quieter than expected.
 
Father Trayan Goranov had prepared for fifty. There were far fewer.
 
The tables, laid out with care -sandwiches, sweets, cakes prepared with love- seemed almost too generous. Even he, who had seen much in parish life, was surprised. On ordinary Saturdays, for Vespers and discussion, more people would come.
 
But grace does not measure by numbers.
 
At 12:30, the day began not with chatter, but with prayer - the solemn, radiant rhythm of the Paschal Hours. The words of the Resurrection, still fresh from the Feast, filled the church again. A visiting priest, Father Gregory Floridis, stood among them, lending his voice to the singing. It was not loud. But it was alive.
 

Afterward, Father Trayan spoke. He told the history of the ancient church that now shelters a small, multinational flock under the omophorion of the Archbishop of Thyateira. Stones, he reminded them, remember. Walls, if we listen, speak.
 
Then came the theme of the day: “Pascha: The Feast of Feasts and Triumph of Triumphs.”
 
The Reader Arsenios-Charlie Copleston - stood by the whiteboard, carefully writing each point, as if preserving something fragile. The words were familiar. And yet, in that small gathering, they seemed newly discovered.
 
Before the food was touched, Father Gregory spoke again -lightly, warmly-adding details, insights, small treasure of meaning, about the Resurrection in our lives as Orthodox Christians. Theological insights, quoting from Scripture and from the hymnology of the Church. The kind that does not demand attention, but reward it.
 
Then came the meal and getting to know each other.
 
Outside, the sun had broken through, as if it too had decided to attend. The group walked toward the sea, toward the harbour where the water shimmered against the anchored yachts.
 
They walked the pier together.
 

Fishermen stood there, patient and unsmiling, casting their lines again and again - catching nothing. The sea, they said, had been rough in the past days. The fish had withdrawn into the depths.
 
No one laughed at them. Something about it felt… familiar.
 
The wind grew stronger, as it does by the sea. They turned back inland, and Father Gregory, with the ease of one among friends, offered to buy coffee. Tables were pulled together outside - too eagerly, perhaps. A waitress, firm and unyielding, reminded them that even good intentions can obstruct others.
 
So, the tables were separated. And for a moment, so were they.
 
Back at the church about 5 pm, time pressed gently but insistently. Father Gregory had a long journey ahead - five hours to London. They sent him off first, reluctantly, as one sends away a brother rather than a guest.
 
Then something deeper began.
 
The discussion about repentance and confession.
 
And suddenly, the questions multiplied.
 
Not abstract questions - but careful ones. Hesitant ones. Questions that revealed distance. It became clear: many had never confessed.
 
Or not truly.
 
And beneath every question, there was one unspoken concern, finally said out loud:
 
Is it really secret? What if the priest reveals to others our deeds and thoughts?
 
Father Trayan did not rush his answer. He spoke plainly, firmly - like a man placing a cornerstone:
 

Nothing -under any circumstance- would ever be revealed. What is confessed is sealed, not by discipline alone, but by something far greater.
 
The room grew quieter. Not empty - quiet.
 
Later, the singer Molly (Maria) McEwan arrived, and together they served Vespers for the eve of St. Apostle Thomas. The same Thomas who doubted. The same Thomas who didn’t want to touch, because his faith was great and who later proved it with his martyrdom. It seemed fitting.
 
Evening came, though no one welcomed it.
 
They lingered. Conversations stretched. Goodbyes were delayed, then delayed again. As if, by refusing to part, they might hold the day in place.
 
But distance called them back.
 
One would travel 120 miles to Falmouth.
Others, 200 miles to Birmingham.
The rest would return to Plymouth, Exmouth, and nearby towns.
 
Small places. Scattered people.
 
It had not been a large gathering.
 
It had not been impressive.
 
No crowd, no spectacle, no overflowing hall.
 
And yet - Something had begun.
 
Those who were not able to travel from afar to join us or could not make it may never quite understand what they missed.
 
Not because it was grand. But because it was real.
 
Fr. Trayan Goranov
Parish Priest
The Greek Orthodox Church of St. Andrew
Torquay