My path in a few words…
Attracted from a young age by nature and wildlife, I was lucky to grow up on a sort of island clinging to the shores of Lake Geneva, a lake set like a jewel between the Alps and the Jura Mountains. Lulled by the pages of naturalist Gerald Durell's stories, which our mother read to us, and soon by my own readings of adventure stories, I contemplated the comings and goings of migratory birds during the fishing trips, anticipating my own explorations—those of a fabulous world that clearly awaited me beyond the mountains that formed my horizon. I didn't know at the time that the fish we brought home contained a strange treasure: mercury, which an agrochemical plant located upstream was surreptitiously dumping by the hundreds of tons... In any case, the place where I grew up looked a little too much like a forgotten corner of paradise for me to have a chance of escaping unscathed. Photographing quickly became a way to hold back some of that fleeting grace, which barely born is already caught up in the whirlwind of time. Life always goes too fast for a contemplative person, and like writing, photographing allows you to have this second glance at things, perhaps with the hope of discovering some pieces of the puzzle of your own identity...
—The world is an enigma. Some trips abroad have only increased my wonder, but also my perplexity. I grew up in a traditional Christian family and attended part of my schooling at a Catholic school. My First Communion was taken very seriously. This rite, in fact, triggered a realization. For when, the following night, instead of the expected encounter with Jesus, I was visited by a frightening presence that nonetheless flattered my ego, I knew something was wrong. I only understood what had happened many years later. Many fall into the trap of cults, swayed by religious spiritss that cloud their judgment. My naivety and perhaps my superficial interest in religion allowed me to escape fanaticism, which, as I understand it, is a belief passed down as tradition and not based on authentic experiences and realities, as was the faith of Jesus' disciples. Traditions are a pale substitute for the reality of God. Motivated by a sense of spiritual vulnerability, but also by jealousy, as the oldest murder story in the Bible teaches, they engender in some a superiority complex that fuels the tribalism and fanaticism we see today. Under the guise of submission to a superior spiritual entity, these traditions destroy the identity of peoples and the harmony of the world. Religious fanatics are blind people who have taken it upon themselves to guide other blind people—the analogy comes from Jesus. They want to subjugate the world, or conquer it for themselves, without the necessary background to understand that this world is doomed. By trying to seize a Western society that has prospered thanks to Christianity, pirates attack a sinking ship. They will end up at the bottom of a pit, Jesus warns us. Jesus, in fact, mentioned Noah and the flood to describe what awaits the world and those who cling to its fleeting reality. His message was that only those who cling to him—the Messiah, savior of the world—will have an unshakeable hope.
Later—this was the sixties and seventies when it was fashionable to question everything—, my quest for a god took the form of what young people generally pursue, but with a special attraction to nature. The Bible says that nature is an open book. You still have to know how to decipher it—and the school brainwashing was in full swing. Despite its many contradictions, the Darwinian explanation of a self-made man who needs no one suited me perfectly. But despite all these claims, atheism proves to be a religion unsuited to the spiritual beings that we are. Thus, on the living room table, books on evolutionism coexisted with those on astrology and Eastern philosophies. The big Catholic Bible watched them warily from the top shelf it never left.
However, as I entered adulthood, some disappointments about my ability to fit into this competitive and complex world reminded me of the crucial question : “Who am I?” After some hesitation, I finally, almost shamefully, pulled the big Bible from its shelf and, for the first time, read the Gospels and the “Acts of the Apostles”—a story that could have been titled: “The Acts of the Spirit of Jesus in the Lives of Ordinary People.” Something overwhelming, something I dared not tell anyone, happened within me as I read Jesus’ words. What my first communion and the Eucharist had failed to bring me, was now manifesting. As if the breath that had inspired the Bible was approaching me to reveal the existence of a sacred aspect to my interiority. Let's be frank: It felt as if the book was also about me and a hidden destiny available to every human being. I was amazed. But I was also outraged, as I realized that I had almost missed out on the most important thing in the universe because of what religion had shown me. One day, an invitation arrived to attend a meeting. There, lost among a bunch of Jesus-loving people, God inspired a word for me. The man, an itinerant Australian minister who didn't know me from Adam, revealed such personal things about me that it struck me right in the heart. Due to a back injury, I had been prevented from pursuing my dream of traveling and photography on the other side of the world. The all too familiar world I had returned to was stifling. And it was also a heartache, for I was now separated from my soul mate. Hearing this summary of my misadventures, I knew someone knew me. And as God spoke to me through this stranger, an invisible hand rested on my wound and I was miraculously healed. Jesus had drawn me to Him through the book, and now he confirmed the truth of his existence with this tangible act of pure and free love…
I had to learn: our greatest enemy is not the devil, but it is this old "me" that lives within us, and it is perhaps at this level that lies the freedom we must conquer. Even though I received the seed of a new and immortal life, the years that followed were not glorious. They were in the image of a Christianity that, in its fascination with the things of this world, lives for itself, trying to blend into the landscape instead of shaping it. The religious man prospers, and the new man cannot be born. Many people suffer as they see our world gradually lose its pristine beauty, its natural balances, and its rare species. And now we are confronted with a new threat: the annihilation of our culture. In Revelation 21:5, Jesus announces the colour of his electoral platform: "Behold, I make all things new." These things are the wonderful promises that the Bible and the Gospels speak of, but which we have not believed in. Extraordinary things that will change the face of the world. The upheavals that take place on earth, and which at some point will raise fears for the survival of humanity and of the earth, are in reality the harbingers of the restoration of the world to its original Eden state, with the Advent of the Messiah's reign of love and the establishment of unshakable peace. For this is the universal perspective of the Bible. Let us not expect this from our governments or our religious leaders. Jesus alone is the architect of the new world and everything is ultimately destined for him.
Thank you for visiting, and may God prosper you and reveal to you the role he has set for you in this revolution of love, and the loss that any unfulfilled destiny will represent for him and for humanity. The links below offer resources, some of which I hope, you will find helpful.
• Blog: The Thought of the Month
• Illustrated Catechism for Dummies (New)
• The most Amazing Adventure on Earth?
“Without homily and without words but by its ephemeral beauty, nature bears witness to an invisible reality. Nature expresses the song of a universe where every inhalation brings life through the creative breath, and where every exhalation is a reminder of a primeval dust. For it should be reminded that, if it offers some wonderful sights, life is first and foremost a constant miracle”