Once the entire group had collected in the pews, Þórður sat down at the tiny organ and played a few hymns. All of the tunes were familiar to me, but he sang them in different languages: Danish, Icelandic, and English.

When he had completed the hymn sing, Þórður spoke of the church. While it was indeed tiny, it was a worship site. He has a priest send him a bottle of holy water every so often to keep the basin full. On one occasion he had a group of about 20 Polish students visit, and not one of them entered or exited the little church without crossing themselves. But to him, religion was less important than people practicing goodness. In words wrapped with the wisdom of age, that ember of life within him spoke of a world in which people came to a common understanding that we are all humans.

After the group had shuffled out of the church, I stepped back in to take a photograph of the interior. Þórður was still there, and when I mentioned I was going to take a photo he asked "Would you like me in it?" I rarely turn down such an offer, so I agreed.

After I lowered my camera, he came up to me, took my hand in his and said, "Thank you for visiting. Please come back, my friend from the United States."

"I hope to," I told him.

"You have a friend in Iceland," he said with a kind smile. He then touched his cheek to mine, patted my hand, and motioned for me to go ahead through the door.