It’s dark inside, warm, the vast interior shrinking into the shadows. The candles at the front glow brightly, casting a wavering light on the crucifix that hangs on the back wall, the shadow of Christ crucified looming over us, fatherly gaze full of sorrow and compassion. It smells of incense; faint, sweet scent of prayer. There are almost two hundred people present, crowded into the pews on bended knees, but the church is almost silent, the only sounds that can be heard are the tapping of feet on stone floors, and the occasional breath of whispered prayers.