When artist and photographer Camilla Krause first met Timofey Prokhorov in 1989, she was stunned by his appearance: "He looked like a prophet. A Saint with long white hair, a beard and no teeth. But he wore a golden necklace and had the smooth skin of a child." He would one day become Munich's most popular hermit. But sadly, last year at the age of 109 Timofey had to move into a nursing home after a stroke.
Every child in Munich knows the tale of Father Timofey. He was born in 1894 in Bakhayevskaya Stanitsa, a mining village in what is now Donetsk oblast. In 1943, German troops raided the town and confiscated a carriage he owned. He was following the thieves west when suddenly, according to Timofey, the Virgin Mother appeared and ordered him to go to Munich and build a church. Being the spiritual man that he is, that's exactly what he did.
He first fled to Austria before finally arriving in Munich in 1953 without papers. He struggled at first, living under a bridge, before he settled down with his wife Natasha in an area that was used as a military airport during World War II.
The couple started building a small house with their bare hands, using only material they could scavenge from the ruins of the war-torn city around them. When his house was complete, Timofey vowed to fulfill his promise to the Virgin Mother and began to construct an Orthodox church on the cross-shaped foundation of a former gun emplacement.
Timofey is not an ordained priest, but spent some time in a monastery when he was young. As a result, he usually calls himself "Brother Timofey."
Natasha unraveled old sweaters and used the wool to knit colorful rugs to cover the church's floor and decorated the ceilings with ornate tinfoil patchwork.
They grew vegetables to provide food for themselves and their guests. They also occasionally sold flowers and raspberries to visitors to help support them and their pets, which included a cat, geese and a beehive. They grew trees from seed, years later harvesting apples and plums from them. While they lacked modern conveniences including running water, the couple lived self-sufficient and happy lives for decades.
The man who has come to be known as Munich's hermit priest seemed to relish his notoriety, and he routinely welcomed visitors. But he once told a reporter that he liked his privacy as well.
"If people come, I thank God. If people don't come, I thank God, too", he said.
In 1972, Timofey's home and church were threatened by the Olympic games. The city wanted to hold the games right where the couple had made their home. Timofey, by then Germany's most famous recluse, remained calm.
"Every problem in life solves itself sooner or later," he said at the time.
Protests from supportive residents, politicians and journalists prevented the demolition of Timofey's home, and when the Olympic Games were held nearby, Timofey sold fruit and vegetables to tourists.
In 1977, Timofey longtime wife, Natasha, died. It was a personal tragedy no protest could prevent. Today her tomb, symbolically decorated with flowers, is found in the backyard of the church.
Though devastated by the loss of his wife, Timofey found another partner to continue his work. Pauline, a Ukrainian teacher and translator, gave Timofey a place to stay during especially cold winters. But as soon as the first rays of sun announced springtime, Timofey would return to his little house.
Though the aged priest now lives in a nursing home, the crooked house with its warped windows and the little church and chapel remain. They have been turned into a museum, and stand as proud symbols of peace between east and west, as their builder intended. The church is full of oil paintings, candles, icons and flowers, all mingled with the smell of incense and mustiness. The walls are painted bright white, the onion domes made from old oil drums are green, and the garden is in a state of perpetual confusion, simultaneously sprouting Easter and Christmas icons.
The place appealed to many people who visited Timofey when he lived there. But his friend Camilla Krause was especially fond of the little oasis.
"It was love at first sight," she says. "The buildings were totally decayed, the roofs were rusty and had holes in them."
Along with an architect friend, Kraus renovated the property, transforming it into the museum to Timofey's life work that exists today.
Dozens of people visit daily to sign the big guest book and pay homage to the simple man that created the chapel.
"May God let you live long on this Earth," a recent visitor from Sweden wrote.
In the museum, a table is set aside for children to draw pictures for Timofey. Dozens of brightly colored images are await delivery to the priest depict birds, trees, happy people and a man with a long white beard. Sometimes, the drawings depict him as Santa Claus with a red coat. In others, he looks like a magician with a pointed hat. Children have always loved Timofey, because to them he resembles a living fairy tale.
And Krause is determined to keep Timofey's dream alive, working to maintain the oasis the hermit priest built so that the next generation can be reminded of his wish for global peace.
Larissa Vassilian is a freelance writer who lives in Munich.
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