For our doctors, and nurses, and for ALL of our brave frontline workers

Easter Sunday

For our doctors, and nurses, and for ALL of our brave frontline workers, this is for you especially

Dear brothers and sisters:

One of the most difficult things in life is to encourage and to inspire when we ourselves are on the outside of the suffering we wish to share our hearts with. It is like embracing a sick child with her parents on the other side and hoping to offer them some little succor when your own children are robust and healthy. What right could you have except for the greatest regard together with the prayer that all will be well? But we are still desperate to offer something of the excess of our love to a fellow human being. When a good act or a show of heroic endurance genuinely touches us it compels our spirit to share our compassion. To say as poorly as we might, ‘I am, the best I can during this moment, co-suffering with you’. We are all part of that “great church of humanity”, as a discerning writer once said. So, please, accept our deepest thanks however far removed from your daily realities and sacrifices, I and most others might be, during these testing hours of your souls and courage. In the Gospel of John we find these awesome words spoken by the Nazarene: “[t]here is no greater love than to lay down one’s life for one’s friends” (Jn. 15:13). Many in the world reflect nightly on these words when together you are all brought to prayer. So often our media has highlighted the darker side of our humanity, but the nobler more heroic side of people which is far the greater, has been sadly passed over. Remove love and charity, if even for one solitary minute from this world of ours, and everything will stop. The angelic side of human nature is always there waiting for the call. Your everyday testimony confirms this disclosure in your godly definition of what it means to be truly human. You could never do what you are doing unless this spirit of service was already pulsating through your souls. It is something which is either in your blood or it is not. You are bright lights to remind the world what this actually means: “Love your neighbor as yourself” (Mk. 12:31). Simone Weil one of the most compassionate of people to have lived on this earth of ours, said it rightly: “To be a hero or a heroine, one must give an order to oneself.”

Thank you is all we can say,

Keep well and strong, for this ordeal, too, by the grace of God, will surely soon pass.

Mother to my right adjusting our old grandfather clock

Kingsgrove, NSW

A return to hospital for another reminder of my mortality; it is good to be retold that the body is a temporary tent; humility cannot come any other way but through sickness and suffering; my cup of peppermint tea resting on my soaked essay; paper still has many good uses; words from the heart run like tears; Mother to my right adjusting our old grandfather clock; in profile she is the goddess of time; then she moves, walks away, stooped and bent; Saint Perpetua (d. 203 AD); Saint Felicity (d. 203 AD); Saint Monica (AD 331-387); “A mother’s love endures through all” (Washington Irving); how rare is true friendship; it is the most beautiful of precious things; rare and beautiful; Achilles and Patroclus; Hamlet and Horatio; Tom Sawyer and Huck Finn; “If you live to be 100, I hope to live to be 100 minus one day, so I never have to live without you” (Winnie the Pooh); Baloo; Rupert Bear; Paddington Bear; Rudyard Kipling (1865-1936); Mary Tourtel (1874-1948); Michael Bond (1926-2017); “Becoming A Healing Presence” (2014); Albert S. Rossi; Jesus passes through Gennesaret; (Matt. 14:34-36); no greater force than love; it raises the dead; births into a second life; to my left our dissertations; mine and my amazing Katina’s; we aged decades in that time; Pink Floyd, Time (1973); theory of special relativity; union of space and time; erosion; gradual destruction; the power of water; I still remember when I was 11; sitting at my favourite seat in the Reno Café; working out the difference 2000-1961; the present touches upon eternity; as close to the past and to the future as possible; “Be still, and know that I am God” (Ps. 46:10); movement in stillness; Bolshoi Ballet; Salle Le Peletier; Teatro La Scala; then all becomes silent; in darkness pray for the light; lightning always accompanied by thunder; cloud-to-cloud; cloud-to-ground; China releases largest study on COVID-19 outbreak; HSBC signals mass job cuts as profits plunge; woman survives five days lost in Australian forest; time for my tablets; painkillers numinous names; oxycodone hydrochloride; lots of movement outside today; across the park children are playing; in the other room George creating music; chords; keys; signatures; Zarathustra; Ahura Mazda; star-studded globe; Carlos Montoya (1903-1993); Paco de Lucia (1947-2014); John McLaughlin (1942-); headstock; frets; six strings made from nylon; temporary and permanent anchors; Delta anchor; Mushroom anchor; geographical coordinates; latitude; longitude; Katina and the young ones in Mexico; a beautiful photo of Eleni and Jeremy beneath the sunset; each moment in time a complete history; Herodotus; Thucydides; Polybius; “The Greeks and the Irrational” (1951); E. R. Dodds; triumph of rationalism or not; “Rationalism is the enemy of art, though necessary as a basis for architecture”; Arthur Erickson (1924-2009); rationalist painting; across from where I am writing, three icons; the Christ Pantokrator; the Virgin and Child; Saint George slaying the Dragon; Andrei Rublev (c.1360-c.1427); Manuel Panselinos (fl. late 13th/ early 14th centuries); Photis Kontoglou (1895-1965); Gold; Blue; Purple; solid wood board; eggs and wine; gold leaf; Athena; Hephaestus; the Nine Greek Muses; the Koh-i-Noor diamond; from the Mughal Peacock Throne; oval brilliant; Alexander Nevsky Cathedral; Tallinn Old Town; eleven bells; the Tsar Bell; the Maria Gloriosa; Liberty Bell; double basses; kettledrums; harpsichord; Filiae maestae Jerusalem RV 638; Antonio Lucio Vivaldi (1678-1741); “Music can name the unnameable and communicate the unknowable” (Leonard Bernstein); some light rain beginning to fall; it is one of the loveliest sounds; like the sound of sizzling bacon; awaken; mistaken; forsaken; Trump ‘offered Assange pardon for Russia denial’; Harry and Meghan’s royal duties ending 31 March; Storm Dennis more heavy rain falls; calls for lunch from Mother; chicken soup with wild rice; green salad with lemon vinaigrette; Blue Jay; Atlantic Puffin; Golden Pheasant; Airbus A380; wing span 79.75m; length 72.72m; second draft of my long story done; the trials and tribulations of a monk; I loved him for the battles of his heart; perseverance; endurance; “ability to last”; J.R.R. Tolkien (1892-1973); “So comes snow after fire, and even dragons have their endings”; and so all will be well, I do then say; Sirius; Canopus; Arcturus; Nicolaus Copernicus (1473-1543); Galileo Galilei (1564-1642); Johannes Kepler (1571-1630); a sharp pain down the right side; like a shooting star; I make a wish; hope for; long for; yearn for; children returning home after school; I hear the excitement in their voices; one is shouting out to a friend called “Nicole”; Moorefields Road was much quieter back in the day; I knew the grand old lady herself, Mrs Moorefields; she once got cross with me when I cut her flowers; Clemton Park; Cripps Avenue; Garema Circuit; I remembered a companion; I thought he was; I would ask him “why have you done this thing to me?”; how are we to be saved you ask; not by good works [we have but few]; not by faith [we have so little]; but only by our endurance [this we can do]; the Marathon; 26 miles 385 yards; Pheidippides; opening batsman; goal keeper; catcher; “Catcher in the Rye” (1951); “Game my ass. Some game. If you get on the side where all the hot shots are...”; J. D. Salinger (1919-2010); antimonies; contradictions; the twilight zone; the link; the image; and the mind; Beethoven No. 9 in D minor; Tchaikovsky No. 6 in B minor; Mahler No. 9 in D major; consider the women in Shakespeare; strong, intelligent, disguised; Rosalind; in front of me a picturesque rural landscape; two dark green armchairs with brown leather trim; four cream pillows with cottony tassels; caramel; toffee; butterscotch; Lindisfarne Gospels; Hours of Jeanne d’Evreux; Godescalc Evangelistary; once upon a time people replied to their letters; you can tell a lot about people from their correspondence; they pretend to be too busy or too important; some point their noses up at you; others wear sunglasses in the shade; please show me your eyes, I catechize; “Let him not want my eyes fair/Prophetic and never-changing…” (Anna Akhmatova); I turn for a moment look outside, to my left our front garden; four beautiful rose bushes; guard petals fallen into little piles; Red Meidiland; Amalia; Adrenalin; measurements for units of time; multiply by 60; divide by 60; the old grandfather clock chimes on the quarter; it is 6.15 Post Meridiem and counting; so much to be grateful for; and so hasten to do good.

The Bushfires and the Great Australian Spirit

Gerringong, NSW

Credit: Sam Markham took this photo approximately 20 minutes after a firestorm tore through his family's home. (Instagram / sam_markham_)

Credit: Sam Markham took this photo approximately 20 minutes after a firestorm tore through his family's home. (Instagram / sam_markham_)

Bushfires in Australia when “tree stumps are kilns” and the land is covered with “red-black wounds” (Les Murray, Late Summer Fires) are certainly not new. They have been elemental to living in this land Down Under for timeless generations. They are an “ever-present part of life.”[1] We have almost become used to them, if that could ever be possible, and we might sometimes speak a little too casually of the ‘bushfire season’. Different parts of the continent given the vastness of our country experience this fiery season both in winter (dry) and in summer (hot) conditions. But it has become increasingly ferocious, where perhaps a more descriptive word for these huge fast-moving firestorms would be mega-blaze. We have had the real bad ones like the Tasmanian Black Tuesday Bushfires (1967), the South Australian and Victorian Ash Wednesday Bushfires (1983), and more recently one of our worst natural disasters the 2009 Victorian Black Saturday Bushfires. Not surprising then, that we have become more acutely sensitive to both the short- and long-term consequences of these “late summer fires”.[2] And yet, these ones we are currently living through, described by many in the middle of these infernos “as hell on earth”, are like no others we have seen.[3] Australian records for its highest-ever temperatures have been consistently topped together with a number of towns during these months identified as the hottest places on Earth. These fires have not surprisingly caught the attention of the world and it has rightly asked questions as to our preparedness. But how does one prepare for something as terrible as this, for the unprecedented. The inferno, this ‘mega-blaze’, we are living through, even as I write [from the South Coast itself], has even shocked hardened firefighter veterans with flames in some instances reaching heights of over 40 metres.[4] As a scholar of the Apocalypse of John, I can say, that the apocalyptic imagery that has been used by many of the first responders, and by those brave souls in the thick of the bushfires and the ‘devilishly twisted’ pyrocumulus clouds, is not an exaggeration. Where within minutes day turns to pitch black and the sun to blood red. Desolation, an awful word which denotes emptiness and destruction, utterly describes the blackened and ashen landscape. To date we have lost over 10 million hectares compared with the correspondingly calamitous Siberian fires of 2019 where 2.7 million hectares were lost. This gives some idea of the far-reaching catastrophe. As a dear friend from Europe also wrote to me only last night, these are indeed, "apocalyptic realities".

These few paragraphs, primarily written for my colleagues and friends overseas, are not a discussion on climate change.[5] This is not the time for such a discussion however urgent it surely is. This time will come over the next weeks and months when people are safely back into their homes, when the injured have been healed, and when our dead very sadly, have been laid to rest by their loved ones.[6] Rather, I wish to speak and share some thoughts on the ANZAC spirit of Australians (endurance, courage, initiative, discipline, mateship) born in the battlefields of Gallipoli, a legacy of one of the bloodiest World War One engagements.[7] This Aussie spirit, as “tough as goat’s knees” it is said, is also evidenced in peacetimes during periods of natural disasters of which our country is no stranger. Not only ravaging fires but also catastrophic cyclones. Older Australians would no doubt still remember the devastation of the tropical storm, Cyclone Tracy, which smashed into the city of Darwin in the Northern Territory on Christmas Eve of 1974. Australians all over the country responded with incredible speed.[8] Much of this benevolence quiet and anonymous. It is true we are not to be ultimately defined by what we possess, but by what we are able to give. Nothing is insignificant, all things touch upon the eternal.


This same spirit of ‘mateship’, the Anzac ‘attitude’ if I might call it, is being displayed in abundance during these terrifying hours. Volunteer firefighters [and certainly many other essential services volunteers] together with their professional workmates threw the timetable out the window and laboured through darkened days and spectral nights to not only save the lives of their neighbours but also their homes and properties.[9] A number of these firefighters having already suffered personal tragedy of their own. Our own Rural Fire Services (RFS) Commissioner Shane Fitzsimmons who has been a bastion of support and of clear reason throughout these many days, had lost his own firefighting father in a hazard-reduction burn which turned wrong years earlier. Neighbours with no fire experience fighting spot fires on each other’s homes and properties, people opening up their homes to feed and to quench the homeless, truckies driving many, many hours to drop off food supplies and water to the little towns cut off from distribution routes, local communities and clubs opening their doors to those who were in need of shelter and comfort, people putting together essential survival parcels. Here too, I must mention the many reporters who risked their own lives to update us from the front line. These are all people from different walks of life testifying to good deeds of bravery, courage, and compassion.[10] Faith-communities as well have engaged in special prayer services and supported those in need of spiritual succour. Many gifts, too, have come from overseas and for these gifts we thank you. They are very important. Typical of this generosity is Pink’s five-hundred-thousand-dollar donation which made headlines here in Oz and inspired many others from both the entertainment and sports communities to get on board.

Credit: Jimboomba Police

Credit: Jimboomba Police

Of course, we cannot forget the dreadful plight of our animals. A large group of this wildlife unique to this continent. A video of troops of kangaroos escaping the fires says much more than I could justly describe.[11] A rough estimate is around 480 million animal life lost. [12] Including large populations of our beloved kangaroos and koalas. Who can forget those extraordinary images of distressed koalas in dire need of water approaching people.[13] This great number of animal loss does not include “insects, bats or frogs.” It is estimated that in all likelihood even this huge total is an underestimation. The implications of all this to ecosystems, our biological community, is another subject altogether.

These marvellous acts of humanity, sweet-scented as they are, with such heroic mettle and backbone of steel, are of course not only common to my fellow Australians. Other countries face their own devastations and have suffered and conquered through similar tribulations. People are much nobler than what we might normally give them credit for. There are far more ‘angels’ in the world than the opposite which the popular media would normally lead us to believe. Good deeds which move the heart, even “that someone lay down his life for his friends” (Jn.15:13) or deep expressions of compassion [lit. ‘to suffer with’] from ordinary people doing extraordinary things, will rarely make the headlines. It takes such devastations for the greatness of the human spirit to warrant attention. Even now, acts of love and charity move and abound daily about us. Otherwise it would not take too long for our world to ground to a complete halt.

We will ‘regenerate’, it is what we do best. It is what this inimitable land, this “sunburnt country”, with all its natural beauty and untreated harshness, has taught us. To regenerate, is to restore. This enduring is also the ageless story of our indigenous Australians and we have much to learn from them when it comes to the wisdom of land management. That is, putting our ear to the ground and ‘deep listening to the earth’. New and vigorous life, like the uniquely Australian grass trees [the Xanthorrhoea], will return to our burnt places. Our spirits will revive and rekindle. And what is ashen now will once more turn to forest green.

[1] https://www.theguardian.com/news/datablog/interactive/2013/dec/01/history-bushfires-australia-interactive

[2] http://www.lesmurray.org/pm_lsf.htm

[3] https://www.theage.com.au/national/victoria/bushfire-refugees-and-injured-wildlife-escape-mallacoota-armageddon-20200103-p53ojo.html

[4] https://www.9news.com.au/national/nsw-bushfires-south-coast-man-forced-to-defend-family-home-from-inside-firestorm/16cdd92e-3508-4990-bf20-53170fec72a8

[5] https://climate.nasa.gov/evidence/

[6] https://www.news.com.au/technology/environment/what-we-know-so-far-on-the-nsw-and-victorian-bushfires/news-story/9e0268f8b13102c57370df951a6d1483

[7] https://www.awm.gov.au/commemoration/anzac-day/traditions

[8] https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Cyclone_Tracy

[9] https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=uavHvY7KPXw

[10] https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=6ST_n0_L7dc

[11] https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=spUGvay_E4s

[12] https://sydney.edu.au/news-opinion/news/2020/01/03/a-statement-about-the-480-million-animals-killed-in-nsw-bushfire.html

[13] https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=bwf9yQhYVrA

Eric Arthur Blair aka 'George Orwell'

26th May, 2011 [date of the original draft]

Sydney, Kingsgrove

I have just finished reading a selection of George Orwell’s letters and was deeply moved by his acute anxiety to protect his adopted young son, Richard, from any potential infection of the tuberculosis which was killing the famous author and essayist.[1] Orwell’s love and concern for the boy was particularly evident and tender-hearted when he was lying on his death bed at UCH in London (University College Hospital) and painfully desperate to embrace the little boy but having to push him away. He was “absolutely devoted” to his son.[2] Writers, too, like all other artists, are more than the iconic works with which they are normally identified.

6004662.jpg

For most people George Orwell will forever be connected to those classic socio-political critiques of the ‘engineered’ trajectory towards ideological monoliths and totalitarianism, Animal Farm (1945) and 1984 (1949).[3] This is unfortunate for a number of reasons. To begin with Orwell was a prolific writer and an amazingly generous correspondent, and this despite his persistent and ultimately fatal joust with TB at the age of forty-six (though given the viciousness of his disease he invariably appears much older in photographs). Towards the end of his life writing became an increasingly difficult task and the use of heavy and unreliable typewriters for a bed-ridden man made the task even more onerous. Both of the novels for which he is chiefly famous for were written towards the end of his life, 1984 was his last major literary undertaking.[4] There is then, and despite his early death, a voluminous amount of material which serves as a backdrop to these two books. To study these novels (given the special subject matter) outside Orwell’s political and social inheritance is to fall into the trap of caricaturing or misinterpreting his philosophical thought. This no less given the confusion of his position on socialism and communism and the evident distinctions he wants to make between the two, but then also with his interpretation of the unique brand of British socialism itself.[5] In the excellent introduction to his correspondence, Peter Davison pinpoints the reason why we find a none too small collection of inconsistencies to do with Orwell. Notwithstanding his own political ambivalences there are those who without reasonable knowledge of his life quote him in catchphrases which only adds to these ‘misinterpretations’:

“…many of those who refer to Orwell seem not to have read much more than Animal Farm and Nineteen-Eighty-Four, if those. The millions who have heard of Big Brother and Room 101 know nothing of their progenitor. Ignorance of Orwell is also to be found in academic circles…”[6]

This would account for some of the political contradictions and his ‘contrariness’ which Orwellian students will invariably point to.[7] It does play an important part of how we are to receive and understand these books together with the socio-political conditions, ideologies, laws and practises he wants to anatomize and to critique. It is tempting for some to put aside the actual life of the author, particularly given the cinematic translation of the works, and to miss the message altogether: that George Orwell’s stories have more to do with the ‘human condition’ as a universal experience over any political or geographical borders. And so, we can with confidence in our own times, consider how he would have ‘reviewed’ liberal democracies bent on panoptic surveillance and the resultant erosion of our private space. This is a vital point which also permits for the broader context of his work to remain both inventive and relevant as a diachronic critique as to how civil societies “form” and “change”. Particularly in the sphere of social theory, and especially with readings connected to conflict perspective. The same we could write for example of Yevgeny Zamyatin, Aldous Huxley, and Margaret Atwood. Even the same let’s say for the religious ‘eschatologist’ Seraphim Rose. The famous story which underpins 1984 itself, is only ever incidental to the greater truths of what man [ideally] is rather than what man can [potentially] become, which Orwell subtly yet effectively communicates:

“Being in a minority, even in a minority of one, did not make you mad. There was truth and there was untruth, and if you clung to the truth even against the whole world, you were not mad.” (1984)

“If you loved someone, you loved him, and when you had nothing else to give, you still gave him love.” (1984)

 

There is also the graphic and unforgettable warning of what we are ‘politically’ capable of [in Aristotelian terms of “zoon politikon”] rather than a pure and simple critique of a prevailing ideology or the sinister shadow of the “political Leviathan” Big Brother.[8] There is a great deal of political philosophy to be found in these dystopian stories of a dis-functioning hierarchical social system primarily brought about not by ‘authority’, but ultimately by the consent of a vulnerable and crushed human spirit. Almost everywhere, Orwell is saying, it is unacceptable for the power elite, whatever name or label they might go under, to rule over and to tyrannize the vulnerable. ‘Hell’ begins at the point when we are no longer free and able to act as we would wish. Here is the fundamental place from where both “Big Brother” and “Uberveillance” emerge, to depth-charge into the other places of our social activity and everyday being. The irony is that nowadays we are becoming much more than just willing participants in this mushrooming surveillance ecosystem, but are in fact inviting “Room 101” and our very jailers, not only into our homes, BUT into our blood streams.[9]

[1] Orwell, A Life in Letters, Peter Davison, (Harvill, Secker: London, 1998).

[2] https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=6jdftY4j-Nc

[3] https://www.orwellfoundation.com/the-orwell-foundation/orwell/biography/

[4] https://www.theguardian.com/books/2009/may/10/1984-george-orwell

[5] https://www.biographyonline.net/socialism-george-orwell/

[6] Orwell, op. cit., p. ix

[7] https://www.newyorker.com/magazine/2003/01/27/honest-decent-wrong

[8] https://www.taylorfrancis.com/books/e/9780203941638/chapters/10.4324/9780203941638-7

[9] Uberveillance and the Social Implications of Microchip Implants, M. G. Michael and Katina Michael (eds), (IGI Global: PA, 2014).

Saint Peter’s Basilica, Vatican City, 1987

September 25th 2010

Gerringong, NSW

Caption: The con-celebration in Rome was preceded with a meeting in 1979 between the two Primates held in the Fener.

Caption: The con-celebration in Rome was preceded with a meeting in 1979 between the two Primates held in the Fener.

There are moments in our lives which leave us with such a strong impression that the picture will fade little with the passing of time. One of these instances I experienced in Rome, in December of 1987. I was twenty-seven years old, recently ordained into the holy diaconate of the Eastern Orthodox Church, yet here I was about to witness one of the most significant events in the relations between the two great churches since the “official” schism of 1054.[1] I had been travelling through Switzerland and was in Zermatt where I had decided to stop for a few days, but was able to make some fast changes to my travel itinerary hop on an express train and make it to the Eternal City. It would be just in time for the highly controversial con-celebration in Saint Peter’s Basilica between Pope John Paul II and Patriarch Demetrios I of Constantinople. Some days earlier the two religious leaders issued a joint-declaration from the Vatican stressing “the fraternal spirit between the churches.”[2] This meeting would also coincide with the anniversary of 1200 years from the convening of the 7th Ecumenical Council in Nicaea in 787.[3] In a solemn ceremony, in a place of worship where soaring architecture and astonishing art alone could strike you speechless, the Primates of West and East together recited in Greek the Nicene-Constantinopolitan Creed as originally put down in 381 AD:[4] without the filioque [“and from the Son”].[5] From that hour ecumenism careered into a new dimension and we would in the following decades become witness to the extreme articulations of both ‘liberals’ and ‘die-hard’ fundamentalists.[6] I believe, the implications of that great moment were not fully seized or realized. Even so, the foundation stone, directly implied in Ephesians 4:1-16 [‘the unity of the church’], has been forever put in place. 

Outside in Saint Peter’s Square among the throng of thousands happy enough to witness the momentous event on the giant monitors, another much smaller act was about to unfold. Entry into the Basilica on that day was by a special ticket, though it was plain enough to see that it was still hugely overcrowded. I was thinking how memorable it would be to witness it all from the inside. To be part of this historic occasion as it actually happened. It was then that I was approached by a nun who appeared to have been the superior of a small group of religious in her company. I could not rightly guess her age on account of her veil, but her face though visibly pale, was strikingly handsome. She smiled with the expected reserve of an experienced religious and promptly introduced herself, “Good morning Father, I am Sister Benedicta.” All the while during this short exchange Sister ‘Benedicta’ kept her hands clasped in front of her blue habit. A rosary with a pearl crucifix was intertwined between her fingers. She asked whether I would accept the biglietto of one of her group who at the last minute could not be there. It would still prove a challenge to make my way to the entrance, let alone get in. I thanked her and took the ticket.

I would have liked to talk to this softly-spoken woman, whose accent betrayed a French background, to have asked something of her life, but before I could rightly thank her, she and her little troop disappeared into the growing mass of people. Many years later in Bucharest when I had similarly lost the “old man” in the maddening rush of afternoon traffic, I would once more remember losing her, too, in the crowd. I reflect as I write this entry many years later, if I really did ‘lose’ them or if [for some reason] it was an unconscious act which I willed to happen: “[a]nd this that you call solitude is in fact a big crowd.” These disarming words from the Serbian poet Dejan Stojanovic challenge me more regularly as time flashes past and I do further battle with the twin concepts of ‘community’ and ‘solitude’.

I pushed and shoved through this great sea of animated bodies to get to my destination. At last after showing my ticket to the officials I was treated with new found respect and escorted to the front of Saint Peter’s Basilica. My seat was only a few rows behind the impressive congregation of VIPs. The sister’s friend must have been somebody quite important to have been allotted a seat this close to the historic proceedings. Whose place did I take? And why in that mass of people did she choose me? There in the company of cardinals and bishops, and of politicians and celebrities, I became increasingly agitated. At the end of these solemn proceedings together with the other clergy in those front rows, this little boy with the peculiar name from Newtown would meet the Pope. As for the genial Patriarch of the Eastern Orthodox [“the first amongst equals”] I would meet again in the Fener during a Christmas liturgy at the Church of Saint George in Istanbul. I felt my chest puff up and my head begin to spin. Clichés are not altogether redundant. One moment I wanted it all and knew that I could make it happen. For such are the deadly games which the ego, or better still ‘the id’ can play on us, to fuel us with a heightened sense of self-importance. Much of the ‘hard work’ I had reasoned was already done. All the big boxes [education and network] were ticked. A few minutes later I was deeply sickened by what I was feeling and realized that such high-places were not meant for me. I was possessed with too much ‘bad’ pride which I could feel running through me like the foreboding sense of mortality, and I would need to fight against it for the remainder of my life. From that time onwards whenever such opportunities might again present themselves to me, I would have to make sure to ‘uproot’ myself. And flee into the darkness in search of the ‘compensation’. This I would do more than once. I do not wish to pretend it was easy.

It never was. This need to recognize my voice.

[1] https://www.patriarchate.org/meetings-between-ecumenical-patriarchs-and-popes-of-rome-through-history

[2] https://www.ewtn.com/catholicism/library/joint-declaration-8155

[3] https://www.apostolicpilgrimage.org/meetings-of-popes-patriarchs

[4] https://orthodoxwiki.org/Nicene-Constantinopolitan_Creed

[5] http://www.usccb.org/beliefs-and-teachings/ecumenical-and-interreligious/ecumenical/orthodox/filioque-church-dividing-issue-english.cfm 

[6] http://www.orthodoxresearchinstitute.org/articles/ecumenical/hallam_orthodoxy_ecumenism.html