“If it is possible, as far as it depends on you, live at peace with everyone.” (Rom. 12:18)

“For others, in spite of myself, from myself.” (Emmanuel Levinas)

I recently received one of those beautiful letters from a friend that lifts your spirits and reminds you not only of the vital importance of friendship, but also that the world contains far more tender-hearted people than we might imagine. The letter, an email in truth, was sent to encourage me during this season of my journey. These wonderful words rich in compassion were to be understood as a sign of love and affection from a gentle and discerning soul. I reflected on this letter for some time and I have turned to it often, and to others of a similar humanity. What strikes me above all with such compassionate expressions of solidarity is something all of our true friends have in common, and this is not only the depth and elevation of their souls, but also their practice of giving others the “benefit of the doubt.” What is the benefit of the doubt? And what does it mean in the context of friendship but also in our broader communion with other people, or in other words, the Levinasian “Other”.

These oftentimes, life-giving words “the benefit of the doubt,” are, unless I am mistaken, a direct evolution from the legal principle “of reasonable doubt.” As flawed human beings ourselves we are severely limited to the truth, and could possess only a skewed perspective on reality. To give the benefit of the doubt will not rarely mean to dramatically change a life, to affect generations, and to even save a soul. It is to accept in ‘good faith’ that the other’s intentions were not malevolent or intended to cause harm, that whatever actions we might have misread as wrong were unintended or yes, even a mistake from a place of a momentary weakness or lapse of judgement. It is, of course, a lot easier for older souls to practise this precious charity on account of their familiarity of the human condition with all of its fragilities and contradictions. And the fact, that they too, have been the recipients of this grace, and are now paying it forward. One of the more significant reasons why this grace is withheld is its closeness to the ideal of forgiveness. Ordinarily, it can be difficult to distinguish between the two, though forgiveness is typically much harder, since it involves a reciprocal movement of humility and self-knowledge.

The benefit of the doubt might also challenge our own ethics, forcing us to confront uncomfortable truths about ourselves. This could in some instances prove frightening. We may come to believe that we are capable of what ‘bad’ we might suppose in others, and so we see in the other only that which we could perceive within ourselves. If we do not trust, we may begin to doubt our own capacity to be trustworthy. These are difficult questions that we can only answer under the firelight. What then are the enduring profits of presuming innocence and granting a second chance? In short, it can save a fellow human being from a lifetime of anxiety and anguish, and in some instances, as I have already written, literally save a life. An action of grace once seeded can bring delight to those who come after us and establish new friendships and communities of love; an action made in ‘bad faith’ can create enmities that once established will normally also replicate into the future. I must confess, despite my age and experience, I still cannot fully understand how someone can willingly punish another for a perceived wrong, knowing full well that in the end no good can ever come of it.

“As the Searcher of hearts, the Lord knows that men are liable to very frequent trespass, and that, having fallen, they often rise up again; therefore He has given us the commandment to frequently forgive trespasses, and He Himself is the first to fulfill His holy word. As soon as you say from your whole heart, ‘I repent,’ you will be immediately forgiven.” (St. John of Kronstadt)

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My own heart is a long way from perfect. I will stray and have strayed from my creed, the one I still dare to preach. I am still learning “the good” (the agathon), praying that as the days pass, I remove as many barriers as I can in the pursuit of this virtue. People are inherently compassionate and charitable, this too I have found, when you thirst and ask for a cup of water, by far the majority will offer you that cup. And if we might remember this truth, giving the benefit of the doubt, not forgetting how delightful it could be both to the one and to the other, the offering of this noble gift becomes much harder to withhold. If you could allow me one further point, especially for my younger readers, this does not mean to be naive to the darker aspects of the human condition. In time, you will come to recognise these landscapes of brokenness, and through them you will enter those deeper places where the harvest is more bountiful still, for you will be asked to practise even harder things. This is the road of Gethsemane, the journey into the profound mystery and movement of love and forgiveness. One of the greatest things we can do in this life, is to give hope to the “Other” and to release them from their anguish that they might not only flourish, but that they themselves will soon enough pay it forward. Invariably, it will also bring out the best in ourselves, we will come nearer to our true name. Yes, I am more and more returning to old places and familiar spaces, but it is in truth all I know that could be of any use.

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.

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