Home > Olives & Thorns > Archives > 2008 > June > 23 > Entry
E-mailing New Rome.
When I walked through the anteroom and into the office of the spiritual leader of 300 million Orthodox Christians, it was as I had imagined: richly colored Persian carpets, walls paneled with dark wood and bookcases filled with leather-bound volumes. From a desk cluttered with stacks of papers at the far end of the room, he walked toward me and I froze.
What was it I was supposed to call him?
“Hello, His Holiness. — Your Holiness,” I said. He smiled, extended his hand and gave me a hearty shake.
He first offered coffee, which I accepted. Turkish or Espresso?
For a brief moment, I considered which might be preferable in this beleaguered redoubt of Greek Christianity in the capital of Muslim Turkey.
Perhaps His Holiness eschews anything called Turkish.
Espresso, I said. In truth, that’s what I wanted.
I was there last week for a story on Coca Cola’s new CEO who is Turkish and Muslim but struck up a friendship with His Holiness.
If only more Turkish politicians were as neutral and humanistic as my profile subject, His Holiness said.
Conversation turned to the future of Turkey’s ethnic Greek citizens. He put their numbers, somewhat optimistically, at “four or five thousand.” Even so, I figured the largest concentration must be working for him in his office compound, adjacent the Church of St. George, which was damaged in a bomb attack in 1997.
He seemed lonely.
Who would replace his Holiness, who is 68, if Turkish law requires the patriarch to be a Turkish citizen?
“We have sent a message requesting a change to this law, but have not received a response,” he said.
He was quick to assert his own Turkish credentials. “I served in the Turkish army,” he explained.
He lamented that his title, the Archbishop of Constantinople, rankled some Turks since the city long ago was renamed after the Ottomans conquered it. “It’s just a title,” he said, and in any case, it would never be changed.
He gave me his new book, “Encountering The Mystery; Understanding Orthodox Christianity Today.” I asked him to inscribe it, which he did.
As I left, he offered me a chocolate and asked if I could send him a copy of my article once it is published.
“Of course,” I told him, and suggested he might prefer I e-mail it.
He turned toward a bookcase. “One moment,” he said, and flipped through a book, finally stopping at a page with a Web site address. Pointing to it, he asked, “Is this the e-mail address?” No, that’s not the one, I said.
There was one monk who knew the e-mail address, he told me, and on my way out, we would see if he was in his room. He was not.
“I don’t know much about technology,” he explained, a little embarrassed.
I Googled His Holiness and found his e-mail address, so I’ll e-mail the article first and wait for a response.
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