Meeting with His Eminence

“I think the suit’s to formal. It’s just your first meeting.”
“I am meeting with the Archbishop of the Syrian Orthodox Church. I think that’s pretty formal!”
I was nervous beyond belief and having little-to-no sense of fashion doesn’t help in times of clothing distress. I felt like a tenth-grader trying on outfits for Homecoming. I went through four shirts, three ties, and three pairs of pants. I decided to screw it and just wear a black collar shirt, dark green pants, and skip the tie. When it comes to fashion I’ve learned that Jenny’s always right.

The Archbishop called my name from the front door as Jenny and I got out of the car. St. Mark’s Syrian Orthodox Church is a converted protestant church located in the suburban streets of Teaneck, NJ. We were welcomed by his Eminence and escorted into a formal sitting room. The room had two to three dozen chairs arching off the sides of the Archbishop’s throne at the front of the room. The chairs were covered in striped fabric but the Archbishop’s throne was covered in red velvet. Resting on the throne was a large red liturgy book with a gold cross embossed on the cover.





For every couple of chairs there was a small traditional Syrian table to rest coffee or tea.



We were offered a seat and the Bishop brought in fresh coffee. I normally don’t drink coffee but took a cup to be hospitable. After setting down the coffee tray he took a seat next to his throne. This took me a little of guard and seemed to show that our meeting was informal. He wore and dark pants, a red shirt with loosened collar, and no head covering. As he sat down, I crossed by legs and realized I was wearing ankle socks. I felt like Don Johnson’s wanna-be cousin, Shaun Johnson who is always out of place.

We began discussing backgrounds, family, the usual formalities. I had spent the previous two weeks preparing a photo portfolio and a formal written proposal that I was dying to hand to him and get the party started. We chatted for ten minutes and in a attempt to transition from small talk to business I handed him my proposal and portfolio.
“These are the ideas I have been working on the past couple of weeks. Let me know what you think.”

I sat in nervous silence staring at him as he looked over the proposal. The first question he raised was concerning, “these recordings would be transferred to reel-to-reel tape and given to the Syrian Orthodox Church for archival purposes.” Josh Bonati had made the archival suggestion during a pervious phone conversation. Josh had said that tape is the best medium for storage since it’s physical. Analog parts can always be replicated so it’s a far safer medium than a digital file. I explained the advantages of tape archiving to the best of my abilities which seemed satisfactory and he continued reading. He made comments to himself and ended by saying all four points of the proposal were good. Then the bomb dropped.
“How much do you think this will cost?” I was not ready to discuss finances. I didn’t think we would get that far. I had nothing to go on except some Orbitz ticket prices from a couple of weeks prior. I had no idea what to say so, of coarse, I began to talk. “Well, there are obviously four separate parts to this project…Blah, blah, blah” I was nervously looking across the room trying to think as my mouth ran on and on.
“I don’t think that it would be fair for the Church to fund parts of the proposal that don’t directly relate to the recording of the Beth Gazo.”
“How much do you think? I can contact Father Tarzi on the west coast to help raise funds.”
“I’m not sure. I need to talk to Josh to figure costs.”
“Roughly.”
“I guess with airfare and living expenses for the month… somewhere between five to seven thousand.”
The Archbishop looked at the proposal and said “Oh, I can do that myself. This is not a problem.”
“Remember, I need to talk with Josh about costs and things.”
“Sure”
Well, I sold myself short. Pants off. Ankle socks on.
My blunder was interrupted by his cell phone ringing. He took the call and began speaking in heavy Arabic. I sat there wondering if I just screwed the project. The phone call was a few minutes so I had time to wallow in my insecurities. He got off the phone and apologized for taking the call. We had been cut off several times during the meeting because his cell phone kept ringing and his secretary wasn’t around to field calls.
“I will call Father Tarzi and His Holiness in Damascus later today to tell them of your ideas. I think this is great and is important to our people.”
“Thank you.”
“You will have full cooperation in Aleppo. The Archbishop there knows the local governments so there will be no problems if you need a cover.”
A cover? What the heck did that mean? He moved right on to the next topic.
“There should be no problems. He will arrange the people for you and they should have a place for you to stay.”
I was hiding my look of excitement as he delivered the good news. It worked. I was going to Syria.

His Eminence wanted to show me the website for the Urfalee church so we moved into his office.





I had questions about the Church’s history, specifically the massacres of 1918. A good deal of Syrian Orthodox were part of the Armenian Genocides of WWI. From what I understand the killing was ordered by the Turks but carried out mostly by the Kurds. When it came down to killing it turned from just killing Armenians to killing all Christians. It’s estimated that +/- 90,000 Orthodox were massacred. The few that survived fled to all parts of the globe. Most fled to India where the largest population of Syrian Orthodox live today.
As we spoke a fax came in talking about a land dispute somewhere in the middle east that concerned the Church. What caught my eye more than the subject was the fax cover page. Someone was sending a fax from Burke, VA right down the street from my Father’s church. I couldn’t believe it. The bishop explained that the person sending the fax was a pillar of the DC Syrian Orthodox community. I was dumfounded that there was a Syrian Orthodox community where I grew up. I took a copy of the cover letter to get in touch with the man when I got home.
The phone rang again and he had to take it. He gave me several books and pamphlet’s which Jenny took to the car as I took photos of the place. After he got off the phone and took me over to the sanctuary.
It looked like a normal protestant church with wooden pews, and dark carpet.





The stage was clearly not protestant. There were ornate chambers on either side of a colorful curtain adorned with Jesus.





Behind the curtain was the Holy of holies. I didn’t know that Christian churches had them. As the Archbishop pulled back the curtain I removed my shoes and approached the Holy of holies. In Old Testament times the Holy of holies was “the second or interior portion of the tabernacle. It was left in total darkness. No one was permitted to enter it except the high priest, and that only once a year. It contained the ark of the covenant only (Ex. 25:10-16). It was in the form of a perfect cube of 20 cubits.” The Orthodox Holy of holies housed a communion chalice, a bible, a cross, candles, and some flowers, symbols of God’s new covenant with man. I took some time and took several photographs.









By this time it was 1:30 and we had been there for two and a half hours subsisting on just a Luna bar and a hand full pistachios. Jenny was at her end and everyone’s blood sugar was definitely on the low side of life. We walked back over to the office, took portraits, said our good byes, and were off to lunch.



His Eminence had to stay behind and take care of business matters before leaving town the following day. I walked down the church steps shocked, amazed, and dazed that I am going to Syria. It was one of the only times I’ve felt that I was actually following God’s plan.