Daniel Fanous - A Silent Patriarch

... for you died, and your life is hidden with Christ in God.

Colossians 3.3

Y ouannis of Giza has yelled the men as they frantically knocked on the doors of the patriarchate, Bishop Youannis... has been shredded to pieces on the train tracks of Cairo! Dawood, the doorkeeper, flung the doors openonly to find himself set upon. The men bound the nearby guards and silenced the servants. Confusion embraced the patriarchate. Awakened by the commotion, the patriarch, Yusab II, emerged from his quarters. Torn between astonishment and disbelief, he stared at his would-be abductors. Yusab was forced to sign his abdication before being violently bundled into a waiting taxi, only narrowly escaping gunshotsaccording to one mildly sensational reportfrom security forces in pursuit. On that night, July 24, 1954, the elderly patriarch was abducted, as strange as it is to say.

When he was eventually found by the police at a monastery in Old Cairo, the Synod seemed to react with ambiguity. A year later they relieved Yusab of his duties and exiled him to a desert monastery. For almost four years there would be no patriarch upon the throne. The exile was a deeply tragic moment in the history of the Coptic Churchand yet, at the same time, an apt summation and embodiment of the previous half-century. So painful was that moment that it has, for the most part, been willfully ignored, rarely spoken of, and (somewhat inevitably) piously forgotten.

This is, regrettably, where this story must begin. To deny, forget, or ignore this mournful periodwhich might well have otherwise brought Coptic Christianity to its kneesis to do an injustice to the seismic shift in the Church before and after Pope Kyrillos VI (19021971). Kyrillos inherited a broken, weeping, and profusely bleeding Church from his abducted and later exiled predecessor. Yet, just twelve short years later, Kyrillos stood at the head of a nearly impossible spiritual revolution. What began in a cave deep within the desert continued in a small and unassuming house in Old Cairo, and ended in the transformation of an entire Church. It is, to my knowledge, one of the most profound, beautiful, pervasive, and overwhelmingly spiritual revolutions in the history of Christianity since the Apostolic Age. This is the story of Kyrillos VI, a most unlikely patriarch, a silent urban recluse.

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I am utterly convinced that no one, not even his closest disciples, knew anything of Kyrillos inner life. How well could anyone know a man who was virtually silent, lived quietly, and was perpetually consumed by prayer and liturgy? Even those who knew him best insist they knew him not at all. Other than his confessor, Kyrillos confided in no man; he sought refuge and consolation in only one place, the eucharistic altar. For a half-century, it was there, daily, even when he was an elderly patriarch, that he remained hidden, silent, known only to his God.

This is both the principal difficulty in writing this critical biography, and the absolute necessity behind writing it. The years of silence have meant that only that which was public, manifest, and observablethe tens of thousands of mesmerizing and inexplicable miracles at his handshave formed the image of Kyrillos VI. On June 20, 2013, forty-two years after his death, Kyrillos was canonized. Some eighteen volumes of miracle accounts have emerged, yet until now, only a few of his writings and letters have been known, appreciated, and studied. The story of this unique manhis asceticism, virtue, wisdom, and profound capacity to disciple, along with the intriguing story of the Churchs transformation during his patriarchatehas slowly faded into a mass of the extraordinary, supernatural, and mystical miracles. Moreover, those who personally knew himas much as he could really be knownunfortunately, will soon not be with us. And so Kyrillos, for the next generation, like mine, will inevitably be known only as an icon on the wallfor many, perhaps, he already is.

It is no exaggeration to say that there is no figure so loved by Copts (and by not a few Muslims) as Kyrillos. His photographs adorn almost every Coptic home; almost every family counts at least one Kyrillos (after his patriarchal name) or a Mina (after his monastic name); and most, if not all, count the saint among their intercessors, too. Still, he remains hidden. To give some sense of this, in my research, not one of his closest disciples, friends, or even family members could recall the name of Kyrillos motherhis blind nephew was my saving grace in this respectand many were shocked to discover that Kyrillos had sisters. This is, of course, indicative of just how silent and hidden this man wasdespite being patriarch. What, then, of his inner life, his vision, his method of reform? Until now, they have remained enshrouded in mystery.