The Miracle in the Firmament- Chitramezhuthu (Artist) K. M. Varghese

 

[Most of us know the familiar portrait of Parumala Thirumeni. In this account, first published in Malayala Manorama on 17 and 18 September 1937, and later republished in Punya Smrithi, the 2000 souvenir commemorating the consecration of the new Parumala Church, artist K. M. Varghese traces the familiar portrait of Parumala Thirumeni to its source: Mr. Zachariah D'Cruz, the Travancore Government photographer. Commissioned to photograph Thirumeni for the Travancore State Manual, D'Cruz recounts the difficulties he faced as the demands of light and time came up against Thirumeni's unwavering rhythm of prayer, and the extraordinary event that followed. KM Varghese probes with a questioning mind and D'Cruz, an experienced photographer and no blind believer, stands by what he witnessed. Below is the English translation and this old account offers a rare glimpse into the prayer and quiet presence of St. Gregorios of Parumala]

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[D’Cruz]: "His Grace was a man of profound piety and exceedingly holy”.

[KM Varghese]: "So Mr. D'Cruz seems to have been well acquainted with the Thirumeni."

[D’Cruz]: "Not that familiar. Even so, something wondrous that happened in the courtyard of the Syrian church here still fills me with indescribable amazement."

[KM Varghese]: "A wondrous event?" I asked Mr. D'Cruz, the Travancore Government photographer, with some eagerness.

[D’Cruz]: "Yes, a true miracle. It was beyond logic and reason. But if I tell you, you may not believe it."

[KM Varghese]: "Please do tell me. I very much need to know."

Mr. D'Cruz stood with both hands held slightly forward, loosely resting on the head of a walking cane.  Together we moved from the public road towards the garden paths on the eastern side of the Science College in Thiruvananthapuram. Close by, one or two Tamil women dressed in coarse cotton saris sat with guavas, pomegranates, groundnuts and peanuts laid out in flat wine boxes. They were murmuring something or other, hoping to catch the attention of passers-by.

[A note from the author before the account: Apart from Devasahayam Pillai (Lazarus)of Maruthukulangara, Nattalam, Padmanabhapuram, that crest-jewel among Christ's devotees, who patiently bore many cruel torments from the government officials, the rulers of Venad, because he would not forsake his beloved Lord Jesus Christ, and who was shot and met a martyr's death on Friday, 14 Makaram, Malayalam Era 927, the holy man who deserves an unrivalled place in Kerala’s (Christian) spiritual history is Mar Gregorios Metropolitan, or Chathuruthil Thirumeni, who was laid to rest in Malayalam Era 1078. This is accepted by the whole Christian world. It seems that few people know that the portrait of His Grace now in circulation is a printed copy of the photograph taken by Mr. D'Cruz.]

I once needed a copy of the original photograph from which this printed reproduction was made. An ordinary print lacks the clarity, vibrancy, cleanness and subtle naturalness of a real photograph, and for that reason no responsible photojournalist accepts a printout as an authentic original in photojournalism. I therefore remained continuously engaged in the search for where the original photograph of the Metropolitan's portrait might be found.

While matters stood thus, my respected friend and neighbour Dr. P. V. Mammen once told me that his father- Mr. P. K. Varkey (who had long been a teacher at the Government English High School, Mavelikara, and was well known for the great number of his pupils and the esteem he had won from the public) had in his possession a photograph of Chathuruthil Thirumeni. It had been given to his father as a gift by A. R. Rajaraja Varma Koyithampuran. Without any further delay, I went to see Mr. Varkey and explained the matter, and he gladly showed me the photograph. The joy I felt on seeing it was beyond words, but my sorrow was greater still. The photograph had been gnawed extensively by vermin and it had become entirely useless. Even so, Mr. D'Cruz's name had been neatly stamped on one corner of the board on which the photograph was mounted, so the difficulty of tracing the photographer was resolved.

Some years passed. It seems to have been in Malayalam Era (M.E.) 1107 or 1108 (1931/1932 CE) when I happened to meet Mr. D'Cruz by chance near the Syrian church in Thiruvananthapuram. After a few pleasantries, I made my need known to Mr. D'Cruz. Gradually our conversation touched on the posture of the Metropolitan as seen in the photograph, the proper control of its light and shade, its clarity and brilliance, the serene detachment radiating from the Metropolitan's face, and the height of spiritual exaltation it conveyed.

Mr. D'Cruz said: "However you look at it, that Thirumeni was a man of supreme devotion. And in every respect, it was also a wondrous event."

"He was a man of great piety, no doubt. But was that event a wondrous happening beyond all logic and reason?" I asked impatiently.

With a look of amazement on his face, Mr. D'Cruz said- "Even at this very moment, that event fills me with wonder. I was terribly frightened. It is not one or two years; I have thirty years of unbroken experience in photography. Studio photographs aside, when taking a photograph in an open place, I am extremely particular about the arrangement of light, shade and time. In a way, one might say that the excellence and fame of my photographs rest entirely on my discipline and diligence in matters of light and shade, of timing and of naturalness. Yet on one unfortunate occasion, when light, shade, time and place were all utterly against me, I had to take a photograph of that Thirumeni. Would you believe me if I told you that, by the power of that holy man's prayer alone, a dark cloud appeared of its own accord in the expanse of the sky and, for a little while, kept the blazing disc of the sun covered? Oh, that is something I can never forget. It was not a coincidence, and it could never be one."

After a few moments I broke the silence. "Why can't it be a coincidence? Clouds drift across the sky all the time. Perhaps, bewildered by the place and the circumstances, it only seemed a wonder to you, Sir."

"Don't I know that clouds move in the sky?" Mr. D'Cruz replied. "Leave that aside. Are you saying that wonders cannot happen? I don't think even Hindus would say that."

"I don't say that wonders cannot happen," I answered. "Almighty God came into the world as a man. He grew as a man, ate as a man, slept as a man, wept as a man, cried aloud as a man, and died as a man and that, surely, is the greatest wonder of all."

"So you admit that wonders can happen," Mr. D'Cruz said, with a faint smile.

"I certainly admit it," I said. "Not only can wonders happen, but Jesus Christ himself said that the holy souls, his devoted servants, would be able to perform even greater wondrous works than Christ did. Moreover, after His resurrection Jesus Christ bestowed on his disciples the divine gift of working wonders. But what I am asking is whether this event which you described can be counted as a wonder. From its very nature, one might infer that it was merely a coincidence."

Mr. D’Cruz: “Then are you saying that I am someone without the discernment to tell the distinctive character of a wondrous event from the ordinary course of a chance occurrence? Isn't that rather presumptuous? I too am a man living in this twentieth century. But when you come to know the true circumstances of the event, you will surely realise that I am no mere blind believer.”

I stood in rapt attention.

Mr. D'Cruz took his hat off his head and, with a small towel he was holding, slowly wiped his bald head and the area around it. Then, with a pleasant smile, he said:

"It happened in 1901 or 1902. I think it was most probably 1901. I took his photograph at the request of Mr. Nagam Aiya, the Dewan Peishkar (of Travancore), who needed a picture showing the vestments of the Metropolitans of the Malankara Church for inclusion in the Travancore State Manual.

What you see in the State Manual now is a printing of it. I think the photograph was taken in the month of Makaram. At that time His Grace was residing in the shed on the eastern side of the Syrian church here. Mr. Nagam Aiya had informed Thirumeni well in advance that I would be coming to take the photograph. So one day, very early in the morning, I reached his residence with my camera. His Grace was in the church, offering morning prayers, followed by the Holy Qurbana. By half past seven the sunlight had grown too strong (for photography). Seeing that there was no use in waiting there any longer, I went back.

That evening I went again at four o'clock. But half an hour before I arrived, His Grace had gone into his room for private prayers and closed the door. He came out only at half past five, and by then the light was completely gone. For two or three days I struggled in this way. Morning and evening, His Grace had no time at all, and the dim light of the evening was quite unsuitable. On top of that, some senior officials of the place had by then come to meet Thirumeni and speak with him. In this state of affairs another day or two passed. In the meantime, Mr. Nagam Aiya met Thirumeni once or twice and spoke with him. He also kept urging me to take the photograph quickly and send it."

I asked in a calm voice, "Offering the Holy Qurbana (on a weekday) would take no more than about three-quarters of an hour. You could have asked his permission to take the photograph before that."

"I had thought of that too," said Mr. D'Cruz. "But his writer (perhaps this refers to Thirumeni’s secretary Achen or Semassen) told me that His Grace would not enter into any other matter until the morning prayers and the Qurbana were over, so I did not attempt it."

I said, "You could have made all these difficulties known to the Thirumeni and taken him to your studio. In a studio, one need not worry about sun or rain."

Mr. D'Cruz said, "I made an earnest effort for that as well, but it simply did not work out. Achen told me firmly that His Grace did not go out (leave church premises) for any reason, except to visit the sick in their homes in cases of urgent need.

In short, the only time available was some time between half past eight and half past three, excluding the time of the noon prayer. At any other time, there was simply no possibility of taking the photograph. Because the photograph was not forthcoming, Mr. Nagam Aiya grew impatient, and he sent word to me two or three times. What could I do?

In the meantime, I explained to His Grace in person, and in detail, the defects that arise from taking a photograph at midday, in sunlight and in shade. It was all to no effect. His Grace said firmly that, whether the photograph came out dark or bright, and even if the room were dim, his observances/cycle of prayers must not be disturbed. Since this was only a photograph meant to show a model of the vestments, he said it did not matter even if it did not come out well. Moreover, he declared that he would leave Thiruvananthapuram within two days, and that the photograph should be taken before then. I was in a dilemma.

Anyway, I reached the church the next morning. His Grace, having finished the Holy Qurbana and a light refreshment, was engaged for a short while in an urgent conversation with some other people. By the time he sent them away and called me, it was past ten. I quickly made the camera ready. To judge how the image would come out, I had someone stand in the sun and then in the shade, and I tested it for a little while.

The shade was thoroughly gloomy. In the open sun the glare was dazzling, and the room inside was deeply dark. Though everything seemed to be against me, I judged that taking the photograph in the sunlight was the better one.

I fixed the camera in its proper place and informed His Grace. At once he came and stood in front of the curtain, wearing his outer robe and mitre. Someone stood behind him, holding an umbrella high to shade him from the sun, careful not to be in the way. But when I looked into the camera, His Grace's figure did not look right at all. It flickered here and there, glared white and cast shadows, and appeared badly distorted. He understood in an instant that I was greatly troubled and distressed. In deep sorrow I said: 'The Government has a record in which many fine photographs are included. After struggling for five or six days, only His Grace's picture would have to go in looking so badly distorted. That would be a disgrace to my name. I feel a remorse I cannot bear.'"

Before I had finished speaking, the compassionate Thirumeni looked into my face with the utmost kindness. Then he closed his eyes and, absorbed in meditation, stood silent for a little while with his face lifted towards the disc of the sun. To find out what His Grace was doing, I looked intently at his face and then at the sky. As though accomplishing some great task, he raised the golden cross he held in his hand towards the sky and blessed in the form of a cross. I had barely closed and opened my eyes. What divine power! At that very instant a dark cloud covered the blazing sun. The light was now just right, soft and pleasant. Not even studio lighting could have been so perfect. In the presence of that great soul, I was seized with fear and dared not go near him.

"'Take the photograph quickly,' His Grace said, very calmly. I swiftly set his position and surroundings right once more and opened the lens. Not even a moment had passed when, at that very instant, I saw it rush down with lightning speed and spread. I looked intently at the sky once more. Everything was exactly as before, without the slightest difference. Only the blazing disc of the sun was there. There was no dark cloud, nothing at all. How it had vanished, where it had gone, who could say? It was all over in a moment."

Mr. D'Cruz and I looked into each other's eyes. For a while, neither of us spoke. To the west of the Science College, golden clouds billowed in the blue sky like surging waves, forming a golden shoreline. Gleaming, plump cars sped along the road.

I asked, "You must have taken copies of that photograph and kept them?"

"No. Not even one." Mr. D'Cruz went on in a tone deeply expressive of sorrow. "Even its negative was lost. What a pity! I cannot even bear to recall it. I suppose it was lost along with a number of glass plates that I once handed over to tinsmiths. Many people have asked me for a copy of it by now. What can I do? I can call it nothing but ill fortune."

"A great loss indeed. Especially to the Syrian Christian community. There is no doubt about it.

"Can one still get a printed copy of it?"

"Yes, one can. It was printed in the Manorama, and only that one block exists now."

"If it is a zinc plate, the block would have been damaged by the printing. If it is copper, there is no such fault."

"A little wear may well have set in."

"Where was he laid to rest? In the southern or the northern part of the Thiruvalla taluk?"

"At the southern end."

"Near Mr. John?"

"Yes, right near the Mankotta Maharshi."

"How far?"

"Two miles from Niranam."

"The place is Parumala."

"Parumala."

By the prayers of our holy father among the saints- St Gregorios of Parumala, Lord have mercy upon us and help us.

In Christ,
Rincy

Reference: Translated from the Malayalam text of K. M. Varghese's article as republished in Punya Smrithi, souvenir published in connection with the consecration of the new Parumala Church, 28 October 2000, pp. 56–60. The article was originally published in Malayala Manorama on 17 and 18 September 1937.

St. Gregorios of Parumala photo reference: V. Nagam Aiya, The Travancore State Manual, vol. II (Trivandrum: Travancore Government Press, 1906), 135. Photograph of St. Gregorios of Parumala by Zachariah D'Cruz.

The below photos (taken in 2025)  of St. George Orthodox Cathedral, Syrian Church Road, Spencer Junction, Palayam, Thiruvananthapuram. I was informed that this is the church where the photograph of St. Gregorios of Parumala was taken by Mr. Zechariah D'Cruz.

Chitramezhuthu K. M. Varghese. Photo taken from this source.

 

THE UNCONQUERED FORTRESS

Reflection on the holy Gospel reading for the sixth Sunday after the Feast of Holy Cross

Old Testament reading: Genesis 42:29-36, Joshua 10:28-36, and Isaiah 43:16-25
Holy Gospel reading: St. Luke 18:18-27

A ruler approaches Jesus with an admirable question: “Good Teacher, what shall I do to inherit eternal life?” (v.18). An inheritance is not ordinarily earned by performing a task; it is received because one belongs to a household. Yet the ruler asks what he must do to inherit, approaching eternal life almost as though it were one more acquisition to be added to an already successful life.

Christ does not simply accept the flattering address of “Good Teacher.” He probes-“Why do you call Me good? No one is good but One, that is, God” (v.19). The Lord is not denying His divinity; He is pressing the ruler to confront the weight of his own words. If God alone is good, does the ruler understand Who stands before him? The ruler has come asking what good he must do; Christ begins by asking him to reconsider where goodness itself comes from.

Christ’s response also carries a searching lesson for our spiritual life-if goodness belongs ultimately to God, even our goodness must never become our possession. When the ruler declares, “All these things I have kept from my youth” (v.21), he may genuinely have lived an exemplary life yet virtue carries its own temptation. The commandments that should deepen our dependence upon God can quietly become evidence of our own righteousness. Wealth is not the only thing we can accumulate; virtues, disciplines and even a reputation for holiness can become another kind of treasure. Both material and moral wealth can occupy the place that belongs to God. Christ therefore leads the ruler beyond the comforting question, “What have I kept?” to the more searching one, “What am I still unable to surrender?”

Jacob’s Fear of Loss

The first Old Testament reading from Genesis 42 presents another person standing before the possibility of surrender. Jacob’s sons return from Egypt without Simeon and report that Benjamin must accompany them if they are to appear again before the governor. Jacob responds: “You have bereaved me: Joseph is no more, Simeon is no more, and you want to take Benjamin. All these things are against me.” (Genesis 42:36)

Jacob interprets his circumstances through the wounds of what he has already lost. Unknown to him, the events that appear to be dismantling his household are the very means through which God will preserve it. This is also the fear of the rich ruler. Jacob clings to Benjamin because Benjamin seems to be all that remains. The ruler clings to wealth because wealth has become his security, identity, and imagined guarantee against uncertainty.

Faith does not mean that surrender is painless. It means trusting that what God is doing cannot be measured solely by what appears to be disappearing. When God closes a path or asks us to release control, we may conclude that everything is against us. Yet the God who seems to be taking Benjamin may already be preparing a reunion with Joseph.

The Conquest Within

The second Old Testament reading from Joshua 10:28-36 recounts the conquest of several fortified cities; Joshua takes each city, defeats its king, and leaves no surviving power capable of reclaiming the land. These passages belong to a particular moment in Israel’s history and must not be turned into a justification for violence. Read spiritually, the uncompromising character of the battle speaks to the seriousness with which passions must be confronted.

The Promised Land cannot be peacefully inhabited while the powers opposed to God retain their thrones. In the same way, the human heart cannot belong wholly to God while cherished idols continue to rule secretly within it. That idol may be wealth, reputation, comfort, control or even our own righteousness. The rich ruler appears to have conquered many outward sins; many visible cities have fallen, yet one fortified city remains, and Christ places His finger precisely upon that unconquered territory. The command to sell and distribute is not divine hostility toward him but a campaign of liberation.

We frequently ask God to remove the consequences of our passions while leaving the passions themselves untouched. Surprisingly, the final fortress is often protected by our virtues. Because we pray, fast, serve, give, and live respectably, we assume that the heart is fully surrendered. Yet the last unconquered city may be the very thing from which we derive our deepest sense of security.

“Shall you not know it?”

In the third Old Testament reading the Lord identifies Himself as the One who made a way through the sea and a path through mighty waters. God now commands Israel not to remain confined to “the former things,” (v.18) because divine grace is preparing something new.This word speaks directly into the ruler’s crisis. Christ places a new future before him, but he cannot imagine life outside the structures that have sustained him until now. His wealth not only has provided him comfort but also narrowed his imagination. He cannot conceive that life with Christ might be richer than everything Christ asks him to release.

The Lord asks, “Shall you not know it?” (Isaiah 43:19) The question is one of spiritual perception. The ruler sees the cost, but not the new creation. St. Luke tells us that the ruler became “very sorrowful.” His sorrow reveals that the word of Christ has reached him; he knows that he stands before a genuine decision. The tragedy of the rich ruler was not that Christ asked for too much, but that his hands were too full to receive the One who had come to give him everything.

This last point brings us to the climax of the passage. When Jesus declares how difficult it is for the wealthy to enter the Kingdom, the hearers ask, “Who then can be saved?”. If even a disciplined, respectable and religiously observant person cannot secure eternal life, salvation must lie beyond human achievement. Christ answers, “The things which are impossible with men are possible with God.” (v.27) These words are more than a general assurance that God can overcome our difficulties; they announce the mystery of salvation itself.

As the liturgical year draws to its close, its final lessons leave us with a striking paradox. The rich fool filled his barns yet was not rich toward God while the rich ruler chooses his earthly treasure over Christ-the true Treasure. We leave the season of the Cross knowing that the riches of earth cannot save us and turn towards the manger to receive the One “who makes us rich by becoming poor for our sake” (2 Corinthians 8:9).

In Christ,
Rincy

WHEN RELIGION BECOMES A GARMENT

 Reflection on the holy Gospel reading for the fifth Sunday after the Feast of Holy Cross

Old Testament reading: Leviticus 2:1-3; Job 6:1-10; Isaiah 40:27-31
Holy Gospel reading: St. Mathew 23:1-12

Religion becomes dangerous when it is worn rather than lived. It can be worn in the form of titles, positions, theological knowledge, pious habits, or carefully cultivated reputations. It can be worn so convincingly that everyone mistakes it for holiness. Christ exposes this danger He says of the scribes and Pharisees- “whatever they tell you to observe, that observe and do, but do not do according to their works” (v.3). They wore religion as a garment, yet it had never become their life.

Yet the Gospel does not permit us to remain safely outside the scene, congratulating ourselves for not being Pharisees. Perhaps the first sign of the Pharisee is the certainty that the passage is speaking about someone else. Christ did not speak these words to satisfy our desire to identify villains. He spoke to expose a temptation that passes through every human heart. Whenever faith becomes a matter of appearance rather than transformation, reputation rather than repentance, or recognition rather than surrender, the Pharisaic mask quietly returns. The Lord's warning is therefore about us not about them.

The Grain That Consents to Be Broken
The first Old Testament reading from Leviticus presents an image strikingly different from the religious self-display condemned in the Gospel- “When anyone presents a grain offering to the Lord, the offering shall be of choice flour; the worshiper shall pour oil on it and put frankincense on it” (Leviticus 2:1)

Fine flour is grain that has surrendered its original form. Pride struggles to remain intact, recognisable, and superior. It measures itself against others and resists whatever threatens its carefully constructed identity. But the grain offering consents to be broken. It relinquishes its separate form so that it may become nourishment.

The grain offering reminds us that what is pleasing to God is not what is displayed, but what is surrendered. Our learning, authority, reputation, ministry, and spiritual gifts are not ornaments given for public admiration. They are flour, oil, and incense entrusted to us so that they may be offered to God and become nourishment for His people. Faith that costs nothing may decorate a life, but it can never become an offering.

The Burden
The reading from the second Old Testament reading introduces us to a man crushed beneath a great burden. Christ condemns those who “tie up heavy burdens, hard to bear and lay them on the shoulders of others, but they themselves are unwilling to lift a finger to move them.” (St. Matthew 23:4)

Religious authority becomes dangerous when it speaks confidently about burdens it has never attempted to carry. It is easier to offer answers about parenting than to endure sleepless nights over a struggling child; easier to speak about stewardship than to wrestle with financial uncertainty; easier to comment on grief, illness, family conflict, or failure than to walk through their hidden wounds. There is a profound difference between explaining a cross and helping another carry it. When doctrine is severed from compassion, it becomes another burden tied upon wounded shoulders.

St. Clement of Alexandria preserves a moving tradition concerning St. John the Apostle. After returning from Patmos, the Apostle learned that a young man whom he had previously entrusted to a bishop had abandoned the Christian life and become the leader of a band of robbers. St. John did not dismiss him as a failed disciple or protect his apostolic dignity by maintaining a safe distance. Though elderly, he went in search of the young man and entered dangerous territory to recover him. When the young man saw the Apostle approaching, he turned and fled in shame. St. John ran after him, crying out for him to stop and assuring him that there was still hope in Christ. The young man finally stopped, wept bitterly, and was restored through repentance. (Who is the Rich Man That Shall Be Saved, ANF Volume II).

Here is the opposite of the Pharisaic leader who will not move another’s burden with one finger. St. John does not remain seated in apostolic dignity waiting for the sinner to return and apologise. He leaves the seat, enters the wilderness, and bears the danger of restoration. True spiritual fatherhood does not ask how the fall of the young man will affect the reputation of the Apostle or the Church. It is chiefly concerned with how the fallen person may be brought back to life.

It is precisely in this context that Christ's words, "Do not be called Rabbi... and call no man your father on earth" (v.8,9), must be understood. The very Scriptures contain references to "Father Abraham" (St. Luke 16:24), St. Stephen's address to the "brethren and fathers" (Acts 7:2), St. Paul's description of himself as a spiritual father (1 Thess. 2:11), and even Christ's reference to Nicodemus as "the teacher of Israel" (St. John 3:10).

Having warned His disciples against leaders who sought honour, titles, and recognition, Christ was not abolishing spiritual fatherhood but purifying it. His concern was not what leaders were called, but what they had become. The danger was that teachers, rabbis, and spiritual fathers might cease to be signposts pointing towards God and instead become destinations in themselves. St. Paul confronts this temptation in the Church at Corinth- “Now I say this, that each of you says, “I am of Paul,” or “I am of Apollos,” or “I am of Cephas,” or “I am of Christ.” Is Christ divided? Was Paul crucified for you? Or were you baptized in the name of Paul?” (1 Corinthians 1:12-13). The apostles were never founders of personal kingdoms. They were witnesses and their greatness lay precisely in their willingness to disappear behind the One whom they proclaimed. The ordained ministry of the Church is called to the same vocation.

The God Who Gives Strength to the Weary
In the third Old Testament reading from the book of Isaiah, Israel laments- My way is hidden from the Lord, and my right is disregarded by my God”? (v. 27). It is the cry of those who feel unseen, forgotten, and exhausted. It may also be the silent cry of those upon whose shoulders religious communities have placed burdens while refusing to hear their pain.

Isaiah does not deny their weariness. He directs their gaze towards the One who does not grow weary- “The Lord is the everlasting God, the Creator of the ends of the earth. He does not faint or grow weary…He gives power to the faint and strengthens the powerless.” (v. 28,29). Human power often seeks elevation, recognition, and distance from weakness whereas Divine power stoops towards the faint. This is why Christ declares that the greatest must become the servant. He is not introducing an arbitrary reversal of social conventions but revealing the very character of God. Service is greatness because God Himself ministers life to His creation.

“those who wait for the Lord shall renew their strength; they shall mount up with wings like eagles” (v.31). Those who wait upon the Lord renew their strength because they have ceased treating themselves as the source of that strength. Humility is not self-contempt; it is freedom from the exhausting task of sustaining one’s own greatness. The proud must continually protect their status and defend their image but the humble can wait upon God because they no longer need to manufacture their own glory.

Our Lord condemns the hypocrisy of the Pharisees, yet elsewhere He gives an even more searching command- “Unless your righteousness exceeds the righteousness of the scribes and Pharisees, you will by no means enter the kingdom of heaven.”- St. Matthew 5:20. The Pharisees fasted, tithed, prayed, and maintained ritual discipline. Christ does not call His disciples to less serious faith. He calls them to a righteousness that goes deeper where it is not content with knowing the commandments but seeks to become their living expression.

The Desert Father Abba Pambo expressed this mystery with characteristic simplicity- “If you have a heart, you can be saved.” The spiritual life is ultimately the recovery of the heart. It is the journey from appearances to authenticity and from the mask we present to the world to the person whom God sees in secret. It is the place where faith is no longer displayed as an ornament but received as a transforming fire and where prayer is no longer performance but encounter. The greatest danger is not that we fail to appear holy, but that we become satisfied with appearances while remaining strangers to transformation.

In Christ,
Rincy

 

 

 

THE POVERTY OF FULL BARNS

Reflection on the holy Gospel reading for the fourth Sunday after the Feast of Holy Cross

Old Testament reading: Numbers 29:35-30:1; 1 Kings 8:27-30; Isaiah 54:5-8

Holy Gospel reading: St. Luke 12:13-21

The Holy Gospel reading focuses on the parable of the rich fool. In the preceding verses (St. Luke 4-12), Jesus speaks about remaining faithful when one’s life is threatened by persecution. A man in the crowd interrupts to ask Jesus to persuade his brother to divide the family inheritance. In the response and parable that follows, Jesus speaks of danger that comes from another direction- the confidence in possessions that promise to preserve life.

Christ refuses to settle the dispute merely at the level of property because He sees the deeper disorder; the property has already divided the brothers. This is why He warns- “Take care! Be on your guard against all kinds of greed, for one’s life does not consist in the abundance of possessions.” (v.15)

Greed is not always obvious. It can disguise itself as fairness, ambition, or the desire to receive what one believes is deserved. A house, inheritance, salary, investment, field, or position may be good in itself. Yet once it becomes the measure of our worth, the foundation of our identity, or the source of our security, it begins to possess the possessor.

Leo Tolstoy’s timeless classic, How Much Land Does a Man Need? is a profound meditation on the tension between need and greed. The story follows Pakhom, a contented peasant whose desire for more land gradually becomes an obsession. He encounters the chief of a tribe who offers to sell him as much land as he can encircle on foot in a day, provided he returns to his starting point by sunset. Pakhom pushes himself beyond his limits and as the day wanes, he realizes he has ventured too far. He races desperately to reach the starting point in time. He collapses and dies from exhaustion, and his servant buries him in a grave in the very land he had sought so feverishly to acquire. The answer to the titular question is that, in the end, a man needs only enough land to bury him.

The Parable of the Rich Fool (St.Luke 12:13-21) tells of a wealthy landowner whose fields produce an abundant harvest. Believing his prosperity guarantees security, he plans to tear down his barns and build larger ones to store his grain and enjoy many years of comfort. Yet God declares him a fool, for that very night his life is required of him, and all he has accumulated is left behind.

It is the ground which he owns but cannot command bore the abundance. The rich man, who uses "I" and "my" over and over, did not generate anything. The parable does not mention any exploited labourers or any fraud, so the Scripture lets us assume the rich man has got the wealth through honest means. And this is where it should perturb us. The parable indicts the person whose wealth is clean, but whose life is still wrong.

The Day That Cannot Be Stored

The first Old Testament reading from Numbers 29:35-30:1 describes Israel’s observance of the feast of the tabernacles. On the eighth day, the people are summoned to a sacred assembly. Ordinary labour ceases, offerings are presented, and Israel’s time is reordered around the worship of God.

At first sight, this ceremonial passage may seem far removed from the parable however, it confronts the very illusion at the heart of the rich man’s plans; the belief that the future belongs to him. The rich farmer has counted his harvest and calculated his storage. But while grain can be stored, years cannot. Tomorrow cannot be locked inside a barn.

“On the eighth day you shall have a sacred assembly.” (v.35), The eighth day carries a profound Christian resonance. Christ rose on the first day of the week, which the Church also understands as the eighth day, the beginning of a life beyond the circle of mortality. The farmer’s imagination remains imprisoned within the repetitive cycle of earthly existence; sowing, harvesting, storing, consuming, and enlarging.

Israel’s sacred calendar taught the people that time was not an uninterrupted field for human productivity. Certain days were to be returned visibly to God. Labour ceased because economic activity did not have the final claim upon human life. Time belonged to the Lord before it belonged to the farmer, merchant, king, or the labourer.

Solomon’s Temple and the Farmer’s Barns

In the second Old Testament reading (1 Kings 8:27-30), Solomon stands before the newly completed Temple and confesses: “Even heaven and the highest heaven cannot contain you, much less this house that I have built!” (v.27). Solomon builds a magnificent Temple and immediately acknowledges that God cannot be contained within it. The farmer builds great barns and imagines that his life can be contained within them.

This contrast reveals two radically different uses of human structures. The Temple, for all its grandeur, remains open towards heaven. The farmer’s barns are closed in upon themselves. They gather everything towards the man and return nothing to God or neighbour. The rich farmer is not judged because he owns barns but because his barns have become his temple and his possessions have become his promised salvation.

With Great Compassion I Will Gather You

The third Old Testament reading Isaiah 54:5-8 reveals the true foundation of security. The prophet addresses Zion in a condition of grief, shame, and apparent abandonment. Yet the Lord promises that abandonment will not have the final word: “For a brief moment I abandoned you, but with great compassion I will gather you.” (v.7)

These words address one of the deepest human fears which is the fear of being forgotten or left without a future. The rich man attempts to answer this fear by accumulation. Isaiah offers a radically different answer. God’s people are secure not because they have accumulated enough, but because the Creator has bound Himself to them in covenant love.

Earlier in Isaiah 54, Zion is commanded to enlarge the place of her tent, lengthen her cords, and strengthen her stakes. But this enlargement does not arise from anxious accumulation but from the promise of divine restoration. There is an enlargement that makes the heart smaller, and there is an enlargement that makes the heart more like God. Genesis 41 also features a man who built great storehouses. But Joseph's barns were built on behalf of a famine-stricken world, and when hunger came, he opened them to Egypt and to his own starving brothers.

MAMMON IN THE AGE OF THE ALGORITHM

Reflection on the holy Gospel reading for the third Sunday after the Feast of Holy Cross

Old Testament reading: Genesis 42:18-21; Proverbs 1: 2-9; Isaiah 54:1-4
Holy Gospel reading: St. Luke 16:1-13

Few of our Lord's parables unsettle as much as the story of the steward who, on the very brink of ruin, cheats his way into favour and is, astonishingly, commended for it. Christ is certainly not blessing fraud. The steward remains unjust, and nothing in the parable excuses his earlier wastefulness.  What the master commends is his shrewdness, his sudden recognition of the seriousness of his condition that the present arrangement is coming to an end, and his decisive use of the short time remaining to him.

Christ tells that the tragedy is the “children of this age” showing greater urgency in securing a temporary future than the “children of light” show in seeking the Kingdom of God. We frequently live as though our possessions, offices, relationships, influence, and even our earthly lives belong to us permanently. The steward finally understands three truths that he had previously forgotten-the wealth in his hands belongs to another, his authority is temporary, and an account will be required. 

We sing in Friday Matins (Sheema Namaskaram) of this truth that stands at the heart of the Christian understanding of human life:

“How fearful is the morning when the Lord
Will come and the creation will tremble,
The judge will sit; the books will be opened
He will bring to light all the hidden things – Halleluiah
You who know all things have mercy on me”

The previous chapter, St. Luke 15, quietly prepares us for the unjust steward. The shepherd, the woman, and the younger son each hold something that ultimately belongs to another. The sheep, in Scripture’s larger vision, belong to God; the coins belong to a household larger than the woman herself;  and the inheritance belongs within the father's house. Yet the younger son mistakes a gift for an independent possession and squanders it in a distant country.

Significantly, St. Luke uses the same language when introducing the steward of chapter 16. The younger son squanders the father’s property, and the steward squanders the master’s goods. Both have wasted what did not truly belong to them. Both suddenly face the consequences and arrive at the same question: “What shall I do?” Yet their paths diverge.

The younger son turns vertically. At the lowest point of his life, “no one gave him anything.” (St. Luke 15:16) Turning towards his father, he offers no strategy for restoring his former position and no defence for his conduct. He genuinely repents and confesses: “Father, I have sinned against heaven and before you.” (v.18)

The steward turns horizontally. Rather than returning in repentance, he secures his future by obligating those who may later receive him. The younger son lays himself bare and places his hope in the mercy of the father. The steward places his hope in the gratitude of debtors.

This contrast exposes one of the most subtle spiritual temptations-the desire to secure the future without confronting the truth of the past. Repentance cannot be delegated, brokered, or negotiated. We are most like the steward when we place our confidence in networks, influence, and reputation, forgetting that every hidden thing ultimately stands revealed before God.

Unfortunately, the cover-up of abuse in church and other forms of leadership often works in precisely this way. Where leaders who have wronged the vulnerable are shielded by peers or by hierarchs, reassigned quietly, or protected by mutual favours, the steward's logic of self-preservation is at work. The currency is not money but silence, reputation, and reciprocal protection. Meanwhile, the same institution may preach the prodigal son to the congregation, urging every believer to confess, and repent, while its own leaders secure their future through a network of obligations. Clerical leadership that teaches the road of the prodigal son but walks the road of the steward has inverted the Gospel.

Christ also warns that we cannot serve both God and mammon. Mammon has become far subtler than the coin in a purse or the grain in a storehouse. Today it appears as the performance metric that determines a person's worth, the follower count that quietly governs identity, the algorithm that profits from attention and anxiety, and the public image that must be protected even when truth is sacrificed. Christ says- “make friends for yourselves by unrighteous mammon, that when you fail, they may receive you into an everlasting home.” (St. Luke 16:9). Mammon does not merely risk failure. Its failure is assumed. Wealth fails. Markets fail. Influence fails. Institutions fail. Recessions, illness, conflict, and economic upheaval simply make visible what the Gospel has always declared, that every earthly security eventually crumbles.

The steward's wisdom is that he acts before the collapse. He reduces debts not because he has become selfless but because he wishes to secure his own future. Nevertheless, real burdens are lifted, and his actions create space for others under debt to breathe.

This is part of the unsettling force of the parable. Christ does not permit us to divide the world neatly between pure people who do good and corrupt people who do evil. The steward is no outsider prophet. He is a manager working within a system he did not create. That describes most of us. We are managers, professionals, accountants, loan processors, engineers, executives, teachers, clergy, administrators, and employees working within structures we did not create and cannot completely control. We often exercise limited authority within systems much larger than ourselves.

The parable therefore refuses two excuses; we cannot claim innocence because we did not design the system, nor can we claim helplessness because the system is imperfect. Christ calls us to use whatever influence we possess on behalf of those who bear the heaviest burdens. The person with access to the ledger may not be able to abolish the entire system but may still be able to reduce a burden. The person inside an institution may not possess ultimate authority but may still be able to speak for someone whose voice is ignored.

St. Luke gives us a living example of such stewardship in Joanna. In St. Luke 8:3 she is among the women who supported Christ's ministry from their own resources, while in St. Luke 24:10 she appears among the first witnesses of the Resurrection. Her husband Chuza served as a household manager under Herod Antipas. The steward acts only after he is dismissed while Joanna acts while her position remains intact. She gives from her possessions while still within Herod's household. Her wealth is entangled with the court of an unrighteous ruler, but she refuses to let that entanglement have the final word. She directs what is available to her toward Christ. Joanna begins inside the ledger of Herod's household. She ends as a witness and bearer of news no mammon could ever purchase- "The tomb is empty, and the Lord is risen."

The witness of St. Yeldho Mar Baselios, commemorated on October 03, embodies this same vision of faithful stewardship. In advanced age he undertook the difficult journey to Malankara in response to the needs of the Church. He came without the forms of power the world of mammon ordinarily admires. Aged, physically vulnerable, and wearied by travel, he nevertheless carried the true riches of apostolic faith and pastoral courage.

In an age governed by metrics, algorithms, reputation, and endless competition for attention, Christ's warning remains as urgent as ever-we cannot serve both God and mammon. The question is not whether we possess wealth, influence, authority, or platforms, but whether these possess us. And when the books are opened before the judgment seat of Christ, may we be found not as owners clinging to what was never ours, but as faithful stewards returning to the Master, the lives that were healed and burdens that were lifted.

In Christ,
Rincy

 

THE LEAVEN OF FORGETFULNESS AND THE BREAD OF DISCERNMENT

Reflection on the holy Gospel reading for the second Sunday after the Feast of Holy Cross

Old Testament reading: Genesis 42:9-17; 1 Kings 3:5-9; Isaiah 48:12-16

Holy Gospel reading: St. Matthew 16:5-12

In St. Matthew 16:5–12, bread is present precisely through its absence. The disciples have crossed the sea, but they have forgotten to bring bread. Their empty baskets become the setting for Christ’s warning-“Watch and beware of the leaven of the Pharisees and Sadducees.” Yet the disciples hear His words only at the level of hunger. They worry about the bread they have forgotten, forgetting what the Bread has already taught them.

Only a short while earlier, they had stood amid the fragments of miraculous abundance. Now, when they find themselves without provisions, they behave as though they are travelling with a powerless Christ. This is why the Lord asks them, “Do you not yet understand? Do you not remember?” Memory and perception are inseparably joined. When memory loses the works of God, perception becomes vulnerable to fear.

The Pharisees and Sadducees belonged to different schools of thought, but both looked at Christ without truly perceiving Him. Their leaven was a way of seeing that continually required God to prove Himself while leaving the human heart unexamined. Against this hidden influence, the Old Testament readings illuminate three dimensions of discernment-a memory that uncovers, a listening heart that distinguishes, and an attentiveness that recognises the One who has been sent.

Genesis 42:9-17-When God remembers what we have buried

When Joseph sees his brothers them bowing before him, he “remembered the dreams which he had dreamed about them” (v.9)

Joseph’s remembrance is not sentimental nostalgia. When he remembers his dreams, the buried meaning of his suffering rises before him. On the other hand, the brothers have lived for years with an unconfessed past. They have carried their sin silently, like leaven hidden within dough. Sin does not cease to work merely because it has disappeared from public sight. It ferments in memory, shapes instinct and quietly alters the inner person.

Joseph’s accusation that they are spies appears severe, but it forces them to confess the truth of their broken brotherhood: “Your servants are twelve brothers, the sons of one man in the land of Canaan; and in fact, the youngest is with our father today, and one is no more.” (v.13)

Falsehood does not always announce itself as outright rebellion. Sometimes it takes the form of an unexamined memory, a carefully protected wound or a narrative that allows us to live without repentance. The brothers had constructed a world in which Joseph simply “was no more.”

Joseph places them in custody for three days. Their confinement becomes a chamber of remembrance where long-silenced guilt begins to speak. God in His mercy permits seasons of correction, silence, or restraint to become moments where false perception dies and truth begins to rise. Blessed are those who allow such moments to heal their spiritual blindness.

1 Kings 3:5-9: The heart that hears between two voices

At Gibeon, the Lord appears to Solomon in a dream and says, “Ask what I should give you.” Solomon does not ask for length of days, wealth or the death of his enemies. He asks for “an understanding mind” to govern the people and to discern between good and evil. Solomon does not ask merely for intelligence. He asks for an interior faculty capable of hearing rightly, judging faithfully and distinguishing between voices.

Solomon’s prayer exposes the weakness of the disciples and the religious leaders alike. Their failure was not intellectual but spiritual. They had heard the words of God, yet without discernment even sacred knowledge can become leaven, inflating the mind while leaving the heart untouched.

The disciples interpret Christ’s warning through their forgotten bread because earthly scarcity appears more real to them than the divine presence in their midst. Spiritual corruption likewise seldom announces itself through blatant error. It often appears respectable and religious, revealing its character only through its fruit. True discernment is therefore more than identifying what is right or wrong. It is the ability to recognise what is quietly shaping the heart and directing it towards or away from God.

Isaiah 48:12-16: The First and the Last stands in the boat

“Come near to Me, hear this: I have not spoken in secret from the beginning;
From the time that it was, I was there.
And now the Lord God and His Spirit have sent Me.” (v.16)

These words carry a profound Trinitarian resonance. The eternal Word speaks of being sent by the Lord God in the presence and power of the Spirit.

“Listen to Me, O Jacob, And Israel, My called: I am He, I am the First, I am also the Last. Indeed My hand has laid the foundation of the earth, And My right hand has stretched out the heavens” (v. 12,13). The One whom the disciples fear cannot provide bread is the very One whose hand founded the earth and stretched out the heavens. They are troubled by what they failed to carry, while creation itself is carried by the One who journeys beside them.

Their anxiety is therefore not merely practical. It reveals a diminished Christology. Whenever Christ is reduced to one resource among many, the forgotten loaf becomes a catastrophe. But if Christ is the First and the Last, the Creator and Sustainer of all, then even an empty basket can become a school of faith.

Christ is not simply another rabbi commenting upon the Law. He is the eternal Word through whom the Law, creation and history receive their meaning. The disciples must therefore learn not only to understand individual teachings, but to discern the identity of the Teacher. Christ’s question, “Do you not yet understand?” is ultimately inseparable from the question that soon follows at Caesarea Philippi: “Who do you say that I am?” (St. Matthew 16:15)

The Church and the leaven

In St. Matthew 16, Christ warns His disciples against the leaven of the Pharisees and Sadducees. Yet, earlier in St. Matthew 13, He compares the kingdom of heaven to leaven hidden by a woman in three measures of flour.

The woman possesses none of the authority, prestige, or visibility enjoyed by the religious leaders of her day. Yet Christ chooses her hidden labour, not their public prominence, as an image of the kingdom. The Pharisees expected God's reign to arrive with unmistakable visibility, but the kingdom was advancing through quiet transformations that could not be measured immediately.

The woman therefore becomes an icon of the Church herself. Like her, the Church often works in hiddenness. She teaches children, preserves memory, nurtures prayer, tends the wounded, forms saints, and transmits faith from one generation to another. Much of this labour remains unnoticed by the world. Yet it is precisely this hidden fidelity that slowly leavens creation with the life of the kingdom. A miracle forgotten cannot nourish tomorrow's faith. This is why the Church lives by sacred remembrance. In the Holy Eucharist, remembrance is not the recollection of an absent Christ but the living encounter with the One who was Crucified, is Risen, and remains present among His people.

The English word leaven carries the sense of that which raises or lifts the dough. The Gospel reminds us that not every elevation is an ascension. The term also suggests something that ferments from within, an unseen force that quietly permeates the whole. Leaven never transforms by violence or spectacle. It works in hiddenness until its presence becomes evident in the entire loaf. It is therefore a fitting image both for the corruption Christ warns against and for the kingdom He proclaims.

The decisive questions are not whether we are being formed, but what is forming us and what it is forming us into. The leaven of the Pharisees performs holiness while resisting grace. The leaven of the Sadducees reduces reality to what can be controlled and explained. The leaven of the kingdom works differently. It enters hidden places and transforms them from within. It heals memory, as Joseph's brothers were compelled to face their past; it forms the listening heart for which Solomon prayed; and it opens the eyes to recognise, with Isaiah, the eternal One who has come among us.

The disciples feared because they had forgotten bread. Yet the real issue was not what they had failed to bring with them, but whom they had failed to recognise beside them. It is possible to have bread in one's hands and famine in one's perception. It is possible to possess Scripture and remain deaf to the Word. But when we allow the leaven of the kingdom to face our past and heal our memories then the heart learns to listen; when the heart listens, the eyes begin to recognise. And when the eyes recognise Christ, the forgotten loaf loses its power to terrify us.

In Christ,
Rincy

 

THE BISHOP WITH THE BEGGING BOWL

Commemorating Blessed Alvares Mar Julius Metropolitan (23^rd September)

There are lives whose meaning is disclosed not by the honours they received, but by the cost at which they remained faithful. Antonio Francisco Xavier Alvares, remembered by the Malankara Orthodox Syrian Church as Blessed Alvares Mar Julius Metropolitan, was born into privilege, educated for the priesthood, admired as an orator and journalist, and eventually raised to the episcopate. Yet the image that survives most powerfully is not that of a prelate enthroned in dignity. It is of an elderly bishop in a faded black cassock, walking through Panjim with a staff in one hand and a bowl in the other, collecting alms not merely for himself but for the poor who had found shelter in his home and continuing his daily round despite age, sickness, and public neglect. It is a story of a missionary vocation that extended beyond the familiar boundaries of Malankara.

At a time when the Malankara Church itself was struggling to preserve apostolic faith, ecclesial dignity, and freedom from external domination, it received into its communion a Goan priest wrestling with those same questions. Blessed Alvares Thirumeni’s life therefore cannot be understood simply as the story of a Roman Catholic priest who entered the Orthodox Church, nor only as that of a Goan patriot who opposed Portuguese authority. It is the story of a man who learned, often painfully, that fidelity to Christ may require one to stand against ecclesiastical power, colonial power, public opinion, and even one’s own earlier convictions.

Childhood

Antonio Francisco Xavier Alvares was born on April 29, 1836, in Verna, in the Salcete region of Portuguese Goa. He was baptized a few days later, on May 6. Within the family he was affectionately known as Fanchu. His parents were José Batista Alvares and Marinha Expectação Lourenço. The Alvares family belonged to an old Goan Catholic household whose roots in Verna reached back through generations. Yet what distinguished the household in local memory was not simply property or lineage. The family was known as Devanghar, the “House of God,” a name associated with its religious character and works of charity. Fanchu therefore grew up in a home where faith expressed itself in hospitality, generosity, concern for those in need, and a sense of moral obligation toward the wider community.

Goa’s religious life was inseparable from Portuguese colonial rule. The long conflict between the Portuguese Padroado system and the jurisdiction claimed by the Roman authorities of Propaganda Fide was the Goa where Alvares was born into. The Padroado had given the Portuguese Crown extensive privileges in the organization of the Church in mission territories. Over time, however, disagreements over jurisdiction, episcopal appointments, and missionary authority produced confusion and division. 

After completing school, Alvares joined Rachol Seminary which was one of the most important centres of ecclesiastical learning in Goa. He completed his studies in philosophy and theology in 1859. Yet ordination did not immediately follow. The prevailing ecclesiastical disorder left the young seminarian without a bishop to ordain him. It was under these circumstances that he left Goa for Bombay.

Bombay

Bombay opened before Alvares a world very different from the villages and seminaries of Portuguese Goa. For a young Goan seminarian, it offered not only the possibility of ordination but an encounter with a wider India.

The precise details of his early employment there are not certain. He appears to have been associated with a Jesuit educational institution, possibly St. Mary’s at Mazagon, and may also have served in a subordinate capacity within one of Bombay’s Padroado parishes.

He developed a strong command of English, a skill unusual enough among Goan priests of his generation to become one of the great instruments of his later ministry. English gave him access to a broader intellectual world and enabled him to address audiences beyond Portuguese-speaking Goa. Bombay also brought him into closer contact with the power of the press. In the nineteenth century, newspapers were becoming a formidable public forum. They could expose administrative misconduct, educate ordinary citizens, challenge entrenched privilege, and carry local grievances beyond the control of provincial authorities. Alvares would eventually wield the pen almost as naturally as the preacher’s voice.

He was ordained to the priesthood in 1862 by Bishop Walter Steins, the Vicar Apostolic of Bombay. He remained in Bombay for some time, continuing his work and deepening his knowledge of English and urban life. When he eventually returned to Goa, he returned as a man prepared to enter public life.

Priest, Teacher, Healer, and Voice of Goa

From his return to Goa in 1867 at the age of 31 years, Padre Alvares lived the most publicly active period of his life. He settled in Panjim and entered with remarkable energy into pastoral ministry, education, charitable service, journalism, and civic advocacy.

His first fields of activity were priestly ministry and charity. Padre Alvares did not imagine charity as occasional generosity from a position of comfort. He sought organized forms of service capable of restoring dignity to those who had been abandoned. Along with fellow Goan priests Fr. Manuel Agostinho de Carvalho, Fr. Caetano Xavier de Abreu and Fr. Joaquim Santana Coelho, he started Panjim Charitable Association to assist the destitute and especially the wandering beggars. The efforts bore fruits and similar associations soon came up  in Verna, Ribandar, Santa Cruz, Mapusa and other parts of Goa.

This compassion became heroic during the cholera epidemic of 1878. His response to disease was pastoral, physical, and educational. The priest who preached salvation did not treat the suffering body as spiritually insignificant. For him, the Gospel had to enter the sickroom, the crowded street, and the homes from which others fled.

While fear caused many to withdraw from infected households, Padre Alvares entered them. He cared for the sick, carried homeless patients to places where they could receive help, and assisted with the burial of those who died without family support. He later published practical directions for the treatment of cholera and eventually issued an English version for a wider readership.

Education remained one of his deepest concerns. He believed that the renewal of Goa required not merely political reform but the formation of minds and consciences. In 1877 he established the College of the Sacred Hearts of Jesus and Mary with six eminent teachers, all priests. Among them were Fr. Lourenco de Figueiredo (Philosophy), Fr, Ricardo Filomeno da Costa (Latin) and Fr. Lapa of Salsete (Portuguese and French), and with resident and non-resident students, strict discipline being maintained among them by himself as director of the institution.

The institution did not endure, partly because of the illness and endemic that Panjim fell prey to and also because Fr. Alvares recently took editorship of the weekly ‘A Cruz”.

Padre Alvares’s desire to serve the oppressed also drew him toward journalism. He became closely associated with A Cruz-The Cross and later with publications including A Verdade, O Progresso de Goa, The Times of Goa, and O Brado Indiano. His writing addressed theology, ecclesiastical government, colonial administration, public health, education, agriculture, and the political rights of Goans. He was not always measured, nor was every controversy handled with equal prudence. Yet even his critics could not deny his fearlessness. He wrote because silence, in the face of injustice, seemed to him a betrayal.

He was also a gifted orator. When he spoke on behalf of the poor, his appeals could move listeners to generosity. His power did not arise merely from eloquence. People recognized that he had personally entered the suffering of those for whom he pleaded.

The conflict that altered the direction of his life emerged during the episcopate of Archbishop Dom Antonio Sebastiao Valente. In 1882, A Cruz was prohibited on the ground that it undermined ecclesiastical authority and disturbed the faithful. Padre Alvares challenged the prohibition in the civil courts and succeeded in having the ban lifted legally. The ecclesiastical condemnation nevertheless deprived the paper of readers and eventually brought about its end.

He responded by establishing A Verdade-The Truth. For Padre Alvares, the controversy had become more than a dispute over a newspaper. It raised agonizing questions about the nature of authority. Could ecclesiastical office be used to silence legitimate criticism? Was obedience owed to every exercise of power simply because it came clothed in religious colours?

Padre Alvares saw how easily ecclesiastical institutions could become entangled with colonial interests and how religious discipline could be employed to suppress rather than shepherd. His movement toward Orthodoxy must therefore not be reduced to resentment against one archbishop. Personal conflict undoubtedly sharpened the crisis, but the questions he faced were ecclesiological. He sought a form of Church authority that was apostolic without being autocratic and traditional without being imprisoned within the ambitions of empire.

Received by Malankara Orthodox Church

In 1887, at about fifty-one years of age, Padre Alvares entered the Orthodox Church in India. The decision cost him security, reputation, friendships, and the ecclesiastical world in which he had been formed. Yet it also brought him into communion with the ancient apostolic tradition preserved by the Malankara Church.

On July 29, 1889, at the Old Seminary in Kottayam, he was consecrated Metropolitan with the name Mar Julius. His jurisdiction extended over Goa, Ceylon, and India outside Malabar.

The breadth of the title was striking. Mar Julius received responsibility for an immense missionary field, but without the wealth, political patronage, or institutional machinery ordinarily associated with such an office. His episcopate would be sustained largely by personal sacrifice and the hospitality of scattered communities.

Mar Julius laboured in Goa, Canara, Brahmavar, Ceylon, and other regions connected with his jurisdiction. He was assisted particularly by Father Roque Zeferino de Noronha, another Goan priest who entered the Orthodox Church. The importance of this mission cannot be measured by numbers alone. Mar Julius demonstrated that Orthodoxy was not the possession of a single people, language, or region. The Malankara Church could receive a Goan priest formed in the Latin tradition, consecrate him to the episcopate, and send him to serve communities beyond Kerala. In him, the apostolic faith crossed linguistic and cultural boundaries without demanding that every distinction be erased.

He also resisted what he regarded as an unjust exercise of patriarchal authority when the position of the Malankara Metropolitan was threatened. This opposition grew naturally from the convictions for which he had already suffered. He had come to understand that apostolic authority is neither colonial privilege nor personal absolutism. It is conciliar, accountable, and ordered toward the building up of the Church.

The Cross of the Episcopate

His Grace Alvares Mar Julius Metropolitan returned to Goa in 1894 and began O Brado Indiano. The following year, Portuguese Goa was convulsed by the mutiny of Maratha soldiers. Although His Grace had no part in either rebellion, his newspaper defended the grievances of the soldiers and questioned the conduct of colonial officials. His earlier criticism of the administration made him a natural target.

On the evening of 19 August, at about 7:00 p.m., Alvares Thirumeni was returning from Santa Cruz in a horse-drawn carriage when he was intercepted and arrested by a group of policemen near the Phoenix Fountain. During the journey to the police station, the officers attempted to forcibly remove his pectoral cross and episcopal ring. Thirumeni resisted firmly, declaring that these sacred symbols could be taken from him only after his death. The violence employed against him, however, was so severe that he was ultimately stripped of his episcopal insignia by force.

The humiliation did not end there. The policemen removed the bishop's ecclesiastical vestments and paraded him to the police station clad only in his undergarments, subjecting him to public disgrace. Upon arrival, he was confined to a small, filthy cell measuring barely three metres by one and a half metres. The cramped enclosure reeked of urine and faeces and was devoid of even the most basic necessities. There was neither light nor ventilation, nor even a chair on which the aged bishop could rest. Yet amid this degradation, Alvares Thirumeni remained steadfast.

The humiliation was calculated. To strip a bishop publicly was to declare that his dignity did not exist. The vestments do not create the bishop; any more than stripping Christ of his garments could annul his kingship. Mar Julius’s dignity rested not in what the state permitted him to wear but, in the grace entrusted to him through ordination. It could tear the cross from his body, but it could not erase the Cross from his life.

He was accused of apostasy, of offending the official religion of the Portuguese realm, of unlawfully wearing episcopal insignia, and of threatening the security of the state. He produced evidence of his consecration as a bishop of the Malankara Orthodox Church. The charges could not be sustained, and the courts ordered his release.

His residence and papers were searched. After being released, Alvares Thirumeni was arrested again two days later citing treason and being a security threat both internally and externally. A leading lawyer Mr. F.X. Sales de Andrade offered security of Rs 5000 (a princely sum in those times!) for Alvares Thirumeni's bail which the judge accepted. The public prosecutor claimed that the offence was non-bailable and submitted an appeal in the High Court. Truth triumphed again as the High Court upheld the ruling of the lower court.

The Last Offering

Around 1912, aged and in declining health, Mar Julius returned permanently to Goa. Portugal had become a republic in 1910, and the separation of Church and state appeared to promise greater religious freedom. Yet the man who returned was materially exhausted. The man born into an established family, educated in renowned institutions, and consecrated to high ecclesiastical office now survived by begging, while still supporting others poorer than himself. His home in Fontainhas became a refuge for beggars, outcast labourers, sick people, and the destitute.

One day, a shopkeeper spat into his bowl. Mar Julius accepted the insult without anger and told the man, in effect, that the insult could be for him, but that something should still be given for the poor. On another occasion, he received a sum intended to support him for several days and almost immediately distributed it among beggars who gathered around him.

This was not theatrical poverty. It was the final form of a life given away. The bowl in his hand became an episcopal vessel, gathering the mercy of others so that it could be poured out again.

In September 1923, he fell seriously ill with dysentery and was admitted as an indigent patient to the charitable hospital at Ribandar. Attempts were made to persuade him to renounce his Orthodox allegiance and return to his former communion. He remained steadfast.

The Final Journey

23 September 1923 was a sombre Sunday for Chief Justice Antonio Floriano de Noronha.

On an ordinary Sunday, the Chief Justice could expect a familiar visitor at his doorstep; an elderly Orthodox bishop who would come seeking alms, not for himself, but for the poor whom he tirelessly served. Perhaps on that fateful morning Justice Noronha longed once more to hear the gentle voice of his cherished friend. But it was not to be.

News arrived from the Santa Casa de Misericórdia ("Holy House of Mercy"), now the site of the Goa Lokayukta, that the venerable Bishop Alvares had departed this earthly life. Earlier that month, the aged bishop had been afflicted with dysentery and had been admitted to the institution as an indigent patient.

The Gospel according to St. John recounts the story of Nicodemus, who came to Christ by night. Fearful of the Jewish authorities, he remained a hidden disciple for much of the Lord's earthly ministry. Yet the Crucifixion transformed him. The death of the One he loved gave him the courage to confess openly where his loyalties lay. Joining Joseph of Arimathea, Nicodemus brought a mixture of myrrh and aloes and ensured that Christ received an honourable burial.

History often repeats this pattern. Sometimes the passing of a beloved soul becomes a catalyst that moves friends from silent admiration to public witness.

As soon as news of Thirumeni's death spread across Goa, a citizens' committee was formed to organise his funeral, with Chief Justice Noronha serving as its head. This was no small gesture. The same Portuguese establishment that had once viewed Bishop Alvares with suspicion now witnessed one of its highest officials publicly honouring him. By standing with his departed friend, Justice Noronha made a courageous statement. The Chief Justice understood what was at stake.

In his final days, Blessed Alvares Thirumeni had confided a solemn concern to his friends-“When I am on my deathbed, many priests of the Roman fold may come and advise me to renounce my faith. Due to ill-health and fatigue, I may move my head. Seeing my head movements, they will proclaim that I have nodded in agreement to what they instructed me. To ensure such things do not happen; I declare the following with you as a witness: I will never renounce my faith, even on my deathbed. If anyone claims that I have renounced my faith, then you are a witness to the fact that it is not true.” 

Thirumeni was equally insistent regarding his burial. His desire was that the funeral rites should be conducted by the Orthodox Church. If that proved impossible, then his friends themselves were to ensure that he was laid to rest with dignity and honour.

The time had now come to fulfil the wishes of their beloved Padre Alvares.

Determined that his final journey would not pass unnoticed, his friends set out to organise a funeral worthy of a life marked by courage, sacrifice, and unwavering faith. Their first step was to publish a notice in the daily newspaper Diário da Noite, inviting the people of Goa to participate in the funeral and pay tribute to the man who had lived and laboured for the poor.

The citizens' committee brought together some of the most respected figures of Goan society. Among them were Taumaturgo Pereira, the Attorney General, and Luiz de Menezes, the renowned journalist, freedom fighter, and the man often called the "Tilak of Goa." Both played a crucial role in organising the funeral procession.

The mortal remains of Blessed Alvares Thirumeni were brought to the Municipal Corporation Hall so that the public could offer their final respects. For nearly an entire day, an unbroken stream of mourners passed before his coffin.

Some of the most moving scenes came from the poor. Thousands of men and women whose lives had been touched by Thirumeni's generosity walked past in tears, praying for the repose of the one who had stood beside them in their suffering. Students organised themselves in shifts to ensure that the body was never left unattended, not even for a moment.

Once the public tributes concluded, the funeral procession began its solemn march through the streets of Panjim. Moving from the Municipal Corporation Hall, it passed through Novas Road, Albuquerque Road, Vasco da Gama Road, and Republic Avenue before crossing the St. Inez Bridge and arriving at the St. Inez Cemetery.

The procession reflected a remarkable cross-section of Goan society. Several eminent personalities of Goa were arranged in different rows during the funeral procession according to their position.

First Row- Capt. Jose Carneiro de Souza e Faro, representing the Governor General, Physician Minguel Caeitano Dias, Daniel Da Silva Bastis, Cesar Corriea Mendes, Joao de Figuriredo, Venctexa Desai.

Second Row- Jose Maria Pereira, Capt Aires de Sa, Nuno Goncalves, Borges Vas, Carmo Vaz ( representing Bardez municipality).

Third Row- Military officers- Tiao Livio Xavier, D. Francisco Menezes, D. Antonio Menezes, D. Carlos Menezes, Francisco Antonio Lobato da Faria, Minguel Rodrigues Ferreira.

Fourth Row- Government Professors- Adolfo Costa, Raul Fernandes, Alvito Miranda, Antonio Filipe Pereira (representing Margao Municipal Lycem), Frutuoso Fernandes, Jose Paulo Lobo.

Fifth Row- Press- Pereira Batalha, Sales de Andrade, Araujo Mascarenhas, F.X. Vales, J.A. Mousinho Lopes, Luis De Menezes.

Sixth Row- Dr Lucio dos Santos, Capt Lopes Pereira, Goncalves Potiot, Torcato Roncon, Olinto Gouveria Pinto, Joacquim Antonio Rebelo.

Seventh Row- Casmiro Nazare, Dr F.X. Lorenco, Pedro Figueiredo, Nicolai Menedes, Dr Grevi Figueiredo, Edmundo Fernandes.

Eighth Row- Aprigio Alfonso, Joao de Souza, Bruno Mesquita, Alfredo Araujo, Chico de Figueiredo, Eugemiano Alvares.

Ninth Row- Dr. Taumanturgo Pereira, Altinho Coelho, Ocataviano Ferreira, Silvestro de Souza, Jasso Fernandes, Eusebio Rodrigues.

Representatives of the Government, military officers, professors, journalists, civic leaders, and distinguished citizens marched together in orderly ranks. It was a public acknowledgment that the elderly bishop had transcended religious and social boundaries, earning respect from every segment of society.

Panjim had never witnessed a funeral of such magnitude.

For many, it was more than a funeral procession. It was a pilgrimage of gratitude. Thousands came not merely to bury a bishop but to bid farewell to a spiritual father whose life had become inseparable from the lives of the people he served.

Although the cemetery lay beside St. Inez Church, it was then, as it is now, under the jurisdiction of the Municipal Corporation. Blessed Alvares Thirumeni was laid to rest in the eastern section of the cemetery.

Over the years, a misconception arose that he had been buried in a section reserved for religious outcasts. This is not accurate. The grave had been purchased by one of his friends through the proper municipal procedures. However, the absence of clergy and the inability to conduct formal ecclesiastical burial rites contributed to this misunderstanding and gave rise to unfounded speculation.

At the graveside, four funeral orations were delivered: by César Correia Mendes, Director of Agriculture; Araujo Mascarenhas, professor of the Lyceum; Casimiro de Sequeira Nazare, representing the people of Fontainhas; and Cordato de Noronha, speaking on behalf of the youth.

Their words echoed the feelings of an entire people. The funeral was indeed a fitting tribute.

Seven days after his departure, friends and admirers gathered at Thirumeni's residence. Following a deeply emotional prayer service, alms were distributed to the poor in honour of the bishop whose life had been defined by charity and self-sacrifice.

Four years later, a large cement cross was erected over his grave. His mortal remains were reverently gathered, placed in a lead casket, and preserved at the Santa Ines Cemetery as a final expression of the love and gratitude of his friends.

Finding the Treasure

An air of anticipation surrounded the small group gathered at St. Inez Cemetery in the Santa Inez quarter of Panjim. It was an unusual emotion for a place ordinarily associated with sorrow, remembrance, prayer, and, for many, a quiet sense of dread. Yet on that afternoon the cemetery was not merely a resting place of the dead. It had become the setting for a long-awaited homecoming.

At about three o'clock, His Grace Dr. Philipose Mar Theophilus Metropolitan of the Bombay and Angamaly Diocese, Mr. Francis Alleluia Menezes, Chairman of the Panjim Municipal Council, Rev. Fr. T. E. Isaac, Vicar of St. Mary's Orthodox Church, Panjim, and members of the parish managing committee stood beside a solitary cross rising above a tangle of wild shrubs and overgrown vegetation.

That weather-beaten cross marked the resting place of a man who, almost half a century earlier, had dared to stand against both the colonial establishment and powerful ecclesiastical authorities, enduring persecution for the sake of his convictions. In many ways, the cross itself had become a silent simulacrum of the blessed soul resting beneath it, steadfast amid neglect, yet unforgotten.

As cemetery workers cleared away the dense undergrowth, those present bowed their heads before the tomb. Fixed upon it was a marble slab bearing a simple yet profound inscription:

"Padre Alvares, who was a great humanitarian missionary and a great patriot."

Months earlier, clear instructions had arrived from His Holiness Baselios Marthoma Mathews I, Catholicos of the East and Malankara Metropolitan- "Offer incense before opening the grave. Gather any bone fragments found therein. If there are none, then collect the uppermost layer of soil just beneath the grave, bring it to the church, and entomb it there with due honour."

The instructions reflected both reverence and uncertainty. No one knew what remained after fifty-six years. Theophilus Thirumeni offered incense and prayers at the graveside. The marble slab was carefully removed. Nearby, the bells of St. Inez Church rang across the cemetery grounds, announcing another funeral soon to take place. A large crowd had gathered in the vicinity, many unaware that a remarkable chapter in Orthodox history of Goa was about to unfold.

Everyone waited in anxious expectation.

The events of that afternoon were the culmination of a journey that had begun many years earlier.

In the years following Goa's liberation, there was no Orthodox church in Panjim. The faithful were few and scattered. Holy Qurbana was celebrated occasionally in military camps at Margao and Bambolim whenever a priest happened to be available. Later, Rev. Fr. Philip Pallichira began travelling from Mangalore once every month to celebrate the Holy Qurbana. Through these regular services, a vibrant Orthodox congregation slowly emerged in Goa.

A decisive moment came in 1967, when His Grace Mathews Mar Athanasios Metropolitan of the Outside Kerala Diocese (later His Holiness Baselios Marthoma Mathews I Catholicose and Malankara Metropolitan), visited Goa and celebrated the Holy Qurbana at St. Inez Church. The parish had generously opened its doors to the Orthodox faithful, enabling them to worship there.

Knowing that Bishop Alvares had spent his final years in Goa and had been buried somewhere in Panjim, Athanasios Thirumeni made inquiries after the service. During a conversation with Rev. Fr. Joaquim Augusto Dias, the Vicar of St. Inez Church, he learned not only about Blessed Alvares Thirumeni but also the exact location of his grave.

The bushes surrounding the site were cleared, and the long-neglected tomb was identified.

That very day, a gathering of Orthodox faithful resolved that Goa should one day have an Orthodox church of its own and that the relics of Blessed Alvares Thirumeni should ultimately be enshrined there. It was a bold vision for a small congregation with limited resources.

The dream would take another twelve years to become reality. On 23 September 1973, during the Golden Jubilee commemoration of Blessed Alvares Thirumeni's repose, the foundation stone for an Orthodox church at Ribander was laid. For the tiny community, the project seemed daunting. Financial constraints and practical difficulties loomed large, yet the faithful persevered.

Now, six years later, that dream was nearing its fulfilment. As workers carefully removed layers of cement and earth from the grave, a lead casket gradually came into view. It was gently lifted from the tomb and brought outside with profound reverence.

A hush fell over those assembled. With trembling hands, the cover of the casket was opened.

To the astonishment of all present, the bones of the venerable bishop lay intact and remarkably well preserved. Though his body had returned to the earth fifty-six years earlier, these sacred remains stood as a silent testimony to a life wholly dedicated to God.

The discovery moved many to tears. Overcome with emotion, Theophilus Thirumeni turned to the gathering and said: "Achen and I will take this. You may come later after the grave has been properly arranged."

His Grace Dr. Philipose Mar Theophilus Metropolitan (of blessed memory) at St Inez cemetery when the relics of Blessed Alvares Thirumeni were taken

Accompanied by Fr. Isaac, Theophilus Thirumeni proceeded immediately to St. Mary's Orthodox Church, Ribander, carrying the precious relics. Their joy was akin to that of men who had discovered a hidden treasure.

The lead box was covered with a black covering, and a sign of cross was made over it with a white cloth. Amidst candles and cross, the relics were kept for public viewing. Two days later, on Sunday, 7 October 1979, following the celebration of the Holy Qurbana, the sacred relics of Blessed Alvares Thirumeni were ceremoniously entombed in St. Mary's Orthodox Church, Ribander, Panjim.

Translocating the relics at St Mary's Orthodox Church, Ribander.

During the public meeting that followed, Theophilus Thirumeni made a remarkable prediction. He declared that the church and tomb would become a place of pilgrimage not merely for the Bombay Diocese (the parish now comes under the Brahmavar Diocese), but for the entire Malankara Orthodox Church.

When St. Mary's Church was subsequently rebuilt on the same site, the relics of Blessed Alvares Thirumeni were transferred to the present mausoleum adjacent to the sanctuary. In 2001, His Holiness Baselios Marthoma Mathews II, Catholicos of the East and Malankara Metropolitan, solemnly relocated the relics to their current resting place, where they continue to be venerated by countless faithful.

What began on that October afternoon was a reminder that holiness cannot remain buried forever, and a testimony that God's servants, though neglected by history for a season, are ultimately remembered in His providence.

The bishop with the begging bowl still speaks. He asks whether our episcopacy is truly pastoral, whether our mission crosses cultural boundaries, whether our theology touches the sick and hungry, whether our journalism serves truth rather than vanity, and whether our fidelity can survive the loss of applause. These are not merely questions about a saint of the past; they are questions that confront the Malankara Church in every generation. For if Blessed Alvares still stands among us as a witness, then we must also answer him.

By the prayers and intercessions of our father among the saints- Blessed Alvares Mar Julius Metropolitan of blessed memory, may the Lord have mercy upon us and help us.

In Christ,
Rincy

 

Ref:

1) Dr Samuel Chandanapally, Malankara Sabha Pithankanmaar, Volume 1, April 2012, chapter 4, Page 313, CeeDees Books, Pathanamthitta, Kerala.

2) Carmo Azevedo; Patriot and Saint- The Life Story of Bishop Mar Julius –I, Panjim 1988

3) George Kurian, Saint Alvares Mar Julius (A life history), St Mary’s Orthodox Church, Ribander, Goa.

4) Rev Fr. T.E Isaac, The great humanitarian missionary and a patriot (Malayalam), Malankara Sabha, September 2001, Pg-6,7.

5) Pratima Kamat, Mutiny in the Portuguese Army, Farar Far, Local resistance to colonial hegemony in Goa-1510-1912, Institute Menezes Braganza, Panaji, Goa.