Azazeel (3 page)

I spent days among the monks as a pilgrim and they were kind to me, although they often asked me about the lands I had passed through and the hardships, and about the saints I had met or the
martyrs whose tombs I had visited. They were insistent in asking about Alexandria and I answered them to the extent that the time, place and circumstance demanded, enough to satisfy the curiosity
of the monks and priests who were asking.

In my first days in Jerusalem, I thought about the secret of pilgrimage and asked myself what drove me out of my native country and brought me to this holy spot. Could I not have touched the
essence of holiness in my soul while secluded in the desert close to my homeland? If a place can reveal what is inside us, and travel can bring that to light from the depths of our being, is it not
possible that humility, chastity, the monastic life, and constant prayer and glorification of the Lord can bring to light divine grace and the saintliness that is latent within us? Where then lies
the aura of places? Is the aura a secret inside us that pervades places when we reach them after travelling with impatient zeal? The awe I felt when I reached the walls of the Church of the
Resurrection, did it arise from my sense of the imposing building, or was it from the meaning implicit in the event of the resurrection itself? Did Jesus really rise from the dead? As God, how
could he die at the hands of men? Is man able to kill and torment God, and nail him to a cross?

‘Would you like to stay in the church with us, or will you live in the city to treat the sick among the people of the Lord and those who come here as pilgrims?’ The kindly priest
asked the question several days after I arrived, and I left the choice to him. No one chooses, but rather it is the will of Heaven, which permeates things and words until it mysteriously reaches
us. I said that to him and he smiled in satisfaction.

Then God’s will was done and the priest of the Church of the Resurrection gave voice to it: ‘You can live in the room which the monk from Edessa built, close to the courtyard of the
church. I mean that room which is on the right as you go out through the main gateway. You can stay there, and be with us and with the people at the same time. The room has been closed since the
monk went to his resting place two years ago, God have mercy on him. He was a saint. I’ll ask the courtyard servant to clean it out for you and you can stay there from tomorrow.’

I realized then that they were wary of me, and not yet comfortable with this Egyptian monk who had descended on them without a letter of recommendation and without any explanation. If I had
stayed inside the church, they would have accepted me among the monks only after years of observation. If I had stayed in the city, the tumult would have killed me. The place suggested was right,
halfway between the city and the church, neither here nor there, like me: betwixt and between.

I spent my first night in the Edessan’s room, as they called it, happy that I was staying in a place where the Lord was worshipped faithfully for twenty years in succession. I saw that as
a good sign and a refuge for my troubled soul. Here right by me was the Church of the Resurrection, to which I had been called, and from my only window I could see the groups of believers and lay
people who came to the church on pilgrimage and on visits throughout the year.

The monks and priests who serve the Church of the Resurrection are good and simple, and most of them warmed to me when they learnt that I practise medicine and the art of healing. They were not
interested that I was a poet. The servitors of the church, the deacons and the young priests were friendly towards me and often dropped in, seeking treatment. As for the old priests and the senior
monks, I would go to them inside the church when they summoned me.

Most of the diseases among the people in Jerusalem arose from the arid climate and the lack of diversity in their diet. Most of the time, their staples were olive oil, coarse bread made from
unsifted brown flour, goat’s cheese and meagre fruits. The people of Jerusalem have a rough life. The weather is mild most days in summer, but bitterly cold at night and in winter.

When I had settled in somewhat, months after moving in, and my doubts had abated with so many believers around me, I started to compose hymns in Syriac, drawing inspiration from the heavenly
spirit which glorified the place and filled it with awe. Here is part of a long hymn I composed during that time:

The days passed quietly in Jerusalem, mild and monotonous until after the winter of the year 140 of the era of the Martyrs, or year 424 from the birth of Christ, and the city was preparing for
Holy Week and Easter. I began to see more caravans of Arab merchants arriving in the square in front of the church. The goods became more colourful on the shelves of the city’s stalls, which
had previously been bare. People were elated, and my heart had tremors whenever Holy Week approached. Before dawn I kept having dreams telling me that some great event was about to happen, but I
would drive these thoughts away. Shortly before the holiday more and more sick visitors came to see me, many of them suffering from the ailments of travel, especially the old among them. I treated
them with humectants and medicines which doctors call cordials, changing the patients’ habitual diet only when necessary to help them recover their strength.

Of all the big processions which passed by me on their way to visit the church, one from the cities of Antioch and Mopsuestia was especially imposing – dozens of priests, monks and deacons
walking reverently in their solemn ecclesiastical garments, led by a man carrying an elegant cross decorated on the edges with gold leaf. Walking gravely seven paces behind him came Bishop Theodore
of Mopsuestia,
²
the scholar and commentator, and behind them a large gathering of believers and lay people, chanting in unison: ‘Hosanna to the son of
David, Hosanna in the Highest. Blessed is he who comes in the name of the Lord.’

I was watching them in wonder from the window of my room, and I saw the cortège passing through the large door into the church, like a throng of angels which had come down to Earth from
Heaven. There were more than twenty priests and close to a hundred deacons, while the retainers walking behind them were too many to count. Bishop Theodore looked tired but cheerful. I decided to
make my way through the cortège and I went right up to him. I kissed his hand and he kissed my head, as he did with a man of Kurdish features dressed in the Damascene style. Heavens knows
what was in my heart, and in his mysterious heavenly ways the Lord brought about a meeting between me and the bishop two days later in a way I had not expected. The next day in the afternoon a
priest from Antioch and two deacons came to me and asked me to go with them to the bishop’s quarters in the east of the city to check his health, or so they said. I asked them politely, but
in surprise, how it was that their delegation did not have a physician. The priest said that the physician of their church was with them, then added gently and calmly, ‘But Nestorius the
priest wants further reassurance on the health of the venerable Bishop Theodore.’

That was the first time I had heard the name Nestorius and that would be the first day I saw him. I set off with them after filling my bag with herbs which invigorate and strengthen the heart
and seeds which settle the stomach. I closed the door of my room firmly and we walked together, with the priest from Antioch ahead of us. We walked for about half an hour, enough to bring beads of
sweat to our faces under the midday sun. I was wearing the cassock of a Jerusalem monk, which the goodly priest had given me a month earlier as a sign that I was accepted among them. At the door a
priest from Mopsuestia received us and gave us cold water, for which I thanked the Lord. When I entered the bishop’s quarters I suddenly felt that something momentous was about to happen. We
followed a long corridor and from a door on the right at the far end came a calm and solemn voice: ‘Blessed physician and venerable father, His Holiness Bishop Theodore is talking to some
guests. Would you like to go in now or would you rather wait here until they come out?’

It was the priest from Mopsuestia, and I asked his leave to go in and listen, if that was possible. He nodded solemnly in agreement and gently opened the door for me. The room was spacious and
shady, roofed with palm fronds and airy. In the centre lay matting sprinkled with water perfumed with essence of basil, and on rows of benches on the four sides sat goodly men, monks, priests and
deacons, about forty people in all, and their features indicated that most of them were people from the north. They had faultless pale complexions and their beards were bright white or blond, so
much so that I was embarrassed that I was so brown and sallow and that my unkempt beard did not suggest that I was a skilful physician.

In those days I did not care to trim my beard, as I have done recently. I sat in the place closest to the door, and in the centre of the opposite side Bishop Theodore was sitting on an antique
wooden chair with armrests. He did not notice when I came in quietly and sat down on the bench opposite his chair at a distance. His words captivated me and I paid full attention to their subtlety,
which I have often recalled. The clarity of his diction penetrated easily my heart and mind. I remember today much of what he said and when I returned to my room in the evening I wrote it down.
Speaking in Greek, he said:

‘On this holy ground where we are honoured to come as pilgrims, dear friends, the new age of Man began. Jesus Christ marks the divide between two ages and he initiates the new era of
mankind. The first age began with Adam, and the second began with Jesus Christ. Each of the two ages has its nature and rules, known to our merciful God from eternity. The Heavenly Father created
Adam in His image, that he might be immortal. But Adam was seduced by Satan’s temptation and disobeyed the Holy Lord and ate from the forbidden tree in the hope that he would become a god.
The accursed Azazeel deceived him with his whispering. Adam sinned and was punished with expulsion from Paradise, judged by the holiness of the Lord God.

‘But because the Lord in His mercy loves mankind and originally created him without sin, He did not want to leave him stained with his first sin till the end of eternity. Mercy prevailed
over the Lord and He sent His only son Jesus Christ in perfect human form to redeem mankind, save the world from the sin of Adam and through His sacrifice open a new age for humanity. After the
Messiah, He sent the Apostles to guide us and give us the Gospels. What does gospel mean? As St John Chrysostom says, it means news of joy, because the Gospel brings glad tidings of reprieve from
punishment and forgiveness of sins. It brings absolution, consecration and a heavenly legacy which puts Azazeel to shame, and it graces us with abundant hope.’

The voice of Bishop Theodore rang throughout the spacious hall and a sense of humility settled on those seated. All eyes were fixed on the bishop, as were mine. I wished then that I had started
my theological studies under him and had drawn water at the well of his eloquence, which so impressed one’s heart and mind and rescued one’s spirit from anxiety and doubt. My mind
wandered for a moment, then I listened again to more from the Bishop of Mopsuestia, that fine town in the heart of Anatolia. His voice, now gentle, again filled the council room:

‘Dear friends, look at the sermons of Jesus Christ and rejoice in the words of cheer which St Matthew the Apostle has preserved in his Gospel. He tells us in every time and every place:
“Blessed are the meek, for they shall inherit the earth. Blessed are those who mourn, for they shall be comforted.” Before Christ, was there ever such good news as this? Or such a sign
of exultation? Know that Christ came for our sake, and we must live for His sake. His incarnation, suffering, dying and resurrection from the dead are a victory over Satan, and atonement for the
sins of the first man, who was deceived and sinned. Our faith in Christ is the way out of the age of sin towards the prospect of salvation which the will of the Lord has granted us. And so, dear
friends, be Christians and call on your people to have faith, that they may be, and you with them, truly the children of God in the new age of mankind. Cross the bridge which spans the sufferings
of Jesus, that you may be as perfect as your perfect Heavenly Father. The sign that you have crossed that bridge is baptism. Baptism is a rebirth, a resurrection of the spirit from the death of the
body, a way to grace and union with Christ. Baptism is salvation and a new creation, so know in your hearts the secret of baptism.’

When the bishop spoke the word ‘baptism’ I gave a slight shiver, which no one noticed but a bright-faced priest of about forty years sitting to the right of the bishop. I found out
later that he was the reason I was summoned – a famous priest of Antioch originally from the town of Germanicia or Marash with the ecclesiastical name of Nestorius, one of the most loyal
disciples of Bishop Theodore and one of the greatest admirers of his interpretations of the Gospels.

As the sun set, the bishop of Mopsuestia showed signs of fatigue. His tone slackened and his voice fell quiet as he wrapped up his speech to his audience, who seemed overcome with spiritual
rapture, as though his talk had raised them to the highest heavens. The last thing he said to them was this: ‘We were but dead and Adam had destined us to annihilation by committing the sin
of rebelling against his creator, and Satan remained immortal, but when the Lord appeared to us in Christ, by the grace of God a chance arose for us to escape annihilation and death through
repentance and approaching the prospect of salvation through the door of baptism.’