A Truly Modern Priest or the Call to live one’s uniqueness

When Father Galeriu died, I was about to go on holiday… I thought about other things than his departure. Although he had been bedridden for several months, he seemed immortal to me.

As on the night of the Resurrection, on that day of 13 August 2003, people had gathered at the Church of Saint Sylvester in Bucharest. The square in front of the church was crowded with about 2500-3000 faithful. There was a general murmur: “A saint has died! It was a mass confession. And wasn’t it? Had not the Romanians sent a new victim, one of the most distinguished, to the Kingdom, to God? So that He would continue to be merciful?”

From time to time, a little breeze of relief, as if sent by the Father, calmed the hotness of the day.

The words of the Liturgy were infused with meaning… The thought of Father made you pay more attention to them.

Somewhere, in everyone, the question crept in: “If Father Galeriu is dead, what awaits us?” In the end, however, the desire and the hope of escaping death always remain in us, silently.

But before the funeral, there were the nights of vigil. Nothing more tender and luminous than these. The struggle to read the Psalter… Everyone wanted to do it, but there wasn’t time for everyone to read a psalm. Probably most of those present had passed under his epitrachelion.

Undoubtedly, Father Constantin Galeriu was the most famous priest of Bucharest, if not of the whole country[1]. He probably had more disciples than any other priest of our time.

Father Galeriu can only be remembered dynamically, in his physical and spiritual movements. He is very easy to visualise, because everything about him, every gesture, every word, every posture, was extremely striking, incisive.

Broad, sweeping gestures… The hand holding the cloak to one side, the hand running through the beard, caressing and cleaning it, drawing attention during the sermon, both hands resting on the temples or suspended in the air… He had studied drama as a student and had retained some of the science of acting, which he used with pleasure and skill… Hence a certain rhetorical or semi-rhetorical dialogue…

But all this innocent acting was overflowing with the extraordinary freshness of his love, which made him seem like an eternal and wise child.

Words. “Yes, yes…”, stroking his long beard and nodding gravely in the affirmative, carried away by his own inner search for the best answers… No one was accused. For any man in a difficult situation, by his fall or falls, the only complaint of the father, made in a very grave, compassionate tone, was: “Poor fellow! He breathed heavily, as if he were carrying a heavy burden.

Among the Romanians there are stories that refer to the time when God walked the earth with St. Peter. Father Galeriu’s walk through people’s homes seems to me like that of St Peter in these stories. As for Christ, he too was always there, with an invisible but very striking living presence.

You could speak directly to Father Galeriu. He received reproaches and observations without becoming angry, with a warm and understanding smile.

He was a man of rhetorical inspiration, and of writing only secondarily. Nor did he have enough time to write, so when he did write, he often preferred to dictate, like the apostle of love, John, who once dictated his Gospel to Prohor. He often had a trusted secretary who would take down his thoughts and then type them up, corrected and completed. He was known for his spontaneity (“Now this thought has occurred to me!”). He had a fantastic memory. He knew hundreds of names by heart. In confession, in the prayers of anointing, even when there were dozens of people present, he called them all by name, he did not ask them to say their own names, as is usually done in such situations. And what a comfort it is when, as a humble man, someone (and not just anyone!) calls you by name, when that call is made in such a way that you understand that you are very precious to God.

Constantin Galeriu was undoubtedly a priest in whom God was pleased. All his words and deeds were seeds sown for rich fruitfulness. A man for all environments. He went to all kinds of places, and for this reason he faced hasty or justified criticism, with the thought that everywhere there is something to be saved, something to be redeemed, and that this is only possible with risk and uncompromising sacrifice. He believed that love accompanied by prayer could overcome the most formidable trials. Yet he often seemed to allow himself to be used too much.

He occupied the place, fully inhabited it, marked it. He was irresistible and unmistakable. He polarised the society in which he found himself. He was able to assert himself in the most diverse environments, perhaps also because he corresponded to a virtual image of the ideal priest. He had something of the priests of the inter-war period, but at the same time he was extremely modern in his approach to mission and in his readings. (…) He had the knowledge of love. He knew how to love without arousing jealousy. We are all in some way “sons of Zebedee”, and the mother of the sons of Zebedee is hidden in each person: each one would like to enjoy being at the head of the line, next to Christ or one of his chosen disciples, before considering whether he is able to drink the same bitter cup and carry a cross to match it. Many will have wanted to be considered privileged sons, and he knew how to make each one a privileged son or daughter. He had gained the power to establish an intimate personal relationship with so many people. Without arousing mutual envy. God does not arouse jealousy with his love. Neither do better parents, who have realised their likeness to him more skilfully.

He spent a year and a half on what is commonly called a bed of suffering. In situations like this, you might think that man is less present and not always conscious. The truth is that if you look closely at such situations, when it comes to an improved human being, it just seems as if God Himself is present and compensates. This was visible with Father. Although Father Galeriu spoke with difficulty and was visibly embarrassed by his immobility, he was exceptionally attentive and very active in his relationships. His words became testimonies.

For example, his joy in giving blessings was palpable. Until the end. Fortunately, his right hand remained intact and he used it fervently, even desperately. This wonderful grace of his hands…

When he was admitted to the city hospital for a long time, I was instructed to try to arrange for Father Patriarch Theoctist to visit him and confess. I don’t know why and how it came to the conclusion in Father’s family that I would have great favour with the Patriarch. (Perhaps they had some reason for thinking so, but I don’t know.) Obediently, I forwarded this suggestion to the Patriarch’s secretariat. And the Patriarch went, not alone, but accompanied by His Grace Gherasim of Râmnic. It was the latter who finally confessed him, as he was a little older than His Beatitude Teoctist, who waited patiently in the corridor during this time. On the other hand, the fact that the family asked for the Patriarch to be brought to them shows the love that Father Galeriu had for the Patriarch.

I still remember the words of exhortation he spoke to him during the penultimate meeting, when he was bedridden in the parish house: “Live your uniqueness!” Of course we are individuals, we are unique, but what Father meant was much more. Uniqueness must be lived, fulfilled… And not only personal uniqueness, but also uniqueness in a relationship, the uniqueness of a relationship.

On the same occasion, he told me something else surprising and unforgettable: “I am not a man of still waters, of tranquillity. I am a man of life! Beyond the gentle and always available father, infinitely patient and forgiving, ready to comfort and console anyone who needed it, was a man with intense, passionate, even pathetic feelings, facing great existential questions. Of course, he always remained completely spiritual… I don’t think there are too many people to whom he made this known…

About three weeks before he died, someone came to give me this message: “He said he missed you! I’d sort of given up on him… I rarely went to St. Sylvester’s. I thought he had enough spiritual sons and people around him. But I missed him…”

It’s good that a priest who was a symbol for this parish, and not just for this parish, is buried near the church where he served, near its walls. In the case of Father Galeriu, there was a desire and perseverance on the part of the parish, there was understanding on the part of the Patriarch, and then it was done. And what a place of peace and joy Father Galeriu’s beautiful tomb is, how much comfort it brings to those who sit near it for a few minutes, or even to those who just pass by on the street and look at it from close by, from over the fence.

When someone dear and important to you goes to meet the Lord, all sorts of memories come back to you, moments of grace when you were with the person who has gone. My first meeting with Father Galeriu took place in the spring of 1975, when I had just started looking for a confessor. One of those recommended as a possible confessor was Father Galeriu. Since I was very eager at that time, I came to “Saint Sylvester” on a Sunday, at the beginning of the evening service, when the church was almost empty. Father came after me. And when he entered the church, to my surprise, he turned directly to me, as if he had known me for a long time. I was very impressed and childishly happy. We exchanged a few words and I introduced myself a little. Since then, the bond has remained strong (…)

He had a monastic aspect, coming from a clear vocation of that kind. Moreover, the monastic component was central to him. It was reflected in his gestures and his wise gaze. Everything, it seemed, was in an embrace. He had a great love for monasteries and monks. But at the same time, in the most natural way, he had a great need for the world, for the wilderness was not the most suitable environment for his work. In fact, it can be said of him that he carried monasticism impressively into the midst of the missionary world. I remember once having the blessing of going to the Sihăstria when he was there. We walked up the hills to the monastery’s stable, a small group made up of Father Cleopa, Father Galeriu, Mihai Urzică, a university professor from Iași, Anca and Mihai Sârbulescu, my parents-in-law… Pregnant for many months, my wife didn’t go all the way. Father Galeriu stood modestly, more in the shadow, Father Cleopa was, of course, the first violin. From time to time, however, in certain more complicated theological matters, the wonderful monk would consult Father Galeriu with approval. He would confirm, as a good disciple confirms his master. What a lot of peripatetic, useful words! Under a tree, on the road, at the sheepfold, where we were welcomed as in Mamvri. It was a day of preparation for heaven…

After we had moved into the new apartment, around 1978 or 1979, we thought of celebrating Liturgy with three of the priests who were closest to us: Father Iulian Stoicescu, who was our confessor, Father Dumitru Stăniloae and Father Constantin Galeriu. Of course, all our close friends were there. It was an extraordinary concentration of the Holy Spirit. Father Galeriu came last, as usual, with some delay, when we almost started the service without him. Tacitly, Fr. Stăniloae was left with the role and function of Protos. The other two acted as deacons. They said the ecumenical prayers and the main part of the Liturgy, leaving Father Stăniloae to read the Gospel and some of the more important prayers. Father Iulian was so moved by the presence of Father Stăniloae that he did not even want to sit down, but leaned against a slightly higher chest as if in a pew. For Father Stăniloae, a candlelight service was a very rare one. Of all the priests, Father Galeriu was the most comfortable. As it was the first candle-lighting of a new house, Father Iulian painted beautiful and rather large crosses on the walls, which remained for a long time until the next more serious painting.

Father’s delays… They were proverbial! They were not out of habit or slowness. No, they were the result of a constant lack of time. Father wanted to respond to too many requests, he wanted to reconcile everyone completely, and then, of course, he ran out of time, a time crunch which, by accumulation, increased greatly towards the end of a day of incessant work. I remember two of these delays which could have had greater consequences.

One was the baptism of my son John. The baptism took place on the last day of the year, 31 December 1978, in the church of Flămânda (17 Olimpului Street), where my confessor, Father Iulian Stoicescu, was serving. We insisted that Father Galeriu should be present. Knowing how long the services were at “Saint Sylvester” and the distance between the two churches, we scheduled the baptism for a little later. People came and waited and waited, and the father was no longer in the car. And we didn’t know what was going on, if he was coming or not. (Well, there were no mobile phones…) Father Iulian was the most calm, Father Gheorghe Sârbu, collaborator in Flămânda, on the contrary, the most impatient… About an hour after the scheduled time, Father Galeriu arrived and tamed everyone with words, blessings and his innocent childish smile… And it was a real baptism. In the evening it was New Year’s Eve. On this occasion we also had a small “dinner” with the family and some very close friends. We also invited Father Galeriu, who came around midnight, spent some time with us, spoke patiently with us, one by one, in the most direct, unprotocolistic way possible… His presence made us happy!

Another delay occurred on the occasion of a programme we were doing at the time on Radio Romania Cultural. It was called “Special Guest”. Every second Friday evening was dedicated to religion, alternating with philosophy. Once I invited Father Galeriu. To make sure he arrived on time, I told him I’d pick him up in a car three-quarters of an hour before the show started.

He told me it was enough to go half an hour before. However, I left about 40 minutes early, expecting him to leave at 30 minutes, as he had told me. I sat in the car, very worried, because the traffic was terrible at that hour. When the expected time came, I went to see what was going on. I met a lady who was leaving the house and she told me that Father had just gone to bed. I was perplexed. I entered the house, very agitated, and met Mrs. Argentina, who told me that we were always on Father’s case, that we didn’t respect his time of rest? What could I say to her? She didn’t want to hear anything. I could already see that the programme was in danger. I was desperate. But at 8 pm, Father came out, calm, smiling, well groomed. Finally I left. There were several ways to get to the radio station. The shortest one had to be chosen, not so much the shortest as the most comfortable. And where does my father start to guide my son, like an old driver, in an overcrowded Bucharest full of one-way streets? We arrived at the last minute, with no time to catch our breath. It turned out to be a very good show. At the end I reproached myself for not being a man of faith, for not trusting Father, for being angry with him…

Wonderful were also the Monday evenings in St Sylvester’s Church when, after Liturgy, Father gave catecheses, interpretations, talks on one subject or another. The atmosphere was one of eerie peace and intensity at the same time.

One day Father Galeriu wanted to take English lessons. He asked one of his students, a good friend of ours, Ioana Novac, to teach him. She explained to us with amusement how these lessons were conducted, which in the end turned out to be more of a spiritual benefit for her than a pedagogical effectiveness for Father. They consisted of reading and translating a text, mostly theological. All the time there were all sorts of interruptions due to the many demands from outside. Father was always tempted to philosophise about certain words and expressions in the text he was reading, to explain to the teacher what the correct translation was.

Around noon on 22 December 1989, after that night of heroic deaths, I met him in the Inter-University area, where the bloodstains from the massacre were still there, surrounded by lighted candles and flowers. The people were happy, but at the same time horrified by the horror of the victims. Father stopped in every place, knelt down, said prayers and litanies, prayed the Lord’s Prayer with the crowd. He was extraordinarily aware of the gravity of the moment!

When I wanted to do my doctorate in Paris, at Saint-Serge, I needed a recommendation from the Patriarchate. That’s the custom. For the Patriarchate to give me this blessing, it also needed the recommendations of two professors from the Faculty of Theology. I thought of Father Galeriu as one of them. It was all very formal. Usually the person who needed such a recommendation would write the text, then make a minimal correction, and then the professor would sign it. He wasn’t the one who scratched his head. It didn’t work that way with Father. He didn’t think that the text I suggested was good. He told me what to write, something that seemed a bit ditirambic to me (how wonderful I was…). I tried to protest, but I couldn’t. One Sunday morning, before Liturgy (when he wasn’t on duty), he called me in to sign the paper. I had done it according to his exaggerated instructions, but he took great pains to correct me. There were ten lines, but nothing worked… It just wouldn’t come out! He told me that’s the way he is, he demands the smallest text. It was late, it was time to go to church, and he put off the solution. I didn’t go back to him, I went to Father Constantin Cornitescu, the dean of the Faculty of Theology at the time, who signed it for me on the way from the Faculty to the church, on the nose of a nearby car.

On my 7th birthday, a symposium dedicated to Father Galeriu was organised at the Faculty of Theology. This was followed by a liturgy and a memorial service at St Catherine’s Church. At the service for the dead, people gathered naturally around the table of offerings, driven by a common inner urge. Everyone wanted to embrace the Father’s collection with all their love and affection.

The common denominator of the communications that followed during the symposium was: “Father Galeriu loved me too!’ As someone observed, even the most boisterous people had a peaceful (without being peaceful) presence.

(Costion Nicolescu – Salt of the earth – crossings, encounters, accompaniments, Doxologia Publishing House, Iași, 2011, pp. 184-190 apud Formula AS, Bucharest, Year XXi, no. 972 (22), 3-10 June 2011)

[1] The statement is subjective because, for example, Father Sofian Boghiu was also called “the confessor of Bucharest”. However, we must admire the appreciation of Mr. Costion Nicolescu towards Father Galeriu.