Memories about Father Grigore Băbuș
[…] Right now, I can recall many memories that come to mind of my uncle, who gave me so much useful advice from the time we first met (around the age of 10) until he went to be with the Lord.
I am grateful to all of them, as I am to my parents. At first, as a child, when I went to the Patriarchal Cathedral with my father (a cousin of Father’s) and saw him approaching the Patriarch of the venerable memory of Justinian, I did not dare to approach him, but very soon the child of that time felt his gentleness, his sincerity and the joy that someone in the family wanted to follow him.
As time went by, I looked to the Father as a guide, to whom I went each time with the confidence that I would receive the best advice, the one who could help me in moments of research, examination, writing, reading, continuing my theological studies, founding a family. Each time I would find him either among the tens of thousands of volumes in the library of the Holy Synod of the Antim Monastery, retired at his desk like a hermit in his cell, or at home in the dormitory of the Patriarchate, also among the books, where I could chat in peace. In spite of the emotions that at first held me back, I gradually realised that my uncle was a humble monk, with a fatherly, gentle voice, who engaged me in a conversation without distance, as between two natural people who sincerely wanted to tell each other things that were in tune with their inner selves. He told me a lot about his childhood, about the vocation that already existed in the family, about his father’s regret that he had not become a monk in the monastery where his uncle, my mother’s brother, Archimandrite Grigore Georgescu, was abbot. He remembered with nostalgia his fraternity at Cheia Monastery, where, before becoming a reliable resident, he had had household and church duties. The religious education he received there, the attendance at all the services according to the established order, imposed on him a regime of life that was perhaps rather severe for many, but his sermons spoke of this period with great affection, making me think of virtues such as courage, patience, diligence, humanity, serving others before satisfying one’s own. In fact, as Father often told me, those were the years when he learned obedience, monastic rites and worship, things that were of great use to him later. In what he told me, I seemed to notice the tripartite structure of the Our Father: obedience to the Father’s will, the poverty of one who hungers only for the bread of life, and the cleansing of evil. At that age of adolescence, the love of books and the desire to be an enlightened servant of the Church grew in his soul. The longevity that God gave him, Father said, was also due to the orderly activities of the monastery: fasting, prayer, abstinence, a life lived in contemplation, with God in mind and soul. Faith in God and his service enlightened his life, formed his soul, gave him the strength to fulfil his obedience and to overcome hardships, especially during those years when, together with other priests, he experienced the physical and spiritual burden of prison. Moreover, he always avoided talking to me about this period, refusing, perhaps out of too much pain, to remember, to relive what his being had experienced at the limit of endurance in the prisons of Jilava, Aiud and Sălcia, or in forced labour near the Danube.
Another place where I often met Archimandrite Grigore Băbuș was, of course, the Library of the Holy Synod. Here I discovered a personality of high intellectual value, the discreet scholar of the finest cultural training, the reading enthusiast, the erudite rescuer of rare books, the meticulous man who for decades took care of this cultural space, where he started with about 4,000 volumes and until his retirement to the Cheia Monastery reached the figure of 100,000, including thousands of catalogues, rare books and manuscripts from the 16th and 17th centuries. From the way he spoke to me about the library and the books it contained, I understood that his wish was to continue the tradition of the old monastic libraries, true schools for the soul and the cultural edification of the nation, places of spiritual light, of love for people and for God. Father used to say: “The intellectual man cannot do without reading. If you have not read, you are not human. If you read, you are twice as human. That is the only valid concern. The Church must continue the teaching of the book. Let us not forget that the first schools were founded by the preachers of Christianity…”. Here, in my formative work as a scholar of Byzantine history, I received innumerable bibliographical references; from my uncle I understood, from my seminary years, the importance of having the courage to defend the priceless treasure of the book. I also think now of the fact that Father, like so many other priests, was a carrier of culture in the period before 1989, and how much he risked in order to remain a true lover of his people and of God.
Throughout his life, the beloved Father also amassed an important collection of titles in his personal library, which, as we have noted in one of his confessions, he hoped to leave in orderly form to the Monastery of Cheia, for consultation by those more or less advanced in theological knowledge. In the last years of his life, he spoke to me about this last project, hoping that the day would come when he could personally place the books on the shelves.
Among the innumerable memories with Father Archimandrite Grigore Băbuș, I cannot forget those of going with my parents to the Patriarchal Cathedral for the Holy Masses, or the two years of diaconate that I served with my uncle, when I understood with great emotion why, in more than 50 years of service, many people noticed his qualities as a church minister, his baritone voice delighting the faithful who came to attend the beautiful Masses. […]
My meetings with Father Archimandrite Grigore Băbuș were of varying intensity, but each time I discovered his natural humility, his strong faith, his sacrificial love, his readiness to confront evil. These lines are not meant to be simple exercises in admiration, but are born out of gratitude to my uncle, who knew how to find the right words to teach me that, in the end, it is up to us whether we renounce Christ and our ancestors. The choice and the guilt are ours.
(Prof. Emanoil Băbuș – Ziarul Lumina, electronic edition of 5 February 2015)