Orthodoxy: His Beatitude the President

To his Turkish enemies he is Satan incarnate; the British press dubbed him Mack the Knife. Western diplomats find him wily and willful, sly and stubborn—the man most likely to fumble the world into war. But in the eyes of the Greeks of Cyprus, His Beatitude Makarios III, Archbishop of Nova Justiniana and all Cyprus, is almost a living saint who can do no wrong. Though he is architect and President of the island republic, Makarios is also head of Cyprus’ Orthodox Church, and he spends almost as much energy serving God as bedeviling man.

Instead of an episcopal staff, Makarios, 51, carries a kingly scepter, and he signs all his documents in red ink. These are not the personal eccentricities of the only cleric to govern a sovereign nation, but privileges accorded the archbishops of Cyprus by 5th century Byzantine Emperor Zeno as his tribute to one of Christendom’s most ancient strongholds. It was jt only a dozen years after Jesus’ death that the apostle Paul brought Christianity to Cyprus, and Paul’s companion, Barnabas, became the island’s first bishop and patron saint. In 431, the Council of Ephesus awarded self-government to the church in Cyprus, and its archbishop ranked fifth in Orthodoxy’s rigid hierarchy, after the patriarchs of Constantinople, Alexandria, Antioch and Jerusalem.

“Nobody Else.” About four-fifths of the 450,000 Cypriots are Orthodox Greeks, who cherish a church that suffered with them through centuries of turmoil. Moslem Arabs invaded and devastated the island from the 7th to the 11th centuries; in the 13th, Prankish rulers persecuted monks and priests who refused to pledge allegiance to the Pope. The Ottoman Turks, conquering the island in 1571, paradoxically heightened the church’s influence by appointing Orthodox bishops as local ethnarchs to collect taxes and run schools, thus preserving the language, culture, hopes and religion of Greece. By the time Britain took control over Cyprus in 1878, the bishops had lost their civil powers. But the tradition of clerical leadership still prevailed when the Cypriots sought a President after gaining a guarantee of independence from Britain in 1959. “There was no other leader, nobody else but the archbishop,” says the dean of Nicosia’s seminary.

Son of a farmer, Makarios was born Mikhail Mouskos, entered the 12th century monastery of Kykko at the age of 13, took his present name, which in Greek means blessed, when he became a deacon. Makarios studied theology at the University of Athens, and after his ordination in 1946 he went to Boston University on a World Council of Churches scholarship. He was elected Bishop of Citium two years later, became Archbishop of Cyprus in 1950 at the age of 37.

Orthodox canon law forbids clergymen to kill, and Makarios has never been seen with a gun. But he provided leadership and funds for arms to the island’s rebels, and during the 1955-59 rebellion Britain exiled him for a year on the Seychelles Islands in the Indian Ocean. Then, admitting defeat, the British invited Makarios to the London settlement talks, and he returned to Cyprus to be elected the first President.

Yet he is rarely called by that title. “The church always comes first,” says his aide. “Any priest who wants to can see him at any time, no matter how critical the diplomatic or military situation.” The archbishop rises at 6 to pray, spends at least three hours a day fussing with church affairs. He personally approves every application to enter the Nicosia seminary, presides over many marriages and funerals as well as the baptism of all twelfth-born children. Every Sunday, Makarios celebrates the Divine Liturgy in Nicosia’s small, dank cathedral. When he preaches, his forceful style and gestures are reminiscent of Billy Graham, whose crusades Makarios watches on film.

Prestige of Office. Makarios has vastly strengthened Cypriot Orthodoxy. He has built twelve new churches in the past five years, provided funds to modernize dozens more, raised the salaries of impoverished village priests. He founded the first Orthodox seminary in Cyprus since the Middle Ages, started a new archdiocesan printing house that puts out a lively and theologically provocative monthly. Makarios is acutely sensitive to the prestige of his office. He has mapped out plans for a vast new cathedral in Nicosia, and lives in a grandiose new archiepiscopal palace fitted with Greek and Cypriot furniture and 19th century French religious art. The church owns nearly 20% of the island’s farm land and controls the profitable Cyprus Wine & Spirits Co., which makes beer, wine and brandy.

“Once I have attained my people’s aspirations,” Makarios says, “I would like to devote myself fully to the Lord’s work.” Many diplomats who have reluctantly come to admire the archbishop’s considerable political skills devoutly agree with that sentiment, but find it hard to believe that he could happily retire to running Cyprus’ Orthodox Church.