The figure of Archbishop Anastasios/Journalist: He made us feel part of eternity

2025-02-02 09:03:00, Opinione Telnis Skuqi

When Archbishop Anastasios Janullatos came to Gjirokastra, the city took on a different weight. It was not just the solemnity of the rite, nor the grandeur of the church that awaited him, but something deeper: an elusive calm, a feeling as if everything was falling into place. He had a way of moving among people, of looking them in the eye without a shadow of judgment, of speaking with a voice that resounded not with power, but with the weight of a word spoken with wisdom.

As a journalist and photojournalist, I have had the fortune to follow almost all liturgical rituals, from the mosque to Orthodoxy. I am not a believer, I believe in the universe, but Orthodox rituals have been for me the most sublime act, because there I found my spiritual freedom.

In Archbishop Anastasios there was something sacred not only in the prayers of the faithful, but in the very spirit of those spaces, in the way the smoke of incense rose, how voices and silences intertwined. His speech was not imposition, but invitation; his presence was not grandeur, but humility. He made everyone feel part of an eternity that had no dogmatic boundaries.

The figure of Archbishop Anastasios/Journalist: He made us feel part of eternity

Besides him, another figure who has left a mark on my experience is Father Thodhori Nikolla, an open-minded priest from Gjirokastra, who made me see Orthodoxy as a reflection of spiritual beauty, not as an obligation of faith. He taught me that sacred art is not only icons and mosaics, but also the language of the body, of the gestures of the priest who raises the cross, of the hand that pours water on the head of a child being baptized.

As a photographer from Gjirokastra, I have rejected many offers for weddings or baptisms, but when they told me that the baptism ritual would be performed by Father Thodhori Nikolla, they automatically "disarmed" me. It wasn't a job, it was an act of participation in something bigger.

He understood the beauty of the moment, knew when to pause and when to let the light shine on the faces of those who listened to him or were baptized. He was a kind of director of spiritual sensitivity, a man who preached not only with words, but also with the way he lived his ministry.

This is why I am in love with Orthodox ritual, not for its dogma, but for its perfect aesthetics, its serenity and grandeur. It is not just a ceremony, but an experience that goes beyond individual faith, a bridge that connects you to something greater than yourself, a moment where you feel that even the universe has its own sacred rhythm.

Now, Archbishop Anastasios has passed into eternity. His departure from life is not an end, but another chapter of a presence that will remain indelible.

In his departure, as in the life he built among Albanians, the same elusive calm remains, that silent dedication that did not require applause, but left behind an inalienable legacy.
And for this, Archbishop Anastasios Janullatos will remain a Saint.