340
CAIRO TO DAMASCUS
I BID THE PATRIARCH GOOD-BYE
I COULD not leave this area without visiting the Church of
the Holy Sepulchre. I found it blocked by a dozen guides in
bizarre striped suits. They clawed me and fought among themselves for the privilege of guiding me through the holy Christian shrine. In disgust I looked up to heaven and said loudly:
"God, what I'm about to say or do is no more sacrilegious
than what is now before your church. If you tolerate these
thieving hoodlums, then surely you will forgive me for my
actions. , . ."
With this I let loose a barrage of oaths in English, Turkish,
Armenian, as well as French, Italian, and Arabic. Aiming a
kick at the one nearest me, but missing him, I strode with
righteous feeling into the shrine. Here I met an Armenian
priest who guided me, and spoke to me in my tongue, and
waited outside while I went and knelt at the Sepulchre of
Christ, and prayed.
Afterward, I went to the Armenian monastery before the
gate closed for the night, to bid the Patriarch good-bye. I
found him greatly relieved after the surrender, but worried as
to how he would feed, clothe, and care for 3,800 hungry,
homeless, mostly penniless Armenians.
"God has brought our people safely thus far. He will see us
through," I found myself telling the Patriarch. Then I asked
for his blessing.
The Patriarch placed his hand on my head and prayed long
and earnestly. After he had finished on my behalf, I looked
up. He was still praying. "Oh God, protect our people in these
desperate days. Give them of Your strength, and of Your wisdom that they may survive, and not despair. . . ." With his
eyes closed and the palms of his hands raised heavenward, and
his long full beard, the Patriarch's sensitive face had taken on
a deep mystic quality. . . . "Endow them with Your courage,