There have been times in our history when we had no state of our own, no schools of our own, and no institutions in which we could decide our own destiny. Borders and masters changed, armies came and went, and the Serbian people endured, scattered far and wide. What bound them together through those times was the faith, and with it the Serbian Orthodox Church.
Her churches and monasteries preserved prayer, language, memory, and the awareness of belonging to one people. The Church shared her people’s fate, their sufferings and their hopes. She stood by them even when many others departed, and even when it was hardest to remain.
That is why we cannot speak of the Serbian Orthodox Church as an institution existing outside our historical experience. She is woven into our spiritual and cultural life, into the family, the Krsna Slava, our customs, and everything we have inherited from our forebears and are duty-bound to hand on to our children.
At the beginning of that path stands Saint Sava.
His greatness lies in his understanding that a people, to endure, must have a spiritual foundation, an ordered community, and the ability to converse with the world. As a monk, an enlightener and the first Serbian Archbishop, Saint Sava laid foundations that outlived both the states and the rulers of his age.
He was also an exceptional diplomat. At the 1219 Council of Nicaea, he met with Emperor Theodore Laskaris and Patriarch Manuel of Constantinople and secured the autocephaly of the Serbian Archbishopric, becoming its first Archbishop. He knew whom to speak to, how to build trust, and when to ask for what his people needed.
That diplomatic success carried profound, lasting significance. It made it possible to organise church life throughout the Serbian lands and gave the people a spiritual centre that would unite them. Saint Sava understood that a people’s standing in the world is built not only on the strength of the state, but also on reputation, learning, spirituality, and the ability to recognise its own interests and present them to others.
His journeys, from the Holy Mountain and Nicaea to Jerusalem, reflected the breadth of a man who knew his own people well, but also the world in which he lived. He was deeply rooted in his own faith and tradition, yet open to encounter and dialogue with others. Therein lies a great lesson for us today.
Through the centuries, the Serbian Orthodox Church has continued along Saint Sava’s path. When states and monasteries were destroyed, her clergy, monastics, and faithful people preserved what arms alone could not. In the most difficult circumstances, they maintained the bond between generations and kept alive the memory of those who went before us.
That role did not belong only to great historical figures. Ordinary people also upheld it in their homes and parishes, passing on the faith and their customs to their children. Thanks to them, our history has not remained written only in books. It lives on in family prayer, the slava candle, and our gatherings around the churches.
Today we live in a different time, but the need for a spiritual foundation remains just as strong. Perhaps we need it all the more, since it has never been easier to utter a harsh word, to condemn another, and to turn a single disagreement into a lasting division.
Every day we are divided over politics, parties, personalities and events. Differences of opinion are natural, and no one has the right to demand that another renounce his own position. But we must know where the line lies beyond which political disagreement turns into enmity between people who belong to the same nation.
Too often we cross that line. Too often we see in another person first his political allegiance, and only then a brother, a neighbour, a friend or a member of the family. Once we begin to see one another this way, every division deepens, and every opportunity for dialogue becomes harder.
That is why we need conciliarity – sobornost. Not as a demand that we all think alike, nor as a word to be spoken only on solemn occasions. Conciliarity entails responsibility towards the community and the awareness that what we hold in common obliges us to speak with one another even when we disagree.
Conciliarity is seen in a readiness to listen to the other, not to humiliate the one who thinks differently, and not to accept hatred as the ordinary manner of public discourse. It is shown in our relationship with our neighbour, in the family, in the workplace, in public life, and wherever our words and deeds concern other people.
The Serbian Orthodox Church holds a special place in this gathering. She belongs to her people wherever they may live and whomever they may vote for. Beneath her vaults stand people of differing convictions, yet all are called to the same prayer, repentance, love and mutual respect.
This does not mean the Church, or those within her, are exempt from questions and accountability. Criticism offered with care and respect has its place. But there is a great difference between the desire to set something right and the urge to humiliate and to destroy trust in that which has gathered us together for centuries.
Precisely for this reason we should be wary of the ease with which we sometimes pass judgement on the Church, her clergy and her faithful people. A word spoken in a moment of anger can leave consequences that last far longer than the cause that provoked it.
According to tradition, Saint Sava reconciled his quarrelling brothers over the relics of their father, Saint Symeon. That image carries a powerful message: peace within the family and among the people does not come of its own accord. It requires will, humility and a readiness to recognise once again one’s neighbour in the person on the other side.
That message matters today as much as it did eight centuries ago. Our differences will not disappear, nor do they need to. But we must preserve a space in which we can speak without hatred and remain brothers even when we disagree most deeply.
In safeguarding the Serbian Orthodox Church, we safeguard a living bond with Saint Sava, with all the generations that went before us, and with those who will come after us. And in safeguarding conciliarity, we safeguard our ability to remain together as a people, even in times of great trial.
May the path of Saint Sava, therefore, remind us that a people is built through knowledge, wisdom, dialogue and faith. And that the true strength of a community is best seen in its ability to preserve love among its own.
For Christ is love.
Siniša Pepić
Translated by:
Siniša Macakanja
