The dangers here in our mission are on the daily schedule, perhaps because we are so used to it that we no longer pay attention to it. Five murder attempts, robberies, assaults, fatal diseases, car accidents, etc. – not to mention more – because I deeply believed that the invisible hand of God never ceased to protect us and open new horizons for our spiritual ascent with more repentance and reflection, self-examination of our own ego with sincerity and deep humility. We fully believe that all this pain, injustice and tears ultimately help us to better understand our unknown selves and to see that in our time of suffering we feel richly blessed.
I am writing all this today because with the news of the murder of a very close friend and brother, we were all saddened. This young man was not an accidental one. He was endowed with many virtues and rare spiritual gifts. He was unknown and did not like fame and publicity at all. We knew him as an infant, having been born in 1995, and his parents were faithful and closely connected to our Orthodox Church here in Kenya. From an early age he was led into the swimming pool of direct union with God and the teachings of the One and Undivided Church. His parents prophetically dedicated him to God. He was led to the sanctuary and was faithful and humble. He served quietly like an angel. His parents again taught him to worship God and to respect and love all people regardless of color or origin. His father who was very close, especially with the priests and parishes he served from distant Kilimanjaro to Central Kenya and the outskirts of Nairobi, left a fond memory everywhere.
Their poverty was unrivalled. But these people never complained. That young man was always modest and taciturn. His thoughts were always turned within the church, his parish which he loved exceedingly and served with special zeal. Every Saturday he had to go to the church of Archangel Gabriel to clean the sanctuary and the entire church so that the next day everything would be ready for the Divine Liturgy. The most characteristic was that every Sabbath he would prepare the offerings for the ceremony of the sacrifice of the unconsecrated sacrifice by himself. People who knew him well assured us that this was his great joy, for he considered it a special blessing for him to have such an interruption.
What about his gruesome murder? Like every day, on that day he set off on foot from the village where he lives with his grandmother to come to the Orthodox College of Africa for his classes. There was nothing to indicate that this would be his last visit, his last lesson at the College located on the premises of the Patriarchal School. As always he chatted with his classmates, attended his classes, greeted his teachers with due respect and in the late afternoon he set out on his last journey, one way, one way. Owing to poverty, he wanted to make a short stop at his uncle’s house to rest and dine with them, after walking several miles.
In a few minutes the unexpected happened and no one so far knows under what circumstances the killers finished him off. It seems that before he expired he was brutally tortured, particularly on his face, and in particular his eyes were almost gouged out. A martyr’s death. A young man dedicated to God receiving this terrible blow while he was virtuous and pure, pure and humble in heart, rich in so many gifts and virtues. He was a bright star that lit up those around him.
Among the various things people wanted to show their love for the unfortunate loss of this young man was a song, which he often whispered to himself. It went something like this: “My God is in me, my friend and in all my movements he is present. He always leads me along the path of eternity where we will walk in the end. I do not desire the riches of this world so that I may be respected and appreciated by men. And when I still encounter trials in my life, God is my companion and my friend.”
Because his friends and especially his fellow students from the Orthodox College of Africa knew how much he loved this song, just before his burial they all sang it together, believing that this would make him happy where he was. Angelic voices accompanied him to his final resting place. One would have thought that angels had descended from heaven to earth to greet him joyfully…
The photo shows him at the hagiography school of the Metropolis holding the icon he painted with his own hands. He wrote in his local dialect and it is clearly visible “Met’ our God”. It was the conclusion of his whole course here on earth.
At his funeral held in a remote area of Kenya – his place of origin – this is the custom here, various friends and acquaintances spoke with great pain about his unjust death. Among them was a grandmother from his parish, who publicly admitted that in her heart she longed for her grandson to be like the young hagiographer, having watched him for years as he ministered in the sanctuary. She wanted in every way possible for her grandson to follow the right path. And he succeeded in that. At that moment she presented him to us. And this modest little boy was literally devastated by the unjust and unjustifiable death of his inspirer and teacher.
This ordeal gave everyone the impression that there was a secret visitation of God accompanied by His Divine Grace that gave all of us the opportunity to crucify our passions and weaknesses.
† The Nairobi Blessed Sacrament
