A SENSE of anticipation was building inside the Eleftheria indoor arena, the chattering crowd biding their time until the main event. Then, amid whispers of “there he is,” the star of the night appeared.
Suddenly, as one, the crowd rose to its feet, a rapturous applause greeting the celebrity. This was no WWF wrestler: it was the bishop of Kykkos, Nikiforos.
“Ladies and gentlemen, let’s welcome the next Archbishop of Cyprus!” the speaker urged, working up the crowd.
As he took to the stage, a new round of applause broke out, among cries of “Worthy is he!”
“O Greek Cypriot nation,” the bishop’s voice boomed, employing a term of address dear to heads of state.
Cameras flashed as photographers scurried on the stage to capture the moment.
“Tonight, I feel a captive of your immense love.”
It took another couple of minutes for the crowd to subside.
The rally had all the hallmarks of an election gathering, reminiscent of Citizen Kane. Three jumbo screens — one above the main stage, the other two flanking it — with a poster of a majestic-looking Nikiforos hanging from the wall.
The d?cor of the stage was laid out in red drapes, the color of the Church. As Nikiforos spoke, the video screens switched from the bishop to dignitaries seated beneath the main stage.
These included ex President George Vassiliou and his former First Lady, the wife of opposition leader Nicos Anastassiades, party deputies and mayors. It was yet an emphatic display of Nikiforos’ broad endorsement by the political world.
The venue itself was around two-thirds full, which is no trifle matter, considering that even parties have a tough time packing the halls to capacity. The audience included people of all ages—mostly middle-aged, but also quite a few in the 20s and some teens. Which was enlightening (no pun intended).
Behind me, a group of a dozen or so hardcore fans chanted in unison whenever the bishop made a rousing statement.
On arriving at the Eleftheria, I had managed to slip in incognito. But my cover, so to speak, was soon blown when a heavyset, mustachioed man slowly approached from behind.
Very politely but also with a suspicious look on his face, the man inquired as to what I was scribbling on my notepad. I guess he figured I might be a spy for a rival bishop, and wanted to clear it up.
I promptly explained our establishment was covering the event. As I turned to look at him, I noticed the back of his shirt indicated he was a member of Nikiforos’ support group.
Evidently satisfied, the man walked away, and I got back to the business of reporting. Peace, brother.
