He departed. Yes, he departed, but he did not vanish.
Metropolitan Boulos Bandaly was a soul imprinted with the fragrance of the Gospel, a face luminous with the humility of Christ which he had put on to the depths. He was a voice trembling with love, and a warm gaze in which divine compassion dwelt.
Who can forget his tear when he spoke of the Lord? Who can forget his bowing before the altar like a child who knows the mystery of salvation? Who can forget his embrace of the suffering, as though he wished to uproot sorrow from the earth? We knew in him a living icon; an icon not hung upon walls, but hung within consciences.
His love for God cannot be measured. It was a fire in his breast that burned away every coldness and melted every pride. And his Church? She was his bride, whom he does not leave in pain or in hope, in trials or in ease.
Metropolitan Boulos Bandaly did not write volumes, but he wrote upon hearts. And Metropolitan Boulos did not seek to be remembered, but sought to efface himself so that Christ might be seen.
But the question today is: how do we remain faithful to his legacy?
We remain faithful when we do not confuse piety with pretence; when we place simplicity above positions, mercy above the letter, and truth above flattery; when we love our Church by the Cross and not by words; when we are in the world, but not of the world.
May his memory be eternal. And let us, his children, guard what he handed to us with tears and prostrations.
For that deposit does not rust, is not bought, and is not sold. That deposit is lived.