An Interview with Bishop Tichon of Tiberiopolis
Bishop Tichon (Ivanov) of Tiberiopolis is auxiliary bishop to the patriarch of the Bulgarian Orthodox Church, most recently the newly departed Patriarch Neophyte (d. 13 March 2024). He is also patron to the Volunteers of Saints George, an Orthodox initiative to help support people in need in the Bulgarian capital, Sofia. Born to a Bulgarian father and German mother in Stuttgart at the end of the Second World War, Bishop Tichon has close experience of institutional Orthodoxy in Bulgaria under Communism as well as long practical service as a hospital nurse in Germany.
The editor of the East-West Church Report interviewed Bishop Tichon in Sofia in November 2023. The original conversation alternated between Bulgarian—simultaneously translated into English courtesy of Deyan Petroff of the Volunteers of Saints George—and German.
Deyan has already described a little about your German background. Why did your parents choose to leave Stuttgart for newly Communist Bulgaria in 1946, when you were one year old?
They didn’t understand. In 1946 there were still promises of free elections. Conditions in Stuttgart were also very difficult. After the war, people were starving there. In marrying a Bulgarian, my mother became a Bulgarian citizen and lost her German citizenship. My father did not belong to any political party. He was an opera singer and the son of a high-ranking officer in the royal Bulgarian army. [Editor’s note: Bulgaria was a monarchy from 1887-1946.]
You entered Sofia Theological Seminary in 1959.
Yes. The seminary was in exile in a small monastery around 80 kilometers [50 miles] away—the Communists moved it out of Sofia. After that I had to do two years’ military service. Following the First World War, the Treaty of Neuilly forbade Bulgaria from having an army, but there was still military service. The conscripts were treated like reservists; they performed general labor in uniform. The Communists kept this arrangement because they could assign it to anyone they did not trust with weapons: Turks, Roma, Christians. After that—until 1971—I continued my studies at Sofia Theological Academy. At that time it was a separate church institution, not a university faculty, as it is now.
Why did you choose to study theology?
I was 13 years old, so it was rather my father’s decision. It was the only place that the Communists had no influence at that time. I was not the only one. Many of my classmates came to study at the seminary because they were not permitted to study anywhere else. If you wanted to pursue advanced studies, you generally needed to obtain a document from the local Communist Party where you lived, and this document would state that you were “reliable” [Bulgarian: blagonadezhden]. The children of families like mine would never receive such documents, so they would go to seminary. Patriarch Neophyte and I were classmates.
Were you aware of activity by the secret police during your theology studies?
All the time. Everything was under surveillance. Two of my fellow students did not come back after the first semester, because their local Party comrades said, “That’s enough. You are not allowed to go there.” To them, it was a disgrace that a child from their villages crossed over to the enemy—the Church. But God’s will is another matter—one of those students is now a senior priest in southern Bulgaria. He continued his studies at home. Previously, he came in first place in an exam…
…Was there a special effort to prevent intelligent people from going to seminary?
Back at that time the whole idea was that nobody should go to seminary. The phenomenon to which you refer took place maybe 10 or 15 years later, at the Theological Academy. By that stage people who had graduated from regular schools were able to apply to study theology there. The top 20 applicants would be struck from the list automatically.
Were you forced to leave Bulgaria in 1977?
I must warn you that my biography reads like a complex crime novel! (Smiles) Hard to believe, but true. After the Theological Academy, I was appointed to be a teacher at the seminary, but before I began lessons, the Patriarch called for me. He asked, “What are your prospects?” and if I wanted to become a priest or a monk. I had not thought about that, as I thought I would become a teacher. By this time, only my father and I remained in Bulgaria—my mother had gone to Germany in 1954, and my sister had gone there to study in 1966. My father gave me his blessing, and so I said to the Patriarch “I’m prepared to become a priest or a monk. But I have one request, Your Holiness: Please give me a mission, a task. I cannot just be idle or a unit in a monastery somewhere—I would go crazy.” He said, “Very well,” and after a while he hired me as the technical editor of the church’s whole publishing operation. That consisted of a newspaper, a periodical, and general press business. Then, after four years, I was suddenly dismissed. I sensed that this was due to the government. Twenty years later—thanks to a relevant law—I was able to read my secret police file and see that this was indeed the case: There had been an order for my removal.
At the time of my dismissal, it also became clear that they wanted to bar me from Sofia to somewhere provincial— that is, to a place where I would not know anyone. So I myself moved to a small, abandoned village. Where could they ban me from there? Meanwhile, in Germany, Helmut Schmidt had become chancellor in place of Willy Brandt. When he moved to Bonn [then seat of the West German government], he took with him the chief editor of the SPD [Social Democratic Party of Germany] newspaper and appointed him as Government Spokesperson. My stepbrother from my mother’s first marriage, a German citizen, took his place as editor—he had been the deputy editor. My stepbrother then had a word with his former boss about how I was stuck in a village in Bulgaria. His former boss—now Government Spokesperson—wrote a letter to the authorities here, which they interpreted as coming in an official capacity rather than from a private individual. That is obviously how I received permission to leave Bulgaria.
You have close experience of the impact of the Communist regime upon the Bulgarian Orthodox Church. How would you evaluate that, especially infiltration by the secret police?
In the early years, the Communists fought against the Church in order to impose militant atheism. Right after they took power in 1944, they killed a huge number of priests— nobody knows the exact number, but there were thousands. Priests in small towns and villages used to be very influential here in Bulgaria. They were respected pillars of society, and the Communists considered them to be competition. Anyone who attended church was also threatened with losing their job or with their children being barred from study. Since they could not be influenced in that way, predominantly old grandmas and grandpas ended up going to church.
Then some people like me appeared—children of the so-called “former people” [Bulgarian: bivshi khora, those in “bourgeois” social categories who were repressed by the Communist regime]. We, who were studying in the seminary, were to replace those priests who had been killed. Every year, however, only 25 people graduated from seminary. Of those, a maximum of four would be ordained—for the whole of Bulgaria! The rest would become historians, doctors, and so on. So when democracy came in 1990, we had what I call “severe anemia of personnel.” All of a sudden a lot of young people then started studying theology. They found an intellectual niche, and the socalled new Bulgarian Orthodox Church became a mixture of intellectual introspection and mysticism without actual, lived experience.
I had left for Germany on 16 April 1977, so I cannot say what it was like in Bulgaria after that. I can only go by what I could see and the later consequences. But I can say that it [Communist influence] was catastrophic for the Church, because an atmosphere of mistrust—a feeling that everyone is dishonest—developed. The biggest blow came when they opened the secret police files on the hierarchs of the Church, because it appeared that all of them, in one way or another, were in the service of the state; the secret services. The bad thing was that they all kept silent about this. Instead of saying publicly, “We are sorry, we were forced to collaborate,” they did not comment. This suggested that they were not concerned about the opinion of the average Christian, and that they were frightened of the consequences of breaking off relations with their curating officers [in the security services], even after the advent of democracy. I formally criticized them for this on television. None of them ever picked up the phone to contradict me or to say, “How dare you?”
Was the appearance of the so-called Alternative Synod in 1992—a schism since resolved—an attempt to counter Communist influence over the Bulgarian Orthodox Church? It occurred when the newly democratic government declared then-Patriarch Maxim’s election in 1971 to be invalid due to Communist control.
The only hierarch who was not registered as an agent of the secret police was Patriarch Maxim, but it is certain that he was close to Communist circles even prior to the Second World War. It was they who later installed him as Patriarch and hid his agent file. Moral and canonical responsibility for the failure within the Bulgarian Orthodox Church is theirs—nobody else can be responsible, no matter what the circumstances. Those who formed the Alternative Synod did not hide their own links with the secret services. People then decided to remain with Patriarch Maxim instead of siding with them. The Alternative Synod was a plot by the secret services to save Maxim—that is my opinion.
Patriarch Maxim died in 2012. Yet the issue of Orthodox collaboration with the secret services remains. The Bulgarian authorities recently expelled the head priest of the Russian Orthodox parish in Sofia for “activities directed against the national security and interests” of Bulgaria.
I’ve said publicly several times: We may assume all Russian priests serving abroad are KGB people. Last year, the one who was expelled from Bulgaria was sitting across the table, as you are, when I told him, “Why don’t you allow the Ukrainians to form their own church? This way you will remain friends.” He said, “Indeed, but many of them want Patriarch Kirill to be head; they respect him greatly.” I said to him, “Hah! They are all KGB, right? Ukraine will never allow you to do that, you know.” Instead of saying, “What are you talking about?” he just froze—I could see that he was thinking, “How do you know?” (Laughs).
[Editor’s note: The Russian priest formerly in Sofia, Archimandrite Vassian (Zmeev), was expelled from Bulgaria along with two Belarusian church personnel on 21 September 2023. In addition to a Russian government protest, the synod of the Russian Orthodox Church maintained on 11 October 2023 that the expulsions were “egregious and discriminational acts… under a false pretext.”]
Has the Bulgarian Orthodox Church made any official statement about the war in Ukraine?
No, because within our synod— which is meant to say something—the influence of Russian agents is very strong. Other members just do not think that anything is needed. At the end of the day, a public statement would not do anything for anybody. Who cares about the opinion of our Bulgarian Church? One thing is clear—we have not declared that we are against the Ukrainian Church that was blessed by [Patriarch of Constantinople] Bartholomew [i.e. the Orthodox Church of Ukraine or OCU]. We were never asked for our view.
[Editor’s note: Following this interview, on 6 January 2024, Patriarch Neophyte made a public statement condemning the war in Ukraine: https://df.news/en/2024/01/08/ bulgarian-church-leader-condemnsdevastating-war-against-fraternalukraine/; Bulgarian original at: https://bg-patriarshia.bg/news/ patriarshesko-blagoslovenie-za-velikiabogoyavlenski-vodosve. This statement was mentioned by Ecumenical Patriarch Bartholomew [of Constantinople] in his address at the funeral service for Patriarch Neophyte in Sofia on 16 March 2024: https://vema.com.au/ address-by-his-all-holiness-ecumenicalpatriarch-bartholomew-at-the-funeralservice-for-the-late-patriarch-neofit-ofsofia-and-all-bulgaria/.]
Do you see any way for the stand-off between rival Orthodox in Ukraine to be resolved?
I do not know how the situation in Ukraine will end. One thing is clear: the Russian Church is thereby condemned. The only person who could have stopped this war—the only person—was Patriarch Kirill. He could have said “No,” and acted in such a way that the whole situation would have been different. Now he is developing a theology on the basis of this whole mess [German: Schlamassel, from Yiddish shlimazel]. There will be a catastrophic consequence for the Russian Church because it is not only acting without grace, but preaching evil. It is blessing warriors to attack other Orthodox Christians.
[Editor’s note: On 25 September 2022, referring to “the many who are dying today… in this fratricidal war” and four days after the Russian authorities declared partial military mobilization, Patriarch Kirill preached that those killed in the line of duty sacrifice themselves in place of others, and that “therefore, we believe this sacrifice absolves a person of all their sins”: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=oUSb9_ULkBM.]
Even Moscow Patriarchate churches in Ukraine have been destroyed as a result of the Russian invasion.
Yes. Whatever is said about the horrors of the Russian army, Americans do not have the capacity to picture the reality. So much inhumanity is simply outside your traditions. People say, “Come on, that’s too much.” As is the case with the current situation between the Arabs and Israel—it is forgotten that Hamas were killing babies because, in the minds of free people, that is only possible if someone is a psychopath. So then the propaganda comes: “Oh, come on, you’re making it up!” I experienced this personally in Germany after 1977 whenever I told dissident circles about what it was like in Bulgaria. People smiled and said, “Really? Oh, that cannot be true.”
If there is one thing I detest as much as falsehood, it is half-truth. You claim that I hit you, I say I did not, and then someone says, “Well, it must have been somewhere in-between.” What is that supposed to mean, somehow there was half a slap?
How did your time living in Germany influence your view of the church?
When you live in a completely different place and atmosphere, you understand that it is not very productive to insist upon your own understanding and rituals. Back then, as immigrants, Orthodox usually had a minority complex. You might be the poorest person, but you had something: “I am Orthodox.” Only that leads to a ghetto mentality, which in no way corresponds to my view of human relations. Here I was influenced by a British writer, Archibald Cronin, who wrote The Keys of the Kingdom. All of us have our faith by the accident— if we can call it an accident—of our birth. God sends the immortal soul of every person into the body of a Bulgarian, German, American, or English person so that he or she fulfills his or her duty as a human being. God decided that we would become Christians—it is not our own accomplishment. He just wants to see how diligently we are prepared to follow that path. According to St. Vincent of Lérins, we must have unity in necessary things, freedom in uncertain things, and love in all things. It occurred to me that we should start the other way around—with the brotherhood of love. If we then observe minor differences, let us respect each other’s freedom. After that, we can ask the theologians to work for unity, but no earlier. The church should not be like the state, establishing many laws and rules that nobody knows but which are obligatory for everybody.
In Communist Bulgaria, charitable work like the Volunteers of Saints George was not permitted…
[With ironic tone] Of course—there are no poor people in a Communist state!
How typical do you think it is for Bulgarian Orthodox clergy to support such initiatives?
Be warned, I am about to say something that will shock you. It is not the Church’s job to perform charity. The Church has to teach people—Christians— to be compassionate and charitable. First, if you give some money to me, and I use it to feed the poor, then I’m being hypocritical, because people will think that it’s my money. Second, you will not be able to receive the joy of seeing the outcome of your charity with your own eyes. Also, if people come to me and say, “If it weren’t for you, I would not have anything to eat tomorrow,” the effect resembles an indulgence in the medieval Catholic Church [i.e. where salvation is exchanged for money]. A bishop is supposed to encourage people, to give direction, to criticize where necessary—not to do it [dispense charity] as if it were his own work and find pride in what he’s doing.
Our volunteers who work and donate deserve to see what is happening, and their efforts multiply the willingness of other people to contribute. This is important. One day, a critical mass of people will get together and say, “Hello, government— why are these people being fed by Deyan from his food truck, and you, with your expenditure for tanks and airplanes, cannot solve this issue for all Bulgaria?” If the people who are being fed by us now live a noble life in the future, we will be happy that we won’t be needed anymore.
Still, I wonder whether your own practical experience working in hospitals, or your family background, drew you to support the Volunteers of Saints George.
There is a story I wish to share. I was born in Stuttgart on 26 May 1945. At some point that August my father was searching to find something for us to eat on the black market. This market would gather in a huge crater in the city center, where a bomb the size of a telephone booth had destroyed the Kronprinzenpalais [19th-century Crown Prince’s Palace]. As soon as the American military police appeared, everyone scattered except for my father—as a Bulgarian citizen, he would not be of interest to them. “Come here, who are you?” they asked. “Georgi Christov Ivanov.” “What are you doing?” “Looking for food for my child.” “What is his name?” “Christo Georgiev Ivanov.” Then they asked him for his address and sent him on his way.
The next morning, on our doorstep, there was a box containing a month’s rations from the American army. It measured about one cubic meter [1.3 cubic yards] and contained tinned food, coffee, shaving foam, razor blades, and goodness knows what else. Today, if I were to give away a top-model Mercedez-Benz, it would not be as great a gift as that parcel was back then. We were literally saved from starvation. All we were asked was our names and where we lived. It transpired that one of the soldiers, being of Bulgarian origin, had the same name as me—Christo Georgiev Ivanov. I always wanted to find him or his relatives to thank them for this unprecedented gesture that saved me and my family in Stuttgart in 1945.
