Etchmiadzin is the capital of Armenians’ spiritual motherland, a territory that stretches far beyond the borders of the Republic of Armenia itself. For the uninitiated it’s a difficult name to pronounce, but for all Armenians, wherever they live, it is a sacred and beloved place. The word “etchmiadzin” literally means "the place where the Only Begotten descended.” During his visit to Armenia in April, Father Bernard Kinvi, an Aurora Prize finalist, made a pilgrimage to the Etchmiadzin Monastery, also known as “Armenia’s Vatican.” 

Together with his friend Father Bris, Bernard Kinvi traveled thousands of miles to partake in the inaugural Aurora Prize Ceremony. Their journey began in Bossemptele, a town deep in the isolated interior of the Central African Republic where the two priests live.

The red Camillian cross that father Kinvi wears over his motley shirt, along with his clerical collar, are a reminder that Bernard has dedicated his life to serving the faithful, having promised to lead them through all their troubles. He doesn’t say much, but when he speaks, his voice is quiet and tranquil. Despite having been forced to witness so much extreme suffering, Father Bernard seems at peace. Yet, during his visit to Etchmiadzin, he was unable to contain his emotions. “I was truly confounded because I didn’t expect to find the relics of the Holy Cross there. Looking at them made me very excited,” Bernard remembers. “It’s amazing to realize that for almost 2,000 years, Armenia has been living in the same Christian faith that I have dedicated my life to far away from here, in Central Africa or Loma,” he says. 

Before his visit Father Kinvi knew little about Armenia and its history, save for the Genocide that flung the 3,000-year-old civilization into darkness. “I have to admit that I knew almost nothing about the country. What little information I had from the press mostly had to do with the Genocide, which Turkey still refuses to admit. But after coming here, I realized that Armenia is a deeply religious country, and its national church is many centuries old,” he admits.

Praying at Etchmiadzin gave Father Kinvi a chance to escape the hustle and bustle of the Aurora Prize weekend. “First of all, I asked our Lord to give me strength to continue the work entrusted to us. I thought about all those miserable people in our own country and all around the world, people who become victims of atrocities. I asked God to ease their fate, to strengthen them and to give them a dignified life. I also asked Him to give those who are already in a better world the endless bliss that they so lacked on Earth,” says the priest of his prayer.

His sacrosanct faith, strong enough to move mountains, is what gives Bernard Kinvi the strength to survive his own trials and tribulations. “Father Bris and I ended up here today by virtue of our faith alone. At Bossemptele we often had a very hard time, we felt completely alone, surrounded by militant people who didn’t share our convictions. The only refuge left to us was to get down on our knees and pray,” he remembers. Without any support and far from the rest of the world, the two priests were “sometimes on the verge of dismay,” but refused to give in to despair.

“We would listen to the news about Central Africa and it had nothing to do with what we saw on the ground. It was during those moments that we felt truly abandoned by everyone,” Kinvi recalls. “We cried and implored the armed forces to help stabilize the most violent zone. We did everything we could, but we felt that the military had no desire to help us and to reduce tension in the region. It was very difficult; our faith was the only hope left to us. Before going to meet with the rebels and killers, we would pray. Whenever they threatened our lives, the only thing we could do was pray to God.” As he rode along in a comfortable, air-conditioned car, surrounded by the snowy peaks of Armenian mountains, his thoughts were far away, in another country ruled by thirst, a scorching sun and suffering.

Father Kinvi’s soul belongs to the heavenly kingdom of God, but his feet are planted firmly on the ground, allowing him to hold an honest dialogue with the violent insurgents who repeatedly threatened to kill him. “We always tell ourselves that deep down inside every killer, there is a weak source of light, a certain hideaway where God’s breath is still present,” he says. “We ask God to let this light shine so the criminal would understand that killing won’t solve problems.”

“When we go to visit rebel soldiers, we never prepare beforehand. We don’t think about what we should or shouldn’t tell them. When it’s time for Father Bris or me to go talk to them, we pray and then we go. We listen to the people and we draw conclusions based on what they say. The most important thing is for them to stop killing. Every morning I repeat the names of those who gave us ultimatums and timeframes to comply. Sometimes they threaten us, even though we have no weapons, we have nothing except our Lord, who’s everywhere with us. Often, the allotted time runs out but nobody actually comes, or they come with a new ultimatum,” Father Kinvi says, smiling. “Sometimes the rebels repent. Some of the anti-balaka fighters even came to us asking for help in saving some other hostages, and it was a good thing we heeded their request quickly, or those hostages would be dead.”

Coming home 

Bernard Kinvi’s father had two wives and 13 children. Bernard’s mother was his second wife. “My father converted to Christianity, he was a very generous and open person. Our home in Loma was always full of guests,” Father Bernard remembers. “What little we had, we shared with others. This attitude always set an example for myself and Father Bris.” Bernard’s father dreamed that his son would become a priest. “When I led my first Mass, he cried and thanked God all the time. He was very sick and died three months after I was ordained,” Bernard says.

Today, Father Kinvi faces many challenges; the most important of them — paving the way for the Muslims who were forced to flee Bossemptele to return. “We’ve kept in touch with the majority of them, we visit them in neighboring countries – Cameroon and Nigeria – where they live in refugee camps,” he says. Together with Father Bris, Bernard Kinvi goes to the camps to strengthen community ties and help displaced persons. “We communicate with them, learning what caused the most horrible tragedies, and we slowly get them ready to come back. These people were born and raised in a village, they have no home besides Bossemptele,” Kinvi explains.

Being a realist, Bernard understands how difficult bringing refugees back to their native town will be. “But if we abandon the dialogue, if we fail to create conditions for their return, these people will lose their roots and turn to religious radicalism. If they become religious extremists, that will be a new problem for us,” he says. 

Of course, some Muslims long for revenge. “They suffered a lot, and now they think they have nothing more to lose. Our mission cooperates with the imams. They are working with us to restore peace and to ease the tension. We have to continue talking. So far, only a few Muslims have returned, and they are mostly half-Muslims whose parents are either Animists or Christians,” Bernard says.

Father Kinvi believes that the most effective way to restore peace is to invest both money and effort in education. “We have to teach tolerance to the young ones. Many of them sit at home, doing nothing. They have nothing to do, and so their souls are also empty. If we help them to get an education, to rebuild their own environment, they won’t allow others to destroy what they’ve built. With all our hearts we want them to have the gift of knowledge. Right now our mission has 700 students, but it’s just a drop in the sea when 60 percent of Bossemptele’s residents are under 18,” he explains. “The most important thing is to tell people about the importance of neighborly love and to show them that human life is infinitely sacred and we have to pay any price to preserve it.”