Presbyter Branko Zelen Fr. Branko serves in Zemun at the Church of the Nativity of the Mother of God. He spends most of his days preaching—his church receives many visitors. Sometimes he catches a little rest and has a chat with his parishioners. He may sound like he’s joking, but if you look in his eyes you know that despite his jolly demeanor he has bigger fish to fry…
It all started of course with smiles and mutual friendly teasing with Ivan: You know, when I die, you’d better make sure I have a coffin with speakers for music! And have a halo painted on my portrait, and… don’t you dare forget the wings, or I’ll just quit… What do you mean, you’re first in line to die? No way, that wasn’t the deal! And give me my coffee. Don’t you see that guy’s waiting?” Kind-hearted conversations with parishioners salted by a good dose of Serbian humor are a good thing, really! “That guy” is actually Ivan’s godson Alexander from Mongolia, who hasn’t been to confession for a while, and apparently he’s learned and seen a lot during his time spent with his godfather.
It is never late, even in adulthood, to learn that what is most important is in Christianity, and to be reminded about those things. And God obviously uses every opportunity to deliver such reminders. So, meeting someone like Fr. Branko, who seems so light-hearted and full of joy, is one such opportunity to remember.
“Little Christ”
Fr. Branko relates:
I am not from this area, I am originally from Herzegovina, I was born and lived not far from Mostar. What? You’ve been there? A beautiful town, isn’t it? I was born in a village nearby. We once had a telephone line finally installed there, a single line for the whole village. That was something, I must say! The villagers used it maybe once a week, but it would be the talk of the village. Because without it, it would be: “Hi, neighbor, how’s it going?” often shouted across the whole village—but with this phone you could talk to someone as far away as Belgrade. I tell you, a massive-scale event! Nowadays we can’t talk like normal people without staring at the screen; but before, we could openly talk and look into each other’s eyes; we even used normal language and not some lingo.
We had a wonderful life there: Orthodox, Catholics, and Muslim. We visited each other during our festivals, played football till we dropped and sang songs
All in all, we had a wonderful life there: Orthodox, Catholics, and Muslims. We visited each other during our festivals, played football till we dropped and sang songs. I served in the army, and I made the decision to become a priest while still serving in the army—but dear me, how one Captain had it in for me because of this! All sorts of insults, calling me a “little Christ”, and all that, especially when I refused to stay in the army any longer than was required of me. But yes, they promised much for that. Oh well! I became a priest anyway.
A walk to the execution site
Then came the war. Our country broke apart. The Serbs were slaughtered. I mean this literally. Do you know who threw us under the Croatian Ustase? Our dear fellow villagers—the ones with whom we sang songs, played football, and had birthday parties together! And a man’s foes shall be they of his own household (Matthew 10:36). They turned us in and we were shut up in a concentration camp. Well, it was more like a torture camp as there were about forty of us standing in a single cell. Awful stench. You don’t simply feel fear—it is verily imbedded in you. Slimy, disgusting fear. Once I came back to my senses one way or another, I said: “Brothers, let’s say east is that way. Let’s start praying now, got it?” At first, there were only a few who joined me, then there were more of us, and in the end, almost all present were praying, except for one or two. And I felt terribly sorry for those two, I tell you! One of them was a colonel of the Yugoslavian People’s Army, and so he simply couldn’t wrap his head around the fact that he is no longer being treated with due respect, and his former subordinates are jeering at him. How did this happen? It was only yesterday that they saluted him, bent double before him, caught his every word. But today—lo and behold: a “latrine,” a death row cell (that’s right, we ended up there!), shouts of “Kill the Serb!” And now some preacher is calling him to join in prayer… And so this wretch of a man died of horror.
We didn’t die, even though everything was heading in that direction. I was taken outside a few times—I mean, to be executed. Yes… But then Patriarch Pavle, God bless his soul, managed by some miracle (although this was for him and Christ a way of life!) to make arrangements with the Croatians for a prisoner exchange. Do you know what the exchange rate was then? One Serbian priest to two Croatian pilots! So, they exchanged me. They took me to Belgrade, straight to the hospital. Naturally, I didn’t feel too well.”
Fr. Branko’s shame
There I was, lying in my hospital room, and at one moment I am told, “Pavle himself is coming to see you, Fr. Branko.” Oh, I’m thinking to myself, here comes my chance to tell him everything I had on my mind. And I had a lot to unload after what had happened. So, I am preparing my speech. A fiery one.
The door opens, the Patriarch enters, small and stooped, but with clear eyes and a penetrating glance:
“Not all of us, Fr. Branko, are granted such an honor—to suffer for Christ’s sake. Not all of us my dear. Christ Is Risen!”
Inside the church where Fr. Branko serves He said it in such a way that my jaw dropped, and all my fiery words evaporated. In such cases every word languishes, with all the nouns, adjectives, pronouns and interjections. What else can I say! Many tears were shed on his shoulder that day, yes! But later on, when I was driving Pavle to church, I made sure to drive him the long way around because I wanted so badly to spend as much time as possible with him and ask him questions. The poor man humbly submitted to my driving style and answered all of my questions, mostly naïve, of course.
Finally, we arrived at the Patriarchate. There was a very old elevator, maybe a hundred years old. So, we entered together. I weigh almost a hundred kilos, and the Patriarch, a real faster, is light as a feather. Pavle goes inside, and the lights in the elevator turn off with a zap. I burst in next and the lights—zap! and turn right back on from fright. His Holiness says,
“Listen, Fr. Branko, something’s unusual here. A sinful Patriarch enters and the lights turn off. A penitent enters and the lights turn right back on again.”
I stood there turning red from shame while the Patriarch just laughed.
The best parishioners ever!
Serb Ivan Ivanov and his godson Alexander from Mongolia Then I was assigned to serve in the Republic of Srpska in Banja Luka. As a new priest, I went to meet my parishioners. Or, rather prospective ones. So, I was walking around the town and then I rang a bell at one house. An old man opens the door; a tough nut to crack, he stands at almost two meters, his door-wide shoulders block the entrance. He looks askance. I say to him:
“Hello, I am Fr. Branko, rector of the church. Do you have anything to say to Christ?”
The old guy takes my mug and spits right into it. I just stood there and let it flow. But what can you say in such case? But then I was given proof of Christ’s words: Settle it therefore in your hearts, not to meditate before what ye shall answer: for I will give you a mouth and wisdom, which all your adversaries shall not be able to gainsay nor resist (Luke 21:14–15). I heard myself saying:
“Alright, I understand, this was for me, and quite rightly so. But what about saying something to Christ?”
Something dropped to the floor behind the old man. It was his old wife, who had seen everything, and when she heard my answer she dropped to her knees. The old man changed color and backed away. Then, bam! he also dropped to his knees, grabbed my hand and kissed it:
“Forgive me, father! Forgive me, a fool!”
You know, I never had better parishioners at my church and I still remember them with love and gratitude. They always helped with everything they had, attended services, supported others, took care of our church—simply outstanding Christians. Such are our miracles. Or is this just ordinary Christian life? What do you think? I think that a miracle is actually a pretty ordinary thing, right? Ivan! Ivan Ivanov! So, where is that coffee, after all?”
An ordinary thing in our neck of the woods
Fr. Branko Zelen “Yes, now about the coffee. Do you remember the officer who was chasing me for being Orthodox? So, a zillion or more years later, I went to a bank in Belgrade. People were standing in line. I came up to the window and beyond it is the smiling face of a woman. I say my name, such and such, I want to receive my pension. She stares at me—no, she simply freezes.
“Wait, are you… a priest?”
“Well, yes, what’s the matter?”
“Father, like it or not I am not going to let you go! Do you remember so and so?” And she says the first and last name of that Captain.
“Sure I do.”
She shouts, “Wait a minute!”
Then she comes out and explains everything. It turns out that the Captain is her husband. He is, she says, on his deathbed. He’s a good person, but all his life he felt sorry about one thing: that long ago he chased away an Orthodox man named Branko Zelen.
“So now, father, I plead with you, and I am ready to do it on my knees: Go with me and see my husband—bring him consolation, please, and forgive him.”
Sure enough, I went with her. And the Captain simply lit up. He offered me coffee. He was lying on his bed, so full of joy. We spoke, of course. He asked me to forgive him:
“Forgive me, Fr. Branko!”
Of course I had forgiven him long ago. He confessed and received Communion:
“Now I am not afraid to die,” he said as he breathed a sigh of relief.
Soon afterwards he died, God rest his soul! A miracle is actually an ordinary thing. Especially in our Orthodox neck of the woods.
As I walk away from Fr. Branko I understand that the beauty of Serbia isn’t necessarily all about its hills and mountains, rivers and waterfalls. The heavenly Serbia, like Holy Rus’, is truly real—you can see it if you look carefully. And I am sure that God will help you take a good look.