Interviews online with Metropolitan Saba confirm what my fellow Orthodox parishioners report regarding their in-person encounters with him: that he is a calming, wise, fatherly figure. The weekly reflections he sends out to the diocese reflect the same fatherliness. A slightly different personality of Saba can be discerned in his autobiographical book A Life Testimony; a bit more fiery, demanding, and frustrated.

I can imagine a number of reasons for this difference. The book covers earlier years in Saba’s life, which ought to have more of the fire of youth. Most of the books events take place in Syria, where Saba was constantly struggling with problem after problem, some of them obviously frustrating. And there’s also the possibility of a tonal shift owing to the book’s having been translated into English from Arabic. Whatever the reason, I was glad to have the opportunity to learn more about my metropolitan’s personal background, but the book itself had a few issues that would have left me unsatisfied had I not gone in with no serious expectations.

First off, the book wears the tell-tale Orthodox book sign of a lack of polish. Typos and awkward sentences throughout can be forgiven owing to the book’s recent printing and translation, but other errors like inconsistent font size are a bit perplexing. The book feels like it was hurried, and this shows forth most critically in the details–or rather, lack thereof–in Saba’s narrative.

While the book gives a fine outline of the general shape of Saba’s journey from childhood to becoming Metropolitan of North America, the details are thin, and the book reads almost like a Curriculum Vitae in narrative form–“I did X, Y, and Z.” While it’s nice to see a list of accomplishments, the reason to publish this book for lay readers is to grow familiar with Saba’s character, which doesn’t come through clearly in the book.

That’s not to say there’s no detail at all. In fact, when the details of his life appear, they’re really interesting. Early in the book he shares memories of being a child in Syria under the spiritual care of a group of Carmelite nuns who had volunteered their monastery for use by the local Orthodox population, who otherwise had no church of their own. This tender telling is probably the best paragraph in the book:

“One day, as was my habit, I entered the nuns’ private chapel to pray. I had not brought my Orthodox prayer rope, so I took a Catholic rosary and began to pray the Jesus Prayer. The eldest of the nuns walked in to get something from the chapel and noticed me. She returned a short while later and silently placed next to me an Orthodox prayer rope…This gesture deeply touched me and taught me what it means to respect other human beings” (24).

And another, from the same period:

“[The Carmelite nuns] once asked me if I would marry a Catholic girl, if I fell in love with one. I replied, “It would be hard to fall in love with one in the first place, if we did not share a common spiritual life.” They all laughed and went off to have coffee (25).

Such moments of real and intimate connections shine brightest in this book, but they are few and far between. A chapter toward the end of the book is similarly moving, as it shows the deep and extreme love he held for his brother, who died during the Covid pandemic.

Overall, despite its imperfections, I am grateful to have had any book at all to read from my metropolitan. While it doesn’t so much reflect the man’s light, it at least fills in the blanks of his journey for an audience of Americans unfamiliar with his struggles, and the struggles of the Orthodox in Syria.