Daily prayer in Ordinary Time 2026: 90, Wednesday 5 August 2026

Iokasti, a restaurant in Koutouloufari in Crete … are there comparisons between Iocasta and her daughter in ‘The Phoenician Women’ and the Greek-speaking Syro-Phoenician or Canaanite woman in the Gospels? (Photograph: Patrick Comerford)

Patrick Comerford

We are continuing in Ordinary Time in the Church Calendar and the week began with the Ninth Sunday after Trinity (Trinity IX, 2 August 2026). The calendar of the Church of England in Common Worship today recalls Saint Oswald (642), King of Northumbria and Martyr, and tomorrow is the Feast of the Transfiguration (6 August).

Before today begins, I am taking some quiet time this morning to give thanks, for reflection, prayer and reading in these ways:

1, today’s Gospel reading;

2, a reflection on the Gospel reading;

3, a prayer from the USPG prayer diary;

4, the Collects and Post-Communion prayer of the day.

Mikis Theodorakis recorded ‘Symphony No 4, of the Choral Odes,’ in Athens in May 1987

Matthew 15: 21-28 (NRSVA):

21 Jesus left that place and went away to the district of Tyre and Sidon. 22 Just then a Canaanite woman from that region came out and started shouting, ‘Have mercy on me, Lord, Son of David; my daughter is tormented by a demon.’ 23 But he did not answer her at all. And his disciples came and urged him, saying, ‘Send her away, for she keeps shouting after us.’ 24 He answered, ‘I was sent only to the lost sheep of the house of Israel.’ 25 But she came and knelt before him, saying, ‘Lord, help me.’ 26 He answered, ‘It is not fair to take the children’s food and throw it to the dogs.’ 27 She said, ‘Yes, Lord, yet even the dogs eat the crumbs that fall from their masters’ table.’ 28 Then Jesus answered her, ‘Woman, great is your faith! Let it be done for you as you wish.’ And her daughter was healed instantly.


Mikis Theodorakis, Symphony No 4, Movement 2, Euripides, ‘Phoenician Women’ (Φοίνισσαι)

Today’s Reflections

Today’s Gospel reading at the Eucharist (Matthew 15: 21-28) is set in the district of Tyre and Sidon and tells of the Canaanite or Syro-Phoenician woman and her encounter with Christ.

In Saint Matthew’s account, she is a Canaanite woman (verse 22); in Saint Mark’s account (Mark 7: 27-31), she is a Greek-speaking or Syro-Phoenician woman (verse 26).

In the classical world, Phoenician women were pushy women. About 400 years earlier, the great Greek playwright Euripides wrote his tragic play The Phoenician Women (Φοίνισσαι, Phoenissae), rewriting a similar story used by Aeschylus in his play, Seven Against Thebes, and dealing with tragic events following the fall of Oedipus.

The title of the play by Euripides, The Phoenician Women, refers to the Greek chorus, which is composed of Phoenician women on their way to Delphi and who are trapped in Thebes by the war.

The two key women in the play by Euripides are Jocasta (Ἰοκάστη) and her daughter Antigone (Ἀντιγόνη), who have survived against all odds. They challenge the accepted concepts in Classical times of fate and free-will.

In the face of death, they refuse to accept what other people regarded as their destiny, they refused to be pushed aside, marginalised and dismissed as the men around then compete for power.

So, in the time of Christ, educated, Greek-speaking people, including those around Tyre and Sidon, would expect a Greek-speaking Phoenician woman and her daughter to be pushy in the face of what appears to be a cruel fate, even if this involves confronting successful or ambitious men: they are prepared to stand up to kings and rulers, prepared to challenge them, and prepared to risk rejection and exile.

Faced with her daughter’s needs, this pushy woman ignores the disciples: she is direct and aggressive in demanding healing and justice. And in demanding justice and healing for her daughter, she is, of course, demanding these for herself too.

The dialogue between this woman and Christ must have sounded crude and aggressive to those who had gathered around to hear what was going on.

This pushy woman forces herself into the house, addresses Jesus in Messianic terms, and demands not that he should heal her daughter, but that he should show mercy. On whom? On her tormented daughter? On the distressed mother? The NRSV translation is clear, where the RSV is not: in the original Greek, she asks for mercy for herself (verse 22).

At times, when I have reading and re-reading this Gospel reading, I have found myself listening yet again to the second movement, ‘The Phoenician Woman,’ in Symphony No 4 (Of the Choral Odes), written in 1986-1987 by the great modern Greek composer Mikis Theodorakis (1925-2021) for soprano, alto, narrator, mixed choir and symphonic orchestra without strings.

Symphony No 4 by Theodorakis contains just two movements based on texts by Aeschylus (Eumenides) and Euripides (The Phoenician Women). The remastered version of this CD was recorded live at Athens at the world premiere of the composition. The booklet includes the completely translated libretto, extensive liner notes and some personal remarks of the composer himself.

In this symphony, Theodorakis provides a setting of Eumenides by Aeschylus and The Phoenician Women by Euripides, brought together in a massive work that conveys classical Greek tragedy through the form of a modern choral symphony.

In his fourth symphony, Theodorakis weaves together three traditions: the symphonic tradition and the integration of vocals into symphonic works; the tradition of great tragic women figures, which he takes up in his operas Medea, Electra and Antigone; and the particularly Greek perception of history.

In his notes written for this symphony, Theodorakis suggests that, because the word symphony is derived from Greek, it is best left to a Greek to define it. He is not concerned with the conventional western sonata form, and this long, two-part work derives its tension and power from its ancient Greek texts, following its own logic rather than abstract rules.

Theodorakis is forceful and direct in his music. There is power in its dark scoring, austere counterpoint, massed unisons, and immense orchestral sonorities.

Admirers of Theodorakis take this work seriously and appreciate his commitment to Greek national culture. But others find it difficult to listen to with its sombre subject matter. Yet this is the very drama, focussed in the desperate plight of one woman and her daughter, that is played out in today’s Gospel reading.

Each time I read today’s Gospel story of this woman and her daughter, they remind me of Jocasta and her daughter Antigone (Ἀντιγόνη). One year, while searching for illustrations and resources for this I came across photographs I had taken of Iokasti, a delightful restaurant in Koutouloufari, east of Iraklion in Crete.

During the Covid Pandemic lockdown earlier that year, in Holy Week, the week before Greek Easter, the people at Iokasti posted on their Facebook page a video clip of ‘Oh my sweet Springtime’ (Ω γλυκύ μου έαρ). This is a song of lamentation sung on Good Friday and imagines the Virgin Mary narrating the Crucifixion and pouring out her pain and grief as the Mother of Christ.

This lament is sung with reverence, emotion and devotion throughout Greece, and it has been performed and recorded by many Greece’s best-loved singers.

The version posted by Iokasti in Koutououfari that year was a recording in Athens by the late Irene Papas (1929-2022) – who played the title roles in Antigone (1961) and Electra (1962) – of the musical arrangement of this hymn by the Greek composer Vangelis:

Αι γενεαί πάσαι, ύμνον τη Ταφή Σου, προσφέρουσι Χριστέ μου.
Καθελών του ξύλου, ο Αριμαθείας, εν τάφω Σε κηδεύει.
Μυροφόροι ήλθον, μύρα σοι, Χριστέ μου, κομίζουσαι προφρόνως.
Δεύρο πάσα κτίσις, ύμνους εξοδίους, προσοίωμεν τω Κτίστη.
Ούς έθρεψε το μάννα, εκίνησαν την πτέρναν, κατά του ευεργέτου.
Ιωσήφ κηδεύει, συν τω Νικοδήμω, νεκροπρεπώς τον Κτίστην.

Ω γλυκύ μου έαρ, γλυκύτατόν μου Τέκνον, πού έδυ σου το κάλλος;

Υιέ Θεού παντάναξ, Θεέ μου πλαστουργέ μου, πώς πάθος κατεδέξω;
Έρραναν τον τάφον αι Μυροφόροι μύρα, λίαν πρωί ελθούσαι.
Ω Τριάς Θεέ μου, Πατήρ Υιός και Πνεύμα, ελέησον τον κόσμον.

Ιδείν την του Υιού σου, Ανάστασιν, Παρθένε, αξίωσον σους δούλους.

All generations offer a hymn at your burial my Christ.
The Arimathean took you down from the cross and buried you in a tomb.
Women came with spices to give you perfume and prepare your burial.
Hither creation was made, let us sing hymns to praise our Creator.
Nourished from above with manna, lifted heels of contempt against their benefactor.
You are being buried by Joseph and Nicodemus, in the grave of the Creator.

Oh, my sweet spring, my sweetest child, where does your beauty fade?
Son of God Almighty, my God and Creator, how can I bear your passion?
Women with spices came very early in the morning to sprinkle the grave with perfume.
O my Holy Trinity, Father, Son and Spirit, have mercy on the world.

Allow us to serve you, O Virgin, to see you son’s resurrection, to be your worthy servants.

In weeping for her daughter, the Syro-Phoenician woman share in the weeping of the Virgin Mary for her son. And in Christ, we find compassion for all our sorrows and all our weeping.


‘Oh my sweet Springtime’ (Ω γλυκύ μου έαρ), a song of lamentation sung on Good Friday, arranged by Vangelis and recorded in Athens by the Irene Papas

Today’s Prayers (Wednesday 5 August 2026):

In Pray with the World Church, the prayer diary of the Anglican mission agency USPG (United Society Partners in the Gospel), the theme this week (2-8 August 2026, pp 24-25), is ‘Faith Under Pressure in Nicaragua’. This theme was introduced on Sunday with a Reflection by the Most Revd Juan David Alvarado, Bishop of El Salvador and Primate of the Province of the Anglican Church in Central America.

The USPG prayer diary today (Wednesday 5 August 2026) invites us to pray:

God of truth, we pray for those who cannot speak openly about injustice in Nicaragua. Give them courage in silence, and raise up voices beyond their borders to bear witness and seek justice.

The Collect of the Day:

Lord God almighty,
who so kindled the faith of King Oswald with your Spirit
that he set up the sign of the cross in his kingdom
and turned his people to the light of Christ:
grant that we, being fired by the same Spirit,
may always bear our cross before the world
and be found faithful servants of the gospel;
through Jesus Christ your Son our Lord,
who is alive and reigns with you,
in the unity of the Holy Spirit,
one God, now and for ever.

The Post Communion Prayer:

Eternal God,
who gave us this holy meal
in which we have celebrated the glory of the cross
and the victory of your martyr Oswald:
by our communion with Christ
in his saving death and resurrection,
give us with all your saints the courage to conquer evil
and so to share the fruit of the tree of life;
through Jesus Christ our Lord.

Collect on the Eve of The Transfiguration:

Father in heaven,
whose Son Jesus Christ was wonderfully transfigured
before chosen witnesses upon the holy mountain,
and spoke of the exodus he would accomplish at Jerusalem:
give us strength so to hear his voice and bear our cross
that in the world to come we may see him as he is;
who is alive and reigns with you,
in the unity of the Holy Spirit,
one God, now and for ever.

Yesterday’s reflections

Continued tomorrow

A table for one at Iokasti, a restaurant in the mountain village of Koutouloufari in Crete recalls the play by Euripides (Photograph: Patrick Comerford)

Scripture quotations are from the New Revised Standard Version Bible: Anglicised Edition copyright © 1989, 1995, National Council of the Churches of Christ in the United States of America. Used by permission. All rights reserved worldwide. http://nrsvbibles.org

From Agamemnon to Armageddon, ‘Iphigenia’ by Euripides is a classical warning about the futility of war

A new interpretation by Stephen Sharkey of ‘Iphegnia’ by Euripides, adapted and directed by Serdar Biliş, opens tonight in the Arcola Theatre in London

Patrick Comerford

The Arcola Theatre in London is staging Iphigenia by Euripides in a new English version by Stephen Sharkey, adapted and directed by Serdar Biliş. It opens tonight (9 April) and continues until 2 May 2026.

Iphigenia is a story of sacrifice, parenthood and the human cost of war – then and now.

A young girl stands at the altar. A nation holds its breath. The winds have stopped. The Greek fleet is stranded. King Agamemnon is told by the gods that there is only one way for his army to reach Troy: he must sacrifice his daughter, Iphigenia.

It is a stark, contemporary reimagining of Euripides’ classic text and confronts the timeless question: what do we owe our country – and what do we owe our children? Blending the brutal beauty of ancient tragedy with voices of today, this new production replaces the traditional chorus with filmed testimonies from women across cultures, interwoven with live contemporary folk music that bridges East and West.

In this production, Mithra Malek plays Iphigenia, Indra Ové is Clytemnestra, Simon Kunz is Agamemnon and Kalia Lyraki is the Musician. The director and adaptor Serdar Biliş was born in Istanbul, and moved to London for a career in directing. He has an MA from Middlesex University, has been an associate director at Arcola Theatre and Liverpool Everyman, artistic director of Pürtelaş Theatre, and teaches at Kadir Has University in Istanbul and in Florence.

The translator Stephen Sharkey has updated and adapted a wide variety of classic and contemporary stories for the stage. His translation of Euripides’s Ion was produced by the Gate Theatre and directed by Erica Whyman.

The 1977 film ‘Iphigenia’ by the Greek director Michael Cacoyannis was the third in his Greek Tragedy trilogy

The name Iphigenia (Ἰφιγένεια) means ‘strong-born’, ‘born to strength’, or ‘she who causes the birth of strong offspring’. In Homer’s Iliad, Iphianassa (Ἰφιάνασσα) is the name of one of Agamemnon’s three daughters (Iliad ix.145, 287), a name that may be simply an older variant of the name Iphigenia.

For Euripides, Iphigenia is a daughter of King Agamemnon and Queen Clytemnestra, and so a princess of Mycenae. On his way to the Trojan War, Agamemnon offends the goddess Artemis by hunting and killing one of her sacred stags. She retaliates by preventing the allied troops from reaching Troy unless Agamemnon kills Iphigenia, his eldest daughter, at Aulis as a human sacrifice. In some versions, Iphigenia dies at Aulis, and in others, Artemis rescues her. In the version where she is saved, she goes to the Taurians and meets her brother Orestes.

Iphigenia in Aulis or Iphigenia at Aulis (Ἰφιγένεια ἐν Αὐλίδι) is the last of the surviving plays by Euripides. Written between 408 BCE, after Orestes, and 406 BCE, the year Euripides died, the play was first produced the following year in a trilogy with The Bacchae and Alcmaeon in Corinth by his son or nephew, Euripides the Younger, and won first place at the City Dionysia in Athens.


Mikis Theodorakis composed the score for Michael Cacoyannis’s film Iphigenia

Iphigenia in Aulis has had a significant influence on modern art. I became aware of that impact through the 1977 film Iphigenia (Ιφιγένεια) by the Greek director Michael Cacoyannis. It was the third in his Greek Tragedy trilogy, following Electra (1962) and The Trojan Women (1971), and Mikis Theodorakis composed the score. Cacoyannis adapted his film from his stage production of Iphigenia at Aulis.

Iphigenia tells the story of events immediately before the Trojan War. Helen, the wife of Menelaus, ran away to Troy with Paris, Priam’s son. Agamemnon, Menelaus’s brother and the King of Argos, gathered a large Greek expedition at Aulis to bring back Helen.

However, Artemis, the goddess of hunting, angered by an offence from Agamemnon’s father, King Atreus, caused storms to hinder the Greek fleet. This sets the stage for the film’s beginning.

The Greek armies have been waiting for far too long for the winds to rise and blow eastward, carrying their boats to Troy. They are tired, bored, hungry, and eager for battle. In an attempt to appease them, Agamemnon (Costa Kazakos) allows them to take sheep from a nearby temple dedicated to Artemis. In the chaos that ensues, Artemis’s sacred deer is accidentally killed. This angers Calchas (Dimitris Aronis), the high priest of Artemis’s temple, who delivers an oracle to Agamemnon in the presence of Menelaus (Kostas Karras) and Odysseus (Christos Tsagas).

Artemis was the daughter of Zeus and Leto, and twin sister of Apollo. She was the patron and protector of young children, especially young girls, and the goddess of marriage and childbirth. Her great temple at Ephesus was one of the Seven Wonders of the Ancient World, and she was also revered in Didyma, Delos and Delphi.

According to Calchas, the oracle demands that Agamemnon offer a sacrifice to atone for defiling holy ground and for killing the sacred stag. Once the sacrifice is made, Artemis will allow the winds to blow east so the armies can sail to Troy. The sacrifice demanded is Agamemnon's first-born daughter, Iphigenia (Tatiana Papamoschou). News of the deal spreads quickly among the army, although for some time they do not know the exact nature of the sacrifice.

After a heated argument between the two brothers, Agamemnon sends a message to his wife Clytemnestra (Irene Papas) in Argos. In the letter, Agamemnon asks his wife to send their daughter Iphigenia alone to Aulis, supposedly to marry Achilles (Panos Mihalopoulos), who is part of Agamemnon’s expeditionary force. Despite her husband’s instructions, Clytemnestra decides to accompany her daughter to Aulis.

From then on, the tension and the tragedy intensify. Agamemnon begins to doubt his plan. After admitting his deception to his old servant (Angelos Yannoulis), Agamemnon sends him with another letter to Clytemnestra, revealing the deal and urging her to cancel Iphigenia’s journey. However, Menelaus’s men intercept the servant on the road and bring him back to Aulis. In the confrontation that follows, Menelaus condemns his brother for sacrificing Greece’s honour for personal interests.

Agamemnon challenges this argument, persuading Menelaus that no war is worth the life of a child. Following their agreement, Agamemnon decides to deliver the letter to Clytemnestra personally, but it is too late. A messenger announces the imminent arrival of the wedding party, including Clytemnestra. Agamemnon is stunned by the news and resigns himself to fate: ‘From now on, fate rules. Not I.’

When Clytemnestra arrives at Aulis, she is filled with happiness about her daughter’s imminent marriage to Achilles. However, Iphigenia’s first meeting with her father is fraught with double entendre, which is devastating. As she speaks of the wedding she expects, he speaks of her impending sacrifice. Although they use the same words, their meanings could not be more tragically divergent.

When Agamemnon meets Clytemnestra, he tries in vain to persuade her to return to Argos without witnessing the ‘wedding’. Clytemnestra and Achilles soon discover the truth from Agamemnon’s old servant.

Achilles is overwhelmed with shame and anger when he learns of the deception that has ensnared him in this tragedy. Clytemnestra is furious and, in desperation, confronts her husband one last time.

However, Agamemnon is ensnared in his own trap and cannot retreat, as Odysseus has threatened to disclose the true nature of the sacrifice to the army if Agamemnon fails to comply with the oracle’s demand. Meanwhile, preparations for the sacrifice progress swiftly. ‘Let's not delay; the wind is picking up,’ declares Calchas.

Odysseus finally acts by revealing the chosen sacrificial victim to the army. Now there is no turning back. Iphigenia briefly manages to escape, but is soon captured by Odysseus’s soldiers. In a poignant scene reminiscent of the dying sacred stag at the beginning of the film, Iphigenia is seen lying exhausted and breathless on the forest floor, evoking a sense of impending tragedy. Her captors return her to the camp to face her fate.

Resigned to her destiny, she has a heart-rending final meeting with her father before ascending the hill to her fate. Meanwhile, Agamemnon, surrounded by his jubilant army, watches helplessly from below as Iphigenia reaches the summit and is swiftly seized by Calchas. At that moment, as the wind rises, Agamemnon rushes up the steps. At the top, his expression reflects the assumed sight of his daughter’s death.

With a strong wind now blowing, the men rush to the beach, and launch their ships to set sail for Troy and its promised riches.

The play as it exists in the manuscripts ends with a messenger reporting that Iphigenia has been replaced on the altar by a deer. However, most critics accept that this is not an authentic part of Euripides’s original text but the work of an interpolator. A fragment of the play may indicate that Artemis appeared to console Clytemnestra and assure her that her daughter had not been sacrificed after all. But if this is a surviving reference to Euripides’s original ending which has not survived.

Cacoyannis made a number of changes to Iphigenia at Aulis to adapt it for modern cinema, with some significant divergences from the original plot. He does away with the traditional Greek tragic chorus originally used to explain key scenes, replacing it in some cases with a chorus of Greek soldiers. He introduces as dramatis personae Odysseus and Calchas, who are not present but are mentioned in the original play, to further the plot and voice certain themes.

As in Euripides’s original play, Cacoyannis is deliberately ambiguous in his ending. Although Greek myth says Iphigenia was miraculously saved at the moment of her death, this is not depicted in either the play or the film. Her true fate is left in question, but Agamemnon’s expression leaves little doubt that his daughter has been killed.

In Euripides’s Iphigenia at Aulis, Iphigenia’s rescue is described second-hand by a messenger. In the film, there is no overt reference to this event: the audience sees clouds and mist, followed by a shot of Agamemnon’s shocked expression.

A stall in Ephesus sells souvenir statues of Artemis, alongside figurines of Greek philosophers and the Virgin Mary (Photograph: Patrick Comerford)

The testimonies woven into Stephen Sharkey’s new interpretation of Iphigenia opening at the Arcola Theatre in London tonight are said to be raw, intimate and fiercely honest. They speak of motherhood, loss, duty and war, and they reframe this classical play by Euripides for a modern world and offer a powerful counterpoint to a story shaped by the decisions of men.

The role of gender in Iphigenia in Aulis becomes clear in the play. Classical Greek was a male-dominated culture, the majority of Greek warriors and heroes were male, and women had no political rights or rights over their own bodies – their role was to bear children and listen to their husbands or, if they are unmarried, their fathers.

As a woman, Iphigenia has no true choice in who she marries, as it is her father’s role to select and approve of a husband. Even when Achilles and Agamemnon reveal the truth, Iphigenia knows she has no choice and is forced to beg her father to change his mind.

Eventually, she concludes that her sacrifice would be worth the furthering of the war. She notes that it would be better that her life was lost than the lives of all the soldiers gathered there, as a woman's life bears a lot less value than the life of a man. She feels obliged to make the decision because of the subservient role she is expected to play to the men in her life. Euripides’s Iphigenia in Aulis highlights the importance of gender roles in both the decision Iphigenia makes and in how she is treated by her father, Agamemnon.

The play also deals with the themes of sacrifice and duty. Iphigenia is willing to make a great sacrifice to further the Trojan War, a war that she is not involved in directly herself.

Many major Greek artworks depict the Greek warrior or the art of warfare, including buildings, statues, coins, and vases. A major theme in war is sacrifice, and it was regarded as a great honour to die in battle as a hero.

Iphigenia recognises this when she chooses to make the sacrifice so that the Greek warriors could sail onwards to Troy. She bears a great sense of duty to her country, and she chooses to lay her life down not for her sake, but for the sake of the war and her country. She only asks that her name is written in history for her great sacrifice, although she does not get this. In some translations, Artemis sees Iphigenia’s sense of duty and her willingness to die an honourable death.

A bust of Euripides in the Achilleon Palace in Corfu (Photograph: Patrick Comerford)

Euripides wrote Iphigenia in Aulis between 408 BCE and 406. Although the Trojan Wars in the 13th or 12th century BCE, provides the setting, the more immediate context is the Peloponnesian Wars between Athens and Sparta fought in 431-421 BCE and 413-404 BCE, or the earlier Persian Wars that lastedfrom 499 until 449 BCE.

As wars and conflicts unfold and intensify in those regions in recent weeks, Euripides and his Iphigenia in Aulis become even more relevant today.

The German historian Heinz Richter (1939-2024) speculated that the debate over who is Greek and who is Turk, who is European and who is non-European, may have started as early as the Persian Wars, perhaps even from the Trojan War, and continued into modern times. The US Defence Secretary Pete Hegseth posted ‘Back to the Stone Age’ on X a week ago (2 April 2026), echoing Trump’s threat to bring Iran ‘back to the Stone Ages, where they belong.’ Iranian diplomats responded directly: ‘Stone Age? At a time when you were still in caves searching for fire, we were inscribing human rights on the Cyrus Cylinder. We endured the storm of Alexander and the Mongol invasions and remained; because Iran is not just a country, it is a civilisation.’

The Cyrus Cylinder, dating to 539 BCE, is one of the earliest declarations of human rights.

Other official Iranian responses added: ‘We will not be driven back to the Stone Age by your bombings. We are a nation with 7,000 years of civilisation.’

Trump, in his crude and illiterate failure to understand the very foundations of civilisation that have endured for so long, shows no appreciation of the place of Persian culture in shaping the classical world and our cultural identity today.

Once again, the demands of another Artemis (this time Artemis II) distract from the real lessons of the futility and tragedy of war, from the consequences of impetuous and capricious decision-making by rulers who would be kings and who are driven more by their own needs to project a sense of self-importance, of the way the decision to go to war impulsively sets off a chain of events that are soon beyond control, of the dangers of listening to voices that claim to be divinely inspired or sanctioned, of the ways war divide and destroy families, and of the deadly consequences of war for young people who have had no say in the decision-making processes yet are sacrificed on the altar not of a god but of a blustering and ill-advised king.

Trump has set in motion a future chain of events over which he has no control. Like Agamemnon, he may yet rue the future he has cursed us with and cry out: ‘From now on, fate rules. Not I.’

The Greeks have a word for it: 60, Αύριο (Avrio), Tomorrow

Looking forward to tomorrow … sunset at the Sunset Taverna, below the slopes of the Fortezza in Rethymnon (Photograph: Patrick Comerford)

Patrick Comerford

There is an old joke in Crete that tells of how a tourist, eager to learn a few phrases of Greek, asks whether there is a word in Greek that is equivalent to the Spanish mañana.

‘Yes’ says his Greek friend. But he stops, ponders a little, and then, after a few moments of deep thought, he draws a deep breath, and adds hesitantly: ‘Yes, but, but it doesn’t convey the same sense of urgency.’

It is no accident that the Greek word αύριο (avrio, tomorrow) lacks the sense of urgency conveyed in mañana.

Although the word avrio means ‘tomorrow’ or ‘not today’, it often carries a cultural connotation of a relaxed approach to time, meaning ‘when life allows’, not just the next calendar day. It is an integral part of an approach to life that values living in the present without giving in to the deadlines set by others.

The literal meaning of avrio is the day after today. It comes from the Classical Greek word αὔριον (aúrion), a derivative from ἀήρ, meaning a breeze or the morning air. The word is used, for example, by Homer in the Iliad and the Odyssey, Sophocles (Oedipus Tyrannus, Ichneutae and Trachiniae), Euripides (Alcestis and Hippolytus) and Xenophon (Economics). It is found too throughout the New Testament, for example in two verses in the Gospel reading next Sunday (8 February 2026):

εἰ δὲ τὸν χόρτον τοῦ ἀγροῦ σήμερον ὄντα καὶ αὔριον εἰς κλίβανον βαλλόμενον ὁ θεὸς οὕτως ἀμφιέννυσιν, οὐ πολλῷ μᾶλλον ὑμᾶς, ὀλιγόπιστοι;

But if God so clothes the grass of the field, which is alive today and tomorrow is thrown into the oven, will he not much more clothe you – you of little faith? (Matthew 6: 30).

μὴ οὖν μεριμνήσητε εἰς τὴν αὔριον, ἡ γὰρ αὔριον μεριμνήσει ἑαυτῆς· ἀρκετὸν τῇ ἡμέρᾳ ἡ κακία αὐτῆς.

Therefore do not worry about tomorrow, for tomorrow will worry about itself. Each day has enough trouble of its own. (Matthew 6: 34).

However, in its Greek cultural context today, the word is imbued with concepts of living without rigid deadlines, embracing a slower pace of life, and understanding that things happen when they are meant to.

In everyday conversation in Greek, the word is frequently used to say ‘not today’, ‘later’, or ‘not now’.

Many popular Greek songs have the word avrio in their title or as their theme, including songs by Stelios Kazantzidis, Ίσως αύριο (Isos Avrio, ‘Maybe Tomorrow’), a classic Zeibekiko song, and in traditional songs like those by Aspasia Stratigou, or in songs such as Σήμερα και Αύριο (Símero ke Avrio, ‘Today and Tomorrow’), a common theme, often with lyrics about love lasting forever.


Ίσως αύριο (Isos Avrio, Maybe Tomorrow) by Stelios Kazantzidis, a classic zeibekiko

Ίσως αύριο (Isos Avrio, Maybe Tomorrow) by Stelios Kazantzidis

Όλοι με ρωτούν πώς έχω καταντήσει
κι εγώ με απορία τους κοιτώ
κλάψε καρδιά μου σήμερα
τη μαύρη σου τη μοίρα
κλάψε για τον κατήφορο
που στη ζωή μου πήρα

Ίσως αύριο χτυπήσει πικραμένα
του θανάτου η καμπάνα και για μένα

Έχω απ’ τη ζωή παράπονο μεγάλο
δεν ένιωσε τον πόνο μου κανείς
μη με κατηγορήσετε
αφού κανείς δεν ξέρει
πριν πέσω τόσο χαμηλά
τι έχω υποφέρει

Ίσως αύριο χτυπήσει πικραμένα
του θανάτου η καμπάνα και για μένα

What will again happen tomorrow,
For years I’ve asked,
New troubles, new sorrows
Await me, the poor soul.

May tomorrow never dawn,
For new misfortunes
And pain it will bring me.

Everyone awaits tomorrow
With hope in their hearts,
But for me, no hope remains
In this world, no hope at all.

May tomorrow never dawn,
For new misfortunes
And pain it will bring me.

If only you knew, my dear mother, how much I suffer in life,
In this unjust and deceitful world
You’d never have brought a child into it.

May tomorrow never dawn, For new misfortunes the wicked will give me.

Waiting for tomorrow … sunset behind the Fortezza and the harbour in Rethymnon (Photograph: Patrick Comerford)

Αύριο πάλι (Avrio páli, ‘Tomorrow Again’) is a poem by the Greek poet, translator and lyricist Nikos Gatsos (1911-1992) that has been set to music and recorded by singers such as Maria Farantouri, as well as Grigoris Bithikotsis, Manolis Mitsias, Yannis Parios, Dimitra Galani and Dimitris Mitropanos.

Nikos Gatsos had a profound influence on the post-war generation of Greek poets. His blend of surrealism, symbolism and folk song was widely admired and made him one of the great 20th century Greek poets, alongside his friends the Nobel laureates Odysseas Elytis and George Seferis.

Nikos Gatsos (Νίκος Γκάτσος) was born on 8 December in 1911 in Asea in Arcadia in the Peloponnese, where he finished primary school. He attended secondary school (gymnasio) in Tripoli, and then moved to Athens, where he studied literature, philosophy and history at the University of Athens for two years.

By then, he was familiar with the poetry of Kostis Palamas and Dionysios Solomos, Greek folk songs, and trends in European poetry. In Athens, he became part of the literary circles of the day becoming a lifelong friends of Odysseus Elytis and published some of his poems in the magazines Nea Estia (1931-1932) and Rythmos (1933). He also published literary criticism in Μακεδονικές Ημέρες (Makedonikes Imeres), Ρυθμός (Rythmos), and Νέα Γράμματα (Nea Grammata). He met Odysseus Elytis in 1936, and became his literary ‘brother’ in poetry.

In 1943, Aetos published his long poem ‘Amorgos’, a major contribution to modern Greek poetry and praised combining surrealism and traditional Greek folk poetry motifs. He went on to publish three more poems: ‘Elegeio’ (1946) in Filologika Chronika, ‘The Knight and Death; (Ο ιππότης κι ο θάνατος) (1947), and ‘Song of Old Times’ (Τραγούδι του παλιού καιρού) (1963), dedicated to Seferis, in the magazine Tachydromos.

After World War II, he worked as a translator with the Greek-British Review and as a radio director with Ellinikí Radiofonía. He also began writing lyrics for Manos Hatzidakis, and collaborated with Mikis Theodorakis and other Greek composers. He translated various plays, and his magnum opus was his translation into Greek of the Spanish tragedy Blood Wedding by Federico Garcia Lorca.

He was close to the composer Manos Hadjidakis and the singer Nana Mouskouri, and his friends included Philip Sherrard, Peter Levi, Peter Jay and the Limerick-born poet Desmond O’Grady (1935-2014), who translated the poetry of CP Cavafy. He died in Athens on 12 May 1992 at the age of 80.

Αύριο πάλι: Νίκος Γκάτσος

Αύριο πάλι, αύριο πάλι θα 'ρθω να σε βρω
Κρίμα που δεν με πιστεύεις
Κρίμα που μ' αφήνεις μόνο μου να ζω

Αύριο πάλι, αύριο πάλι θα 'ρθω να σου πω
Κρίμα που δεν με πιστεύεις
Κρίμα που δεν ξέρεις πόσο σ' αγαπώ.

Αύριο πάλι, αύριο πάλι θα 'ρθω να σε βρω
Κρίμα που δεν με πιστεύεις
Κρίμα που μ' αφήνεις μόνο μου να ζω

Αύριο πάλι, αύριο πάλι θα 'ρθω να σου πω
Κρίμα που δεν με πιστεύεις
Κρίμα που δεν ξέρεις πόσο σ' αγαπώ

Tomorrow again (translated by Marina Boronina)

Tomorrow again, tomorrow again I will come to find you
It’s a pity that you don’t trust me
It’s a pity that you leave me alone to live

Tomorrow again, tomorrow again I will come to tell you
It’s a pity that you don’t trust me
It’s a pity that you don’t know how I love you.



Yesterday was χθες (chthés); the day before yesterday was προχθές (prochthés); today is σήμερα (simera); tomorrow is αύριο (avrio); the day after tomorrow is μεθαύριο (methávrio).

Yes, of course, αύριο can mean tomorrow. But waiting for tomorrow can sometimes feel like waiting for ever. Relax, sit back, and enjoy it … until tomorrow.

Αύριο.

Tomorrow’s woes … a sign in a taverna in Tsesmes, near Rethymnon (Photograph: Patrick Comerford)

Previous words in this series:

1, Neologism, Νεολογισμός.

2, Welcoming the stranger, Φιλοξενία.

3, Bread, Ψωμί.

4, Wine, Οίνος and Κρασί.

5, Yogurt, Γιαούρτι.

6, Orthodoxy, Ορθοδοξία.

7, Sea, Θᾰ́λᾰσσᾰ.

8,Theology, Θεολογία.

9, Icon, Εἰκών.

10, Philosophy, Φιλοσοφία.

11, Chaos, Χάος.

12, Liturgy, Λειτουργία.

13, Greeks, Ἕλληνες or Ρωμαίοι.

14, Mañana, Αύριο.

15, Europe, Εὐρώπη.

16, Architecture, Αρχιτεκτονική.

17, The missing words.

18, Theatre, θέατρον, and Drama, Δρᾶμα.

19, Pharmacy, Φᾰρμᾰκείᾱ.

20, Rhapsody, Ραψῳδός.

21, Holocaust, Ολοκαύτωμα.

22, Hygiene, Υγιεινή.

23, Laconic, Λακωνικός.

24, Telephone, Τηλέφωνο.

25, Asthma, Ασθμα.

26, Synagogue, Συναγωγή.

27, Diaspora, Διασπορά.

28, School, Σχολείο.

29, Muse, Μούσα.

30, Monastery, Μοναστήρι.

31, Olympian, Ολύμπιος.

32, Hypocrite, Υποκριτής.

33, Genocide, Γενοκτονία.

34, Cinema, Κινημα.

35, autopsy and biopsy

36, Exodus, ἔξοδος

37, Bishop, ἐπίσκοπος

38, Socratic, Σωκρατικὸς

39, Odyssey, Ὀδύσσεια

40, Practice, πρᾶξις

41, Idiotic, Ιδιωτικός

42, Pentecost, Πεντηκοστή

43, Apostrophe, ἀποστροφή

44, catastrophe, καταστροφή

45, democracy, δημοκρατία

46, ‘Αρχή, beginning, Τέλος, end

47, ‘Αποκάλυψις, Apocalypse

48, ‘Απόκρυφα, Apocrypha

49, Ἠλεκτρον (Elektron), electric

50, Metamorphosis, Μεταμόρφωσις

51, Bimah, βῆμα

52, ἰχθύς (ichthýs) and ψάρι (psari), fish.

53, Τὰ Βιβλία (Ta Biblia), The Bible

54, Φῐλοξενῐ́ᾱ (Philoxenia), true hospitality

55, εκκλησία (ekklesia), the Church

56, ναός (naos) and ἱερός (ieros), a church

57, Χριστούγεννα (Christougenna), Christmas

58, ἐπιφάνεια (epipháneia), θεοφάνεια, (theopháneia), Epiphany and Theophany

59, Ζέφυρος (Zéphuros), the West Wind

60, Αύριο (Avrio), Tomorrow.

61, καλημέρα (κaliméra), ‘Good Morning’, and καλαμάρι, κalamári, ‘squid’.

Series to be continued

Open tomorrow … a sign in a shop in Platanias, near Rethymnon (Photograph: Patrick Comerford)

Marking the 100th birthday of Manos Hatzidakis, composer of and ‘Never on Sunday’, and his family links with Rethymnon

The composer Manos Hatzidakis was born 100 years ago on 23 October 1925

Patrick Comerford

The Greek composer Manos Hatzidakis (1925-1994), who is often associated with the title song of the film ‘Never on Sunday’, was born 100 years ago today, on 23 October 1925, into a family with strong connection with Rethymnon and the island of Greece.

Hadtzidakis is widely considered as one of the greatest Greek composers, and he was one of the main proponents of the ‘Éntekhno’ form of music, along with Mikis Theodorakis.

When my sons were small children, to help them endure long car journeys, I would put on tapes of music composed by Hatzidakis and compiled by my friend Manolis Chrysakis from Iraklion and Piskopiano in Crete.

Manos Hatzidakis (also spelled Hadjidakis) was born Μάνος Χατζιδάκις on 23 October 1925 in Xanthi in north-east Greece. His father Georgios Hatzidakis was a lawyer from the village of Myrthios, 20 km south of Rethymno, near Plakias on the south coast of Crete; his mother Aliki Arvanitidou was from Adrianoupolis.

The Hatzidakis family was from Myrthios, 20 km south of Rethymno, near Plakias on the south coast of Crete (Photograph: Patrick Comerford)

The Hatzidakis family took part in the many Cretan revolts against the Ottoman Empire in the 19th century. Another member of the family was the philologist Georgios Nicolaou Chatzidakis (1848-1941). He is celebrated as the father of linguistics in Greece, and his statue stands outside the town hall in Rethymnon.

The family of Manos Hatzidakis prospered from sales of tobacco grown locally. But the boy’s father Georgios Hatzidakis died in 1931 and his mother took Manos from Xanthi to Athens, where they lived in comparative poverty.

Hatzidakis studied music theory with Menelaos Pallandios, in the period 1940-1943. At the same time, he studied philosophy at the University of Athens. However, he never completed this course.

He met and connected with other musicians, writers, and intellectuals, including George Seferis, Odysseas Elytis, Angelos Sikelianos, Yannis Tsarouchis and especially the poet Nikos Gatsos, who became a close friend.

During the last stages of the Axis occupation of Greece, Hatzidakis was active in the Greek Resistance through the United Panhellenic Organisation of Youth (EPON), the youth branch of the major resistance organisation EAM. There he met the composer Mikis Theodorakis and the two soon developed a strong friendship.

Hatzidakis’s first composition was the tune for the song ‘Paper Moon’ (Χάρτινο το Φεγγαράκι) in Tennessee Williams’s A Streetcar Named Desire, staged by Karolos Koun’s Art Theatre of Athens. His first piano piece, ‘For a Little White Seashell’ (Για μια Μικρή Λευκή Αχιβάδα), came out in 1947, and in 1948 he set a collection of poetry by Nikos Gatsos to music, ‘Blood Wedding’.

Hatzidakis co-founded the Greek Dance Theatre Company with the choreographer Rallou Manou in 1949.

That year, he shook the musical establishment in Greece with an influential lecture on rebetika, the urban folk songs that flourished in Greek cities, mainly Piraeus, after the influx of refugees from Asia Minor in 1922. He focused on the economy of expression, the deep traditional roots and the genuine emotions displayed in rebetika, and by composers such as Markos Vamvakaris and Vassilis Tsitsanis.

Hatzidakis put theory to practice and adapted classic rebetika in his 1951 piano work, ‘Six Popular Pictures’ (Έξι Λαϊκές Ζωγραφιές), later also presented as a folk ballet.

At this point, he began writing immensely popular songs and film soundtracks alongside more serious works, such as ‘The CNS Cycle’ (O Kyklos tou CNS), a song cycle for piano and voice in 1954. He wrote the score for Michael Cacoyannis’s film Stella (1955) with Melina Mercouri singing the film’s best-known song ‘Love that became a double-edged knife’ (Αγάπη που 'γινες δίκοπο μαχαίρι). A year later, he composed the score for the film Laterna (Λατέρνα, φτώχεια και φιλότιμο) in 1955.

Hatzidakis met Nana Mouskouri in 1958, and described her as his first ‘ideal interpreter’.

Manos Hatzidakis refused to collect his Academy Award in 1961

Hatzidakis achieved international fame and success in 1960 with his song ‘Never on Sunday’, or ‘The Children of Piraeus’ (Τα παιδιά του Πειραιά), sung by Melina Mercouri in Jules Dassin’s film Never on Sunday (Ποτέ την Κυριακή).

The song won Hatzidakis an Academy Award for Best Original Song and became a worldwide hit. But he did not attend the Academy Award ceremony in 1961, and refused to collect his award, saying the film with a prostitute as its protagonist reflected negatively on Athens and misrepresented the city.

Hatzidakis founded a music competition to encourage Greek composers in 1962, with the first award going to Iannis Xenakis in 1963. At this time, he produced the musical Street of Dreams (Οδός Ονείρων) and completed his score for Aristophanes’ Birds (Όρνιθες), an Art Theatre production that caused an uproar over Koun’s revolutionary direction. The score was later used by Maurice Béjart’s Ballet of the 20th Century.

Hatzidakis wrote the music for ‘All Alone Am I’, for which Arthur Altman added the English lyrics and then gave to Brenda Lee. His album 15 Vespers (Δεκαπέντε Εσπερινοί), including the song ‘Mr Antonis’ (‘Ο Κυρ Αντώνης’), was released in 1964. His album Gioconda’s Smile (Το Χαμόγελο της Τζιοκόντας) was released 60 years ago in 1965.

Hatzidakis went to New York in 1966 for the premiere of Illya Darling, a Broadway musical based on Never on Sunday and starring Melina Mercouri. He then lived in the US from 1966 to 1972, when he completed several more major compositions and compilations, including Rhythmology, Gioconda’s Smile and the song cycle Magnus Eroticus (Megalos Erotikos), in which he drew on classical works by Sappho and Euripides, mediaeval folk songs, George Hortatzis’s romance ‘Erophile’, works by modern poets, including Dionysios Solomos, Constantine Cavafy, Odysseus Elytis and Nikos Gatsos, as well as the Biblical ‘Song of Songs’.

His album Reflections was a collaboration with the New York Rock and Roll Ensemble.



Despite his opposition to the colonels’ regime, Hatzidakis returned to Greece in 1972 and recorded Magnus Eroticus with Fleury Dantonaki and Dimitris Psarianos.

After the junta collapsed in 1974, he became active in public life and assumed a number of leadership positions in the Athens State Orchestra (KOA), the Greek National Opera (ELS/GNO), and the Hellenic Broadcasting Corporation (ERT). In 1989, he founded and directed the Orchestra of Colours, an ensemble performing lesser-known works and the music of Greek composers.

Hatzidakis influenced a broad swathe of Greek culture through his writings and radio broadcasts. In his later years, he explained that his work was meant not to entertain but to reveal and he disclaimed part of his work, written for the Greek cinema and theatre, saying it was unrepresentative.

Manos Hatzidakis died in Athens 31 years ago from a heart attack on 15 June 1994 at the age of 68. He was buried in Paiania.

Daily prayer in Ordinary Time 2025: 99, Saturday 16 August 2025

‘Let the little children come to me, and do not stop them; for it is to such as these that the kingdom of heaven belongs’ (Matthew 19: 14) … what does the future hold for the children on our streets? (Photograph: Patrick Comerford)

Patrick Comerford

We are continuing in Ordinary Time in the Church Calendar and tomorrow is the Ninth Sunday after Trinity (Trinity IX).

The football season begins in earnest today, and I am hoping to find an appropriate place see Aston Villa’s opening game, a home fixture against Newcastle United, whch kicks off at 12:30.

Before today begins, I am taking some quiet time this morning to give thanks, for reflection, prayer and reading in these ways:

1, today’s Gospel reading;

2, a reflection on the Gospel reading;

3, a prayer from the USPG prayer diary;

4, the Collects and Post-Communion prayer of the day.

Melina Mercouri’s dream was of an ‘idealised place / Where a child might grow tall with European-ness, at home and in love’ (Thomas McCarthy) … the statue of Melina Mercouri near the Acropolis in Athens (Photograph: Patrick Comerford)

Matthew 19: 13-15 (NRSVA):

13 Then little children were being brought to him in order that he might lay his hands on them and pray. The disciples spoke sternly to those who brought them; 14 but Jesus said, ‘Let the little children come to me, and do not stop them; for it is to such as these that the kingdom of heaven belongs.’ 15 And he laid his hands on them and went on his way.


Melina Mercouri singing ‘The Children of Piraeus’

Today’s Reflection:

In this morning’s Gospel reading at the Eucharist, when ‘little children’ are brought to Jesus, he reminds the disciples that it is ‘to such as these that the kingdom of heaven belongs’, and he then blesses them.

The phrase used here twice for ‘little children’ is one word, παιδία (padía). It is a term of endearment, ‘my dear children,’ but it is also used, alongside a similar word τεκνία (teknía), in I John as a term of familiar address or endearment for adult members of the church – our equivalent today of men addressing their friends as ‘lads’, ‘boys’ or ‘guys’.

At the height of the financial crisis in Greece in 2015, I saw a parent on a protest in Athens with a T-shirt asking: «Γονεις χωρις δουλεια πωσ θα ζησουν τα παιδια», ‘If the parents don’t have jobs, how will the children survive?’

That evening, as Greeks prepared to vote in a referendum on their nation’s future, I wondered what was going to happen to the children of Greece after that Sunday? And I found myself thinking about the song ‘The Children of Piraeus’, written in Greek by Manos Hatzidakis as Τα Παιδιά του Πειραιά (Ta Pediá tou Pireá), and first sung by Melina Mercouri in the film Never on Sunday (1960), directed by Jules Dassin and starring Melina Mercouri.

The original song title Τα Παιδιά του Πειραιά is usually translated as ‘The Children of Piraeus’. But in Greek the word παιδιά (paidiá) can also have the same meaning as kids, guys or men.

Never on Sunday (Ποτέ Την Κυριακή, Pote Tin Kyriaki) is a Greek black-and-white romantic comedy film starring Melina Mercouri, who was one of the potent figures in resistance to the colonels’ junta in Greece more than half a century ago.

The title song of the film won the Academy Award for Best Original Song in 1960, a first for a foreign-language picture. The song won Manos Hatzidakis an Academy Award for Best Original Song and became a worldwide hit. But Hatzidakis, whose family was from Rethymnon, did not attend the Academy Award ceremony in 1961, and refused to collect his award, saying the film with a prostitute as its protagonist reflected negatively on Athens and misrepresented Athens.

The original Greek lyrics by Hadjidakis, as well as the translations in German, French, Italian and Spanish sing of the Children of Piraeus, the port city of Athens – do not mention ‘Never on Sunday’, which is only found in the English lyrics. The lyrics to the English version of the song were written by Billy Towne, with five versions reaching the UK Singles Chart.

In the original song, the main female character of the film, Illya (played by Melina Mercouri), sings of her joyful life in Piraeus:

If I search the world over
I’ll find no other port
Which has the magic
Of my Port Piraeus.

Although she earns her living as a prostitute, she longs to meet a man who is just as full of joie de vivre as she is. A love-smitten American, Homer Thrace (Jules Dassin), and a handsome Greek-Italian dockhand, Tonio (George Foundas), compete to win her heart and find they are learning lessons about the secret of happiness and life itself.

The film made Melina Mercouri an international star, won her an Academy Award and introduced Greek bouzouki music to the rest of the world. In the original soundtrack, the bouzouki solo sections were played by Giorgos Zampetas, one of the greatest bouzouki artists of the rebetiko era of Greek music. He began his career as a songwriter in 1952, and was popular in Greece throughout the 1950s and 1960s.

Melina Mercouri was also an acclaimed classical actor. She played the title role in Phaedra (Φαίδρα), an adaptation by Margarita Lymberaki of Hippolytus, the tragic drama by Euripides about how the wilful actions of parents can have devastating and deathly consequences for their children.

The film is set in Paris, London and the Greek island of Hydra. The music was composed by Mikis Theodorakis and her recording of Αστέρι μου φεγγάρι μου (Asteri mou, Fengari mou, ‘My Star, My Moonlight’) remains a popular song in Greece.

Melina Mercouri became one of the potent figures in resistance to the oppressive junta of the colonels in Greece following their coup in 1967. Melina and Jules fled Greece and in 1970 they were accused of financing a plot to overthrow the regime. The charges were dropped but the interior minister, Colonel Stylianos Pattakos, revoked her Greek citizenship and confiscated her property.

When she was stripped of her citizenship, she said: ‘I was born a Greek and I will die a Greek. Pattakos was born a fascist and he will die a fascist.’

Later, she was a founding member of PASOK and became a prominent politician. She was elected to Parliament for Piraeus, became Minister of Culture in Andreas Papandreou’s cabinet, and devoted much of her career to demanding the return of the Parthenon Marbles from the British Museum to Athens.

The title of her autobiography, I was born a Greek, comes from her celebrated riposte when her Greek citizenship was revoked by the colonels.

In his poem ‘Athens 2005’, the poet Thomas McCarthy who was born in Cappoquin, Co Waterford, writes of

… Melina Mercouri’s dream, her idealised place
Where a child might grow tall with European-ness, at home and in love

From the Shannon river to the Danube Volga, or Vistula; consoled
By culture for all the horrors of war and exile …

It is a dream for children that is a reminder that it is ‘to such as these that the kingdom of heaven belongs’.


Melina Mercouri sings ‘My Star, My Moonlight’, composed by Mikis Theodorakis for Phaedra

Today’s Prayers (Saturday 16 August 2025):

The theme this week (10 to 16 August) in Pray with the World Church, the prayer diary of the Anglican mission agency USPG (United Society Partners in the Gospel), has been ‘Serving God in the Gulf’ (pp 26-27). This theme was introduced last Sunday with reflections from Joyaline Rajamani, Administrator at the Church of the Epiphany, Doha, Anglican Church in Qatar.

The USPG Prayer Diary today (Saturday 16 August 2025) invites us to pray reflecting on these words:

Heavenly Father, we lift up the Church of the Epiphany and all Christian communities in Qatar. Help them to be instruments of your love, fostering harmony and coexistence, and reflecting your kingdom on earth.

The Collect of the Day:

Almighty Lord and everlasting God,
we beseech you to direct, sanctify and govern
both our hearts and bodies
in the ways of your laws
and the works of your commandments;
that through your most mighty protection, both here and ever,
we may be preserved in body and soul;
through our Lord and Saviour Jesus Christ,
who is alive and reigns with you,
in the unity of the Holy Spirit,
one God, now and for ever.

The Post-Communion Prayer:

Strengthen for service, Lord,
the hands that have taken holy things;
may the ears which have heard your word
be deaf to clamour and dispute;
may the tongues which have sung your praise be free from deceit;
may the eyes which have seen the tokens of your love
shine with the light of hope;
and may the bodies which have been fed with your body
be refreshed with the fullness of your life;
glory to you for ever.

Additional Collect:

Lord God,
your Son left the riches of heaven
and became poor for our sake:
when we prosper save us from pride,
when we are needy save us from despair,
that we may trust in you alone;
through Jesus Christ our Lord.

Collect on the Eve of Trinity IX:

Almighty God,
who sent your Holy Spirit
to be the life and light of your Church:
open our hearts to the riches of your grace,
that we may bring forth the fruit of the Spirit
in love and joy and peace;
through Jesus Christ your Son our Lord,
who is alive and reigns with you,
in the unity of the Holy Spirit,
one God, now and for ever.

Christ with the children … a stained glass window in the Comberford Chapel in Saint Editha’s Church, Tamworth (Photograph: Patrick Comerford)

Yesterday’s reflection

Continued tomorrow

Scripture quotations are from the New Revised Standard Version Bible: Anglicised Edition copyright © 1989, 1995, National Council of the Churches of Christ in the United States of America. Used by permission. All rights reserved worldwide. http://nrsvbibles.org

Greece pays tribute to the composer Mikis Theodorakis on his 100th birthday

‘My whole life is close to you’ … today celebrated the 100th birthday of the Greek composer Mikis Theodorakis

Patrick Comerford

Today marks the 100th anniversary of the birth of the Greek composer Mikis Theodorakis (1925-2021), one of the most influential composers in Greece, who was born 100 years ago on 29 July 1925.

A series of concerts, around the globe and throughout Greece this year are marking this centenary, with centenary celebrations paying tribute to Theodorakis, who would have turned 100 today. His work – from the Mauthausen Cycle to film scores to interpretations of Greek folk music and songs – has profoundly shaped and defined Greek music today.

Mikis Theodorakis, composer, conductor, and politician, was born on the island of Chios on 29 July 1925 and died in Athens almost four years ago on 2 September 2021.

As one of the most prominent figures in Greek music, Theodorakis is more relevant than ever and continues to resonate around the world. His music expresses his political values and fused his idealism and his commitment to freedom.

His scores for films such as Zorba the Greek and Electra, his interpretations of classical plays and drama, or his settings for the works of contemporary Greek poets such as Odysseas Elytis, Giorgos Seferis and Yiannis Ritsos, show how Theodorakis catches Greek cultural imaginations, combining Greek traditional music and classical composition, high art and popular culture.

In January 1968, 31 years after Seferis completed ‘Epiphany, 1937’, the composer Mikis Theodorakis conceived of it as a choral piece, Επιφάνια-Αβέρωφ (Epiphania-Averof), naming the cantata after the prison in central in Athens. He had been detained there since August 1967, after the colonels right-wing junta had seized power on 21 April 1967, and was denied the Christmas amnesty extended to many other political prisoners in December 1967.

Gail Holst’s book, Theodorakis: Myth and Politics in Modern Greek Music (Amsterdam, 1980), shows that for Theodorakis setting the entire ‘Epiphany, 1937’ to music was a tour de force, his own epiphanic moment in the junta’s jail cells.

Theodorakis worked on the poem as a cantata to be performed with the help of his fellow prisoners. Each evening, while other prisoners listened to the radio in a communal hall from 7:30 to 8:30, Theodorakis used the hour to train his choir of 10 prisoners.

The poem’s first-person-singular refrain Κράτησα τη ζωή μου (Kratêsa tê zôê mou) is translated into English by Keeley and Sherrard as ‘I’ve kept a rein on my life’. It could also be translated as ‘I’ve kept a hold on my life’. In this refrain, Theodorakis heard a multiplicity of voices, the universality of their utterance further enhanced by the composer’s preference for a mixed chorus of both men and women.

This recurring phrase throughout the main part of the poem struck Theodorakis’s sensitivity and curiosity. Seferis’s refrain creates a sense of monotony and repetition and at the same time the sense of one carrying something heavy.

Gail Holst’s book, Theodorakis: Myth and Politics in Modern Greek Music (1980), shows that for Theodorakis setting the entire ‘Epiphany, 1937’ to music was a tour de force, his own epiphanic moment in the junta’s jail cells.



The key figure in these concerts and events is Maria Farantouri, who worked closely with Theodorakis for many years and is the most important voice in his oeuvre. She is known for her powerful, soulful and sensitive voice, and she continues to captivate audiences with her interpretations of his work.

Her version of Το γελαστό παιδί (The Laughing Boy) celebrates the uprising in the Athens Polytechnic on 17 November 1973 that led to the downfall of the colonels within a year. The song, composed by Mikis Theodorakis, was first included on the soundtrack of the Costas-Garvas movie Z (1969), and was quickly linked with resistance to the junta.

For Greeks, it is a song about the death of so many young people killed resisting the regime. When the regime was toppled in 1974, Mikis Theodorakis and many singers organised a concert to celebrate the return of democracy to Greece, and Maria Farantouri sang one of the most touching songs of the time.

There was a palpable response when she intentionally changed the original reference to August to the month of November to honour the students killed in November 1973. The original Greek lyrics are by the poet Vassilis Rotas, but they are based on earlier poem by the Irish playwright Brendan Behan.

Some years ago, my friends Paddy Sammon, a former Irish diplomat once based in Athens, and Damian Mac Con Uladh, an Irish journalist from Ballinasloe now based in Corinth, have researched the Irish background to this great Greek classic of resistance to oppression. The original laughing boy in Brendan Behan’s poem is Michael Collins. Theodorakis adapted the Greek translation, and adapted it in the context of Grigoris Lambrakis, the pacifist activist killed by far-right extremists in Greece in the years before the colonels seized power.

Behan adapted the poem in his play The Hostage (1958). The play first came to the attention of Theodorakis while he was living in Paris, and he was inspired to compose a cycle of 16 songs in 1962 with Greek lyrics by Vasilis Rotas (1889-1977).

Rotas’s translation of The Hostage was staged in Athens in 1962 at a time when the Greek civil war was still a taboo topic and left-wing activity was under close police surveillance. The play became a way for people to identify with their struggle against a repressive regime.

Maria Farantouri went into exile after the coup in 1967, and sang this song at solidarity concerts across Europe. ‘It became a hymn not only for the Irish liberation movement, but also for every liberation movement in the world, and Greek democracy,’ she told an RTÉ documentary.

When the junta sent in tanks against protesting students at the Athens Polytechnic on 17 November 1973, killing at least 24 people over a number of days, Maria Farantouri added a couple of stanzas to the song, and changed the date from August to November, deliberately linking the song to that event.



At many of this year’s anniversary concerts, Maria Farantouri is accompanied by Tasis Christoyannis, a distinguished baritone singer, and Alkinoos Ioannidis, a versatile singer, composer and poet from Cyprus, whose style is a mix of folk, classical and rock and who brings a fresh, contemporary dimension to Theodorakis’ repertoire.

Other accompanying musicians and singers include Vassilis Lekkas, Myron Michaelidis, Manolis Mitsias, Yota Negka and Thanassis Voutsas. Their voices highlight the many dimensions of the musical legacy of Theodorakis, although he once said of his work: ‘I like to believe that the bulk of my work – from the simplest song to the most intricate symphonic composition – belongs to a single musical unity.’

The sound of bouzoukis, lutes, and the delicate santouri blend seamlessly with clarinet, violin, and intricately woven orchestral arrangements, creating a musical fusion of tradition and expressive artistry, full of passion and poetry.

‘The Ballad of Mauthausen’, the Holocaust cantata written by Iakovos Kambanellis and Mikis Theodorakis … Mauthausen was the last of the concentration camps to be liberated, on 3 May 1945

During these concerts, Farantouri sings from all periods of Theodorakis’s oeuvre. But the highlight on many evenings is The Ballad of Mauthausen.

Mauthausen was the last of the concentration camps to be liberated at the end of the Holocaust and World War II 80 years ago, on 3 May 1945. The Ballad of Mauthausen (Η Μπαλάντα του Μαουτχάουζεν) is a cantata written by the Greek playwright Iakovos Kambanellis (1922-2011) and Mikis Theodorakis 60 years ago in 1965. It is based on the experiences in Mauthausen of Kambanellis, who wrote four poems that Mikis Theodorakis set to music.

The book and the music were born in an incendiary political and cultural milieu in Greece. Two days after its first performance, all music by Theodorakis was banned from Greek state radio. Within two years, the military had seized power and the colonels silenced Theodorakis and many other voices for seven long years.

For the first time ever, the complete music of Zorba the Greek – the work that in many ways has become the musical soul of Greece – has been performed live, interpreted with the original instruments used in the 1964 recording.

The Oscar-winning film, based on a major work by Nikos Kazantzakis, first published in Greek in 1946 as Life and Times of Alexis Zorbas. Theodorakis wrote the score for the 1964 film that became, perhaps, the best-loved Greek film. It was one of my earliest introductions to Greek culture, music and literature.

Other features on programmes include selections from Odyssey (2006), Theodorakis’ final song cycle, set to the poetry of Kostas Kartelias, include pieces from Ta Lyrika (1976), with poetry by Tasos Livaditis, and Beatrice on Zero Street (1994), with poetry by Dionysis Karatzas – works that belong to the composer’s later lyrical period. The evening also include some of his most loved and well-known songs, drawn from earlier song cycles and set to the verses of great poets and lyricists.

The two concerts in the Megaron Moussikis in Thessaloniki (1 and 2 January) included Theodorakis’ ballet suite Greek Carnival. The two concerts in the Megaron Moussikis, Athens (16 and 17 February) included excepts from Pablo Neruda’s Canto General in its original orchestration for a 15-member ensemble and two choirs.

Two concerts in Xanthi (11 and 12 April) also marked the centenary of the birth of Manos Hadjidakis, when Maria Farantouri and Nikos Kypourgos, two of Manos Hadzidakis’ most important collaborators, discussed his music and his influence on modern Greek music.

A concert in the Pyrgos Vassilissis (Queen’s Tower) in Ilion (30 May) was dedicated to the 100 years since the founding of Ilion.

Other concert venues in Greece have included Chania (13 June) and Iraklion (14 June) in Crete; the Kallimarmaron Stadium in Athens (25 June); Thessaloniki (30 June and 1 July), where Maria Farantouri and Manolis Mitsias sang poems by the Andalusian poet Federico Garcia Lorca, set to music by Theodorakis and other composers; and Thessaly (19 July).

Concerts venues in Greece in the coming weeks include the island of Lefkada (8 August), the Ancient Theatre in Dion (11 August), the Little Theatre in ancient Epidaurus (16 August), Siviris in Chalkidiki (24 August), and Serres (7 September).

International venues so far this year have included a concert in Grand Pera in Istanbul (19 March), when Maria Farantouri was accompanied by the pianist Achilleas Gouastor in a programme that included poems by Kiki Demoula, set to music by Sakis Papademetriou, as well as songs by Theodorakis. There was a concert in Helsinki too on 27 March.

A concert in Bochum, Germany (9 May) included The Ballad of Mauthausen, with a reading and talk that also marked the 80th anniversary of the end of World War II. International concerts later this year are taking place in Düsseldorf (11 October), Rotterdam (13 October) and Lucerne (31 October).

In his music, Theodorakis expressed his political values and fused his idealism and his commitment to freedom. I was in Crete at the time of his funeral, the island was immersed in three days of official mourning and I could see how people were deeply moved emotionally as they watched that funeral on television screens everywhere. In the week after his death, Theodorakis was described by a leading Greek newspaper, Kathimerini, as ‘Greece’s last enduring myth.’

Listening to some Greek music I thought I had once lost but I have found again in recent days

Traditional Greek folk music celebrated at Raki Ba Raki restaurant on the corner of Radamanthuos and Xanthoudidou streets in Rethymnon (Photograph: Patrick Comerford, 2025)

Patrick Comerford

I no longer have a CD player, and my laptop has no disc drive. And I no longer have a tape player – who does?

But I am sure we all remember the days when cars had CD players or tape decks, and sometimes even both. I have memories of long drives between Dublin and Achill, when two small children in the back seats sat passively, listening to – or even falling asleep to – Greek music.

It began with a tape put together for their sake by my friend Manolis Chrysakis of Mika Villas in Piskopiano, with music by composers such as Manos Hatzidakis (1925-1994) and Mikis Theodorakis (1925-2021), both born 100 years ago and both with strong connections with Crete, and by Ross Daly, who also lives in Crete.

Within half an hour of leaving Dublin – or within half an hour of leaving Dugort for the return journey – the plaintive request could be heard from the back seats: ‘Play Manoli’s music’. It was soothing and reassuring, and soon two young passengers were dozing off, relaxed and comforted by the reassuring and familiar sounds of Crete.

My collection of Greek CDs and music expanded over the years. It was not merely a wistful desire to recreate the sounds and sentiments of regular and constant return visits to Crete; I also imagined in my heart that listening to and trying to sing along with the words of Greek songs and poetry would help improve my fluency and pronunciation as I continued to try (to little avail, I now admit) to work on my spoken Greek.

Over the years, I continued to accumulate more CDs to add to that collection. But as time passed, I found I no longer had a CD player, and certainly would not know where to find a tape deck. My collection of Greek music has gone to other – and hopefully better – homes, and I now find I am listening to Greek music and Greek songs online on a variety of platforms, still trying to sing along to lyrics that are often adapted from Greek poetry but that sadly suffer from bad translations into English.

In time, my love of Greek music and poetry led to Professor Panos Karagiorgos inviting me to write the foreword to his Ελληνικα Δημοτικα Τραγουδια, Greek Folk Songs, published in Thessaloniki last year.

Ελληνικα Δημοτικα Τραγουδια, Greek Folk Songs, published in Thessaloniki last year by Εκδοτικός Οίκος Κ & Μ Σταμουλη (Photograph: Patrick Comerford)

In recent days, with time on my hands after a surgical procesure in Oxford last week, I have been listening more often to the music of both Hatzidakis and Theodorakis as I think about the centenary of their births. This, in turn, has led me to search anew for some of those CDs that in recent years I lost, mislaid or passed on to friends.

Of course, Greek music is so much more than Nana Mouskouri singing ‘The White Rose of Athens’ for Luxembourg in Eurovision in 1963, Melina Mercouri singing the theme tune of Never on Sunday, or the theme music of Vangelis for Chariots of Fire. Nor is it merely the music that flash groups dance to when they dress up in black and white, form lines with their arms on each other’s shoulders and dance hasaposerviko and to the sound of hasapiko on a bouzouki or to the theme music by Theodorakis for Zorba the Greek.

Every part of Greece, from the islands to the mainland, has its own unique style, from the a capella polyphonic singing of Epirus or the mixed rhythms of Cretan and Pontic lyras, to the rembetiko of the Greeks who were forced to leave Turkey a century ago and that quickly became the music of the Greek underworld in the 1920s.

In trawling through Greek music websites I have also rediscovered a collection that I thought was gone forever when I lost that collection of Greek CDs. The Putumayo collection Greece: A Musical Odyssey was originally released on 29 June 2004. The collection is an interesting introduction to modern Greek music that is still within the tradition, with work by some of Greece’s most popular artists, including George Dalaras, who merges the traditional music with pop.

In all, 12 tracks showcase a variety of Greek music styles, including Apenanti with Melina Aslanidou, Kostas Mantzios, Anastasia Moutsatsou, George Dalaras, Elly Paspala, Children of the Revolution, Melina Kana, Pantelis Thalassinos, Theodosia Stiga, Sofia Papazoglou, Gerasimos Andreatos, Glykeria and Kostas Makedonas.

They include lively and haunting songs that connect the ancient and modern worlds, with styles such as soulful rembetiko and elegant entehno.



Among them, Melina Kana sings Άρνηση (Arnisi, Refusal). She has been a favourite vocalist in Greece since the early 1990s, and she is widely acknowledged as one of the top voices in her country. She has recorded several successful CDs in Greece, many of them collected on the Portrait album in 2000.

Άρνηση

Πότε σήκωσες το βλέμμα,
δίχως να 'χει στεναγμό,
πότε άλλοθι το ψέμα,
μου έδωσες να κρατηθώ.

Πώς μπορεί να 'σαι δική μου,
ζωή μου, τόσο άδικη,
ένα όνειρο δε δίνεις,
κι ειν' η σιωπή σου απάντηση,
κι έχεις για όποιον σ' αγαπά,
την άρνηση.

Πότε ξέχασες ν' αφήσεις,
πίσω σου, κάθε καημό,
πότε τράβηξες να σβήσεις,
με μια γραμμή το παρελθόν.

Πώς μπορεί να 'σαι δική μου,
ζωή μου, τόσο άδικη,
ένα όνειρο δε δίνεις,
κι ειν' η σιωπή σου απάντηση,
κι έχεις για όποιον σ' αγαπά,
την άρνηση.

Refusal (Arnisi)

When you looked up,
without anyway sigh,
when alibi a lie,
You gave me to hold on.

How it happens – you’ll be mine
my life so unfair,
even a dream you do not give me,
great is thy silence your answer,
and you have for anyone who loves you,
denial.

When you forgot to leave,
behind you, every sorrow,
when you pulled to extinguish,
with a line in the past.

How it happens – you’ll be mine
my life so unfair,
even a dream you do not give me,
great is thy silence your answer,
and you have for anyone who loves you,
denial.



Anastasia Moutsatsou, who sings Πίνω, πίνω (Pino Pino, I’m drinking, I’m drinking), was born in 1961 in rural area Lakonia, where she learned traditional Greek songs from her mother. She moved to Athens at 15, and began taking singing and guitar lessons, and 21 started performing publicly alongside the singer Glikeria.

Her first recordings in the early 1990s made her as one of the most promising singers of the day, with world tours alongside leading Greek artists, including Haris Alexiou, Giorgos Dalaras and Pantelis Thalassinos, followed by acclaimed stage and television appearances.

Πίνω, πίνω

Από τις άδειες μέρες
ζωή σημαδεμένη
απ' τις λευκές τις νύχτες
ψυχή μου διψασμένη

Πίνω, πίνω
απ' τους χυμούς σου, φως μου
λύνω το αίνιγμα του κόσμου
λύνω το αίνιγμα του κόσμου

Πίνω, πίνω
απ' τους χυμούς σου, φως μου
λύνω το αίνιγμα του κόσμου
λύνω το αίνιγμα του κόσμου

Η νύχτα μπερδεμένη
στου χρόνου το κουβάρι
κι εγώ να σε ζητάω
σαν τελευταία χάρη

Πίνω, πίνω
απ' τους χυμούς σου, φως μου
λύνω το αίνιγμα του κόσμου
λύνω το αίνιγμα του κόσμου

Πίνω, πίνω
απ' τους χυμούς σου, φως μου
λύνω το αίνιγμα του κόσμου
λύνω το αίνιγμα του κόσμου

Η αγάπη τρεμοσβήνει
φλογίτσα στο σκοτάδι
φουντώνει και φωτίζει
με τ' ακριβό σου χάδι

Πίνω, πίνω
απ' τους χυμούς σου, φως μου
λύνω το αίνιγμα του κόσμου
λύνω το αίνιγμα του κόσμου

Πίνω, πίνω
απ' τους χυμούς σου, φως μου
λύνω το αίνιγμα του κόσμου
λύνω το αίνιγμα του κόσμου

I’m drinking, I’m drinking

From the empty days
life marked
by the white nights
my thirsty soul

I’m drinking, I’m drinking
from your juices, my light
I’m solving the enigma of the world
I'm solving the enigma of the world

I’m drinking, I’m drinking
from your juices, my light
I’m solving the enigma of the world
I’m solving the enigma of the world

The night tangled
in time’s ball
and I’m asking for you
like a final favour

I’m drinking, I’m drinking
from your juices, my light
I’m solving the enigma of the world
I’m solving the enigma of the world

I’m drinking, I’m drinking
from your juices, my light
I’m solving the enigma of the world
I’m solving the enigma of the world

Love is flickering
a little flame in the dark
flares up and lights up
with your dear caress

I’m drinking, I’m drinking
from your juices, my light
I’m solving the enigma of the world
I’m solving the enigma of the world

I’m drinking, I’m drinking
from your juices, my light
I’m solving the enigma of the world
I’m solving the enigma of the world



In recent days too I have also found myself listening also to Αχ, φεγγαράκι μου (Ah, Feggaraki Mou, Oh, dear moonlight) written by Giorgos Zikas and recorded by Sofia Papazoglou and Gerasimos Andraetos in 1998. It reminds me of a small restaurant, Φεγγαράκι, that was once on the walk down the hill from Piskopiano into Hersonissos at that time.

Αχ, φεγγαράκι μου

Αχ, φεγγαράκι μου, αθώο φεγγάρι
Ήρθε κι απόψε να με πάρει
Στέκεται από ψηλά και με κοιτάει
Κι όλο για σένανε, αχ μου μιλάει
Σκύβει από πάνω μου, μαζί μου κλαίει
Κι όλο για σένανε, αχ όλο λέει

Σε νερά κολυμπάει
Στα λιμάνια της γης
Τα σημάδια του αφήνει
Να τα βρεις αν χαθείς
Τα σημάδια του αφήνει
Να τα βρεις αν χαθείς

Αχ, φεγγαράκι μου, αθώο φεγγάρι
Ίδιο με σένανε λάμψη και χάρη
Ψηλά στα σύννεφα με ταξιδεύει
Μου λέει για σένανε και με μαγεύει
Σκύβει από πάνω μου, μαζί μου κλαίει
Κι όλο για σένανε, αχ όλο λέει

Σε νερά κολυμπάει
Στα λιμάνια της γης
Τα σημάδια του αφήνει
Να τα βρεις αν χαθείς
Τα σημάδια του αφήνει
Να τα βρεις αν χαθείς

Σε νερά κολυμπάει
Στα λιμάνια της γης
Τα σημάδια του αφήνει
Να τα βρεις αν χαθείς

Τα σημάδια του αφήνει
Να τα βρεις αν χαθείς

Other outstanding tracks in this collection include: ‘Eleni’ from the Epirot singer Kostas Mantzios, a song referring to Helen of Troy in the Iliad; and ‘An Iparhis Kapou Esi’ from Elly Paspala, who was born in the US and grew up in New York City, but later returned to Greece, where she performs jazz and pop as well as traditional music.

There is so much to listen to, again and again. But this evening I am just pleased to have rediscovered what I thought I had once lost or mislaid.

Traditional Greek instruments at a shop in Rethymnon (Photograph: Patrick Comerford)