Native Bishops of Cochin: My Memories (BLAC008)

Native Bishops of Cochin: My Memories

A few years ago, I visited the Delhi Bishop’s House and had a long, engaging conversation with Archbishop Vincent Conçessao. I was in Delhi for a UGC interview connected to my proposed research on the Portuguese contribution to Kerala’s culture. After the interview, some friends took me to meet the archbishop.

He was immediately intrigued by my research topic. After a spirited discussion, he leaned forward and said, “Let me give you the best tip for your project. Go to the Cochin Bishop’s House. It’s full of artifacts and heritage pieces. You must see the bishop’s rooms—the furniture alone is enough to begin a chapter.”

I smiled and replied, “Your Grace, I’m from the Diocese of Cochin. My uncle—my father’s brother—was the first native bishop after the Portuguese line. I grew up in and around that house. In fact, that is one reason I want to explore this history more deeply.”

Cochin was always a place of wonder for me. Growing up in Kumbalangi, a quiet rural village, my childhood visits to the city felt like stepping into another world. What I remember most vividly is October 26, the birthday of Bishop Alexander. The Bishop’s House would be transformed—crowds gathering, schoolchildren arriving in long cheerful lines, heaps of garlands piling up, and every variety of cake and sweet arriving from well-wishers. I was very young then, sometime in the early 1960s, but I sensed even then the fine interweaving of cultures—the western elegance and eastern warmth that defined the bishop’s “palace.”

It was within this atmosphere—its old-world calm, its mingling of cultures—that I first met Bishop Alexander and, later, his successors. The place, its way of life, and the shepherds who guided it have remained a steady source of inspiration for me.

Bishop Alexander Edezhath: Presiding Over a Transition

Bishop Alexander was the 32nd bishop of the Diocese of Cochin and its first native shepherd. The diocese itself originated from the Portuguese missionary presence, which began with their arrival in 1500 and the early Franciscan efforts to establish Catholic communities. In 1557, Cochin became the first diocese in South India under the Archdiocese of Goa, with Bishop Jorge Temudo OP as its first prelate. For centuries, under the Padroado system, bishops appointed from Portugal guided the diocese. After a succession of thirty-one bishops, the mantle finally passed to Bishop Alexander Edezhath.

He inherited a diocese strained by long neglect, by Padroado–Propaganda tensions, and by ethnic divisions that had surfaced just before his appointment. On top of this, the winds of the Second Vatican Council were beginning to blow through the global Church. His task was immense.

Born in Kumbalangi in 1904 and ordained in 1927, he was installed as bishop in 1952. His consecration by Cardinal Cerejeira, the Archbishop of Lisbon, at the Bom Jesu Basilica in Goa was deeply symbolic—a ceremonial handover from the Portuguese era to the Indian Church.

One of my earliest memories is standing with family on the tarmac of the old Cochin airport in Wellington Island, waiting for him to return from Rome after attending the Council. In those days, you could still walk right up to the aircraft. We stood behind a painted line, watching passengers descend, our excitement barely contained.

Other than his birthday, there were two family gatherings we always looked forward to—my grandfather’s death anniversary in June and my grandmother’s birthday in early October. Every year, Uncle Bishop would come home, accompanied by a group of friendly priests, and spend the whole day with us. The dinners were elaborate, the stories endless, and the laughter contagious.

Bishop Alexander had many personal interests. He was an excellent singer of Latin liturgical music; hearing him chant the Requiem or the Office for the Dead was unforgettable. He enjoyed stitching decorative designs into fabric, collecting rare pictures, stamps, and coins, and maintaining orderliness in everything he handled. I often heard that he personally taught English grammar and Latin to seminarians.

Like a Caring Father

When he visited our home, his stylish chauffeur—whom we called Amari Valiappan—would park the Pontiac near the main road, and the bishop would walk the narrow path to our house. Word spread quickly, and neighbors would gather on either side of the sandy path, kneeling to reverently kiss his ring. He carried himself with a quiet nobility that inspired reverence, yet he remained deeply approachable.

Later, when I grew older and interacted with the workers and staff of the Bishop’s House, they spoke often of his care for them. He insisted that priests inform the kitchen staff if they were coming at mealtime so that the workers would not be forced to skip their own food. Many priests told me of his fatherly presence and his willingness to hear them out—especially when criticisms reached him. He was, in every sense, a gentleman bishop.

One of the most dramatic moments in my personal journey occurred a week before he announced his resignation. At that time, I was in the minor seminary attached to the diocese, about to be succeeded by my Rector. I was going through a restless period, questioning many things and discussing them openly—perhaps a bit too loudly. My uncle found out about it, and without delay, he drove home and asked my father to bring me back. Within a few hours, my world fell apart. Years later, he quietly told me that it might not have been the best decision, but I should see it as a providential redirection.

Soon afterward, he resigned, and Bishop Joseph Kureethara took charge. My uncle tried staying for a time in a Carmelite monastery and then in a Dominican convent, but eventually chose to come home. A room in our house became his chapel, and those years offered us an extraordinary closeness to him. Many significant visitors came to see him, and our house became a small crossroads of the Church.

Though he had attended the Second Vatican Council and implemented many reforms, he found certain Indianized liturgical trends difficult to accept. Yet when I showed interest in inculturation, he immediately pointed me toward Francis Acharya and Bede Griffiths. I soon visited the Catholic ashram in Tiruchirapalli. Soon, I became active in AICUF and then encountered the Catholic charismatic renewal. He did not fully understand these movements, but he would thoughtfully share articles and books—both supportive and critical. I was just beginning my college years then, and his balanced, patient conversations helped me develop clarity and confidence.

There were criticisms, too. Some said he was overly cautious with finances and reluctant to support the upward mobility of his family members. Others admired his detachment and simplicity. He resisted bringing in large external funds to build institutions, partly because he inherited a poor diocese and wanted to lay a steady foundation rather than expand quickly.

During his final years at home, his health declined. In August 1979, he was admitted to the hospital at Kolenchery, where he passed away on the 21st.

Those who knew him still speak of his dignity, discipline, and gentle humanity. For us at home, he was both a towering figure and a tender presence—a man formed by history, yet deeply attentive to the smallest things.

Bishop Joseph Kureethara: Presiding Over Rapid Growth

The day after finishing my MA exams, I went to greet Fr Francis Kannikal SJ, then director of Vidyaniketan. I had known him well from my undergraduate days at Loyola House in Aluva. To my surprise, the very next day, I received my appointment as warden for seventeen selected young Catholic students staying at Vidyaniketan, along with a post as lecturer in the college.

I mention this because those years allowed me to translate into practice many lessons I had absorbed from my Rector, then Fr Joseph Kureethara, later bishop. Living with those boys from different parts of the Varapoly, Cochin, and Kottapuram dioceses, I could almost instinctively repeat the formative atmosphere he had created in the seminary.

I spent about two and a half years in the seminary under his guidance. He was deeply committed to building a rich environment of formation—joyful, cultured, and free. The community included high-school students, those doing a one-year Latin course, and others completing the two-year pre-degree. Music, art, literature, and manual work were part of daily life. And football, of course, had its own undisputed place.

Evenings were special. After supper, all of us would gather in the open space behind the seminary. Mats were spread out, we lay around in a loose circle, and Fr Kureethara would begin his narration. Sherlock Holmes was a favourite. He told those stories with vivid, skillfully crafted word-pictures, and under the open sky, with the occasional joke or bit of playful mischief from the boys, the whole seminary became a listening family.

When I later took charge of the students at Vidyaniketan, this model became invaluable. I played music for them, told them stories, and often took them to lie under the night sky. We didn’t have Fort Cochin nearby, so Marine Drive—quite quiet in those days—became our open-air classroom.

Seminary festivals were another highlight. With Fr. Kureethara’s encouragement, we planned imaginative celebrations. One year we turned the entire audience area into a forest using mango-tree parasitic plants, hidden speakers, and recorded insect sounds. Self-cooking days, picnics, and the simple joy of living together made those years unforgettable.

Around 1976, the Catholic charismatic renewal reached Kerala. I was fortunate to attend one of the earliest seminars in Ernakulam. With the help of Spanish Carmelite professors at Aluva Seminary, we restarted charismatic youth groups. The long path that followed eventually became the Jesus Youth movement.

As the renewal enthusiasm grew in me, I felt I should begin something in Cochin as well. I met Bishop Kureethara and explained the developments in my life. He listened carefully and said, “Eddy, you have found a beautiful new avenue to grow spiritually and work among young people. You have started well in Ernakulam. I am a new bishop; I cannot confidently support something so new just yet. You need backing from senior Church authorities—Ernakulam is the right place for that.”

I was disappointed, but I followed his advice. I continued building the youth group in Ernakulam and in Aluva. Within two years, there was a wider network. And in December 1978, during our first big youth gathering at Thevara, it was Bishop Kureethara who inaugurated the conference. As the convenor, I delivered the keynote. Many joked afterwards that the bishop spoke almost entirely about “Eddy”—recounting my seminary days, my visit to him two years earlier, and the advice he had given. He said it was that timely conversation that helped me take the wider path that made this gathering possible.

Bishop Kureethara was born in Palluruthy in 1929, ordained a priest in 1958, and consecrated the 33rd Bishop of Cochin on 21 December 1975. His tenure marked a period of remarkable growth for the diocese. He was a focused and determined pastor, builder, and innovator.

His long exposure to the West and his connections in Rome proved invaluable as he implemented his plans. Infrastructure development was visible everywhere. Many new religious congregations were invited in, and he often spoke of his dream of every parish having a convent actively involved in education and pastoral initiatives. The arrival of numerous foreign religious communities transformed both the landscape and the spirit of the diocese.

Starting a college was far beyond the means of a small and impoverished diocese like Cochin, yet under his leadership, it became a reality.

One of his significant contributions was reviving the Portuguese connection and strengthening Cochin’s heritage roots. He welcomed Portuguese collaboration, initiated study centres, museums, and archives. Perhaps his boldest move was publishing not one but two major daily newspapers—one in Malayalam, the other in English. He understood the risks and often spoke openly about them, yet he was convinced that a community that considered itself backward needed to take bold steps if it wished to influence society at large.

Bishop Kureethara was called to eternal rest on 5 January 1999.

Bishop John Thattumkal

Bishop John Thattumkal was installed as the 34th Bishop of the Diocese of Cochin on 25 June 2000. Though he had joined the Congregation of Cottolengo, he had already served the diocese in many capacities and was well known to most of us. I remember visiting him soon after the announcement and before the installation. True to his nature, he was cheerful and welcoming. Quietly, he asked me whether I had any suggestions for him.

At the time, I was active in the worldwide Jubilee initiative, Evangelization 2000. I told him that our diocese had a large number of skilled and committed laypeople, but the existing participatory bodies had become largely ornamental. If he could take some steps to ensure the participation of the laity, that would be good, I said.  

“What exactly do you propose?” he asked. I suggested that he personally and quietly identify a small group of balanced and competent laypersons and listen to them regularly. The laity had much to offer the Church, but there were few meaningful avenues to contribute, and the existing structures were ineffective. “Can you suggest a handful of such people?” he asked. I was surprised but said I would try.

I assumed he would forget the conversation. But soon after taking office, he contacted me and began working on it. This led to the formation of a small core group that met with the bishop on the first Tuesday of every month.

Synodality was not a word we used then, yet what unfolded was a steady, simple journey together. We had no formal mandate, no visible leadership roles. We simply reflected with the bishop on the “temperature” of the diocese—education, youth ministry, the participation of workers and professionals, social service, communication and technology, and other emerging concerns. We met late in the evening for about two hours. The bishop rarely spoke; he listened deeply and took notes. Over time, we began focusing on particular areas—education, social service, etc.—and the concerned person in charge would join the meetings to hear the feedback and dreams taking shape.

I used to prepare a summary after each meeting, but the bishop kept his own detailed notes. He quietly followed up on suggestions, checked progress, and encouraged new initiatives. This simple rhythm brought surprising clarity and life.

This was only one of the many listening circles Bishop John created. He met regularly with youth and lay organizations, history and heritage groups, professional networks, women leaders, heads of institutions, and many others. These ongoing conversations sparked an unmistakable renewal in the diocese.

The year 2006 was observed as the year of the Laity, encouraging a wide range of initiatives with fresh energy: a new pastoral center, social service projects, training programs, and institutions. Charismatic groups found new acceptance. Professional groups—doctors, engineers, civil servants, educators—were brought together, helping the talents of qualified laity come to the fore. The heritage initiatives that Bishop Kureethara had begun reached a new moment with the launch of the Vasco da Gama Research Institute and the international colloquia we organized.

Bishop John also encouraged the laity’s involvement in public life. He spent time with social leaders of every kind, and the Bishop’s House became a meeting point for leaders of all communities—Hindu, Muslim, Sikh, Christian, and others. The annual Christmas gatherings took on a new character: one event for clergy and religious, and another bringing together the wider civil society, fostering relationships across the city.

Lay participation in public life was strongly encouraged. For me personally, my brief entry into politics in 2004—standing for Parliament—was an unexpected chapter. Bishop John supported and accompanied me throughout, though some assumed it was his idea, which it was not. The proposal came from the political party itself, and I responded in the spirit of John Paul II’s call to the laity to enter the public arena. But once the journey began, the bishop was fully supportive.

His tenure came to an abrupt end with the deeply disturbing events of October 2008. When larger tragedies strike, we often struggle to understand their origins or their unfolding. That was true of those days. It is enough to say that Archbishop Daniel’s careful handling of the chaos and Bishop John’s complete willingness to cooperate with all that followed helped contain further damage. Still, the sudden blow dealt to the diocese and its many emerging initiatives was severe.

Bishop Joseph Kariyil

The 35th Bishop of Cochin, Bishop Joseph Kariyil, was installed on 5 July 2009. From 2000 onward, he had served as Vicar General of the diocese, and in May 2005, he became the Bishop of Punalur. For many of us, his return to Cochin was a moment of real joy. We had known him for years as one of our most active young priests—editor of the widely read Talent magazine and director of the Pastoral Orientation Centre (POC), Palarivattom

Bishop Kariyil has always been an eager learner: reflective, curious, and intellectually restless. Many of his crisp sayings stay with you. At his installation, in my felicitation address, I used one line that struck me deeply—he had said, in Malayalam, “No one is saved who has not gone on exodus.” It carried the familiar sharpness of his thought.

I had accompanied him to some youth seminars in his early priestly years. Even then, he had a distinctive way of speaking—clear, challenging, and always nudging listeners toward a practical next step.

In 1992, he was appointed the director of POC and offered remarkable leadership, coordinating many initiatives of the Kerala Catholic Bishops’ Council. One initiative especially stands out for me: the attempt to bring together the various Catholic youth organizations in Kerala. I represented the Jesus Youth movement. Until then, only the Taizé community from France had attempted something similar across churches. For us, the landscape in Kerala was scattered and informal, and there was no common description of what each group actually was.

That meeting compelled me, for the first time, to write a brief description of Jesus Youth. From that point onward, the responsibility stayed with me—eventually leading to my work on the first set of statutes approved by the CBCI, and later the version accepted by the Vatican. Many others contributed richly, but for me, the long journey began that day under Bishop Kariyil’s leadership.

What came of that youth gathering? Officially, not much. The Catholic Youth Association declined to cooperate, arguing that the initiative should have come from them instead of from POC. A few dioceses sent representatives, but institutionally, the impact was minimal. Even so, the vision was bold, and it sowed seeds in unexpected places.

Intellectual leadership has always been Bishop Kariyil’s strength—his fresh angles on issues, his precise phrasing, his fearlessness in addressing any politician or community leader. His humor, too, is of a high order. He can offer the sharpest criticism in a way that lands firmly yet rarely offends.

Some of his public interventions—especially on matters concerning the Latin community—have been widely circulated. Even when he exposes false narratives with stern clarity, those criticized rarely find anything to say in return. Many in the community have come to rely on him to articulate their concerns before civic and community leaders.

I have personally experienced his support more than once. On his own initiative—encouraged by a few priests—he ensured I was appointed to the university syndicate. He made a few key phone calls and quietly cleared the path. I am sure many others carry similar stories of his timely interventions.

Papal honors are rare. The previous installation of Chevaliers in the diocese took place in 1975, when Bishop Alexander honored K. J. Berly, B. M. Edward, and L. M. Thomas. After a long interval, Bishop Kariyil—acting on his recommendation—initiated honors again in 2018: two were named Monsignors, four received the Pro Ecclesia et Pontifice medal, and I was appointed a Chevalier. I remain deeply grateful for his gracious initiative.

As We Look Forward

The “great-grandmother” of dioceses in South India now welcomes its 36th shepherd. With hesitant steps, Bishop Antony Kattipparambil takes up leadership. The diocesan landscape is mixed—bright signs of life alongside real concerns. We stand at the close of the Jubilee of Hope inaugurated by Pope Francis and handed on to his successor, Pope Leo. Despite the thickening shadows, we still have much to hope for.

From the moment his name was announced, people have spoken of Bishop Antony’s honest transparency and disarming simplicity. There is a quiet depth in him—a pastoral and spiritual heart, reluctant yet ready to serve the ordinary faithful entrusted to him.

This diocese has weathered many storms and still faces serious challenges. Yet one truth remains constant: the overwhelming majority of our people are simple, prayerful, and united in their loyalty to their pastors. A flock that stands together with its shepherd can withstand pressures from without. Trusting in the eternal Shepherd, we have every reason to hope. May the radiant Cross of Christ lead us forward in unity, charity, and a renewed courage for the road ahead.