Georgians are bidding farewell to Ilia II, the longest-serving head of the Orthodox Church of Georgia, one of the oldest Christian churches in the world. Ilia II passed away at the age of 93, after nearly five decades steering the wheel of the Orthodox Church. A longtime researcher and observer of Georgian politics reflects on his legacy, both its virtues and its flaws.
Intro: Church (Re-)Entering Georgia
Growing up in a small provincial town in Georgia in the 1990s had its obvious perks.
The slow – almost monotonous – pace of living was only occasionally disrupted by news of crime and conflicts in other parts of the country. Neighbors were friendlier, and the neighborhoods felt more alive, even if not entirely safe. Most of us were poor, but even that carried a certain sense of normalcy. Inside schoolrooms, we were taught through a mixture of Soviet and independence-era historical narratives, but since the latter was still in the making and the former seemed to be in terminal decline, it also allowed for a bit more freedom – for teachers and students alike. There was not much to do outside, but the remnants of old Soviet-era factories offered a fair bit of adventure, and a fair amount of hazard too. Importantly, being far from Tbilisi, the country’s capital, also meant we were largely spared of the worst of political instability.
But with those perks came their downsides: constant electricity blackouts, poor road connectivity, and social dogma meant that the cultural shifts taking hold in the capital reached us slowly, if at all. This was also true of religion – or rather, of the revival of the Georgian Orthodox Church, the country’s main religious institution and the spiritual home for around 85% of the country’s population.
That the Church was gaining popularity in Tbilisi was already evident in the 1990s; an attentive eye could catch the steadily rising number of parishioners in televised liturgies, a standard fixture during Christmas and Easter celebrations of those and contemporary times. Others might also have noticed the gradual appearance of high-ranking politicians at these ceremonies, holding candles beside the clergy and eagerly pretending to care about the word of God. But it took time for this trend to reach my hometown. After all, traditional habitats tend to absorb novelties more slowly than urban settings. The new religious trend also had a difficult challenge of replacing older spiritual mores, which could best be described as a mutation of medieval Christian paganism and communism-inspired atheism.
By the early 2000s, the shift was unmistakable: the clergy was growing exponentially, along with its public standing. Older monasteries, deserted in the 18th and 19th centuries, were being brought back to life, and the domes of newly-constructed churches were beginning to alter the cityscapes across the country.
My experience with the Georgian Orthodox Church has been thus deeply personal, yet that of a quiet bystander. This is exactly how I received the news of the death of Ilia II – the man who stood behind the revival of the Georgian Orthodox Church.
Slowly but surely, the Church was making its way into people’s minds, and what had once felt distant and mystical became something immediate, close, and real. I vividly remember friends and classmates staying overnight for religious ceremonies; my cousin, whose eyes would light up whenever she spoke of a local priest; and our elderly neighbors and relatives flocking to churches for baptisms or holy matrimonies in hopes of securing eternal life.
For these new converts, the Church was many things at once – it was a place of community, a space for finding spiritual comfort, and a venue for seeking guidance on their worldly problems. Importantly, it also symbolized hope. In a country sunk into the abyss of corruption, bad governance, and impunity, the Church offered not only the promise of the afterlife but was also perceived as a place of decency and moral clarity. It was also highly personalized – much of the change was embodied in Ilia II, the long-time Catholicos-Patriarch of the Orthodox Church of Georgia. Ilia II, who – at that time – had ruled the Church for over two decades, epitomized the stability of institutions, longevity tested by history, and a pastoral care for its people.
For me, that was never the case, however. Mind you, I was never a rebellious kid. A round-the-clock valedictorian, a teacher’s favorite, a class leader, a long-time volunteer – I was exactly the kind of person who might have embraced the trend, but I never did. It’s because I never found comfort in endless masses and preaching, and preferred my own ways of seeking answers. Perhaps that is also what kept bringing me back to churches.
I may have been disinterested in Church canons, but I developed an unusual fascination with religious architecture and paintings from an early age, spending most of my summers pestering my late grandfather to take me to remote shrines, which I would meticulously document in my numerous notebooks. There was a measure of spirituality in it, too. For me, church architecture was – and still is – a way to reconnect with our ancestors, as they are perhaps the only tangible reminders of what past generations left behind. These structures are also symbols of defiance. When towns and villages were pillaged, and it was no longer safe for people to pray closer to their homes, stubborn Georgians would build temples deep inside forests and on hilltops – in places difficult to reach for invaders.
Being close to churches was fulfilling. It gave me a sense of purpose and kept me motivated to dream big. But over time, that feeling faded – fewer and fewer churches felt pristine, and the human hand, even when serving good purposes, became more apparent in hitherto untouched monasteries. I also chose a radically different profession, and my childhood hobby gradually disappeared. Still, I continued to follow developments in the Church, especially where they intersected with Georgian politics.
My experience with the Georgian Orthodox Church has been thus deeply personal, yet that of a quiet bystander. This is exactly how I received the news of the death of Ilia II – the man who stood behind the revival of the Georgian Orthodox Church. I would not say I felt particular sentiments, nor an urge to join the chorus of politicians and public figures paying respects to the Catholicos-Patriarch, but I felt, profoundly, that something monumental had ended – a sense that a part of Georgia itself had quietly passed away. I also felt compelled to put this in writing, as a way to reflect on his legacy, both good and bad.
Rising Through Ranks
Born in 1933 in present-day Vladikavkaz, North Ossetian Autonomous Oblast under the Soviet Union, in the family of Giorgi Ghudushauri and Natalia Kobaidze, he was given the name Irakli, after Heraclius (Erekle) II, one of the last monarchs of the eastern Georgian kingdom of Kartli and Kakheti. His family had moved to Ossetia from the neighboring Georgian province of Khevi, now known as Stepantsminda, like hundreds of other Georgians who had settled in the town since the late 19th and early 20th century. Irakli’s father, Giorgi, was a descendant of the powerful clan of Shiola Ghudushauri, which once owned lands around the village of Sno in Khevi, a strategic gateway connecting Georgia to Russia.
Ilia II would later recall that his family had been deeply religious, also maintaining cordial relations with their Muslim neighbors from Ingushetia. In the early 1940s, the family moved back to their ancestral village of Sno, returning to Vladikavkaz at the end of the war, where Irakli would complete his schooling.
Irakli continued his studies in Russia, graduating in 1960 from the Moscow Theological Seminary at Zagorsk, the largest institution for religious training in the Soviet Union. In 1957, he was ordained as a monk in a church in Tbilisi and took the name Ilia; he was later promoted to deacon and then archpriest.
In 1960, the then-Catholicos Patriarch Eprem II ordained him Hegumen, and a year later, he was elevated to the rank of Archimandrite. His career continued to advance steadily: in 1963, Ilia was appointed as eparchial head of the Batumi and Shemoqmedi Diocese in western Georgia. In 1967, he was dispatched to the Sokhumi-Abkhazia Diocese, where he served as metropolitan until his enthronement as Catholicos-Patriarch in 1977.
Navigating Political Winds of Soviet Georgia
Ilia II’s early years as a clergyman were trailblazing by any standard – ordained at the age of 24, dispatched to the highly important diocese of Abkhazia at 34, and enthroned at 44, he was a rising star of the Georgian Orthodox Church. His rapid ascent to power seemed to have a reason. A young and energetic cleric, he quickly left his mark wherever he served. In his final episcopal assignment in Abkhazia, for instance, he increased the number of Georgian priests from two to twelve – an achievement of scale during the atheism-dominated period of the early 1970s.
But being active meant that he, too, had to navigate the difficult political winds that characterized late 20th-century Georgia. And it was no easy task. The period in which he ascended to power may have coincided with the zastoy-era weaknesses of the Soviet state, but being at the helm of a religious institution in a Communist state – even if approved by the very authorities – was far from being simple. All layers of society were still firmly in the hands of the Soviet party apparatchiks. The Church, too, was indirectly subordinated, but also infiltrated by the security services. Many of the clerics were marred by allegations of theft, indecency, and other forms of canonical deviations.
Yet, Ilia II seems to have found a common language with the authorities, most notably with Eduard Shevardnadze, head of the Central Committee of the Georgian Soviet Socialist Republic and effectively the country’s leader from 1972 to 1985. Shevardnadze, a comparatively younger and reform-oriented politician, allowed himself freedom to conduct some societal and economic experiments in the 1970s, but all within the confines of Communist ideology. In this context, Ilia II appears to have enjoyed his personal backing. Shevardnadze would later – half-humorously – recall that he “did his best” to ensure that Georgia would have a “young, educated, and patriotic” Catholicos-Patriarch, which – in his words – was against the will of Moscow, which preferred Georgia to have a weak personality instead.
In the late 1980s, Ilia II likewise found common ground with Shevardnadze’s successors – Jumber Patiashvili and Givi Gumbaridze – while steadily strengthening his own position within the Church. But it would be a mistake to portray Ilia II as a mere henchman of Shevardnadze or his successors. Their convergence appeared to be mutually beneficial: the authorities allowed the Church some freedom to operate, while the Church helped sustain the population spiritually at a time when the state could no longer provide materially. The Church also offered an avenue to channel the national grievances of Georgians, who were increasingly leaning toward anti-Soviet and pro-independence positions.
From Soviet to Independent Georgia
Ilia II might have gotten along well with Soviet partocrats, but his loyalty, and at times open deference, to them put him at odds with the national liberation movement, led by long-time dissidents Merab Kostava and Zviad Gamsakhurdia. His troubled relationship with Gamsakhurdia – the movement’s leader and the first president of Georgia – played out particularly dramatically.
Ilia II stood beside him on November 14, 1990, when the new parliament was sworn in under the majority of Gamsakhurdia’s pro-independence Roundtable Georgia coalition. Yet, on April 9, 1991, when Gamsakhurdia declared the restoration of independence, Ilia II was noticeably absent from the legislative chamber. He likewise stepped aside in December 1991, when mutineers from the National Guard descended on Tbilisi and besieged the Parliament building, ultimately forcing the president into exile. In the weeks and months that followed, Ilia II remained silent, failing to condemn the brutal crackdowns on Gamsakhurdia’s supporters that ensued after the coup d’état. By contrast, when Shevardnadze returned to the country in March 1992 and assumed leadership of the military junta, Ilia II was there to bless him, going so far as to baptize him personally.
The church-state ties in later years continued in a quasi-Byzantine tradition, with President Shevardnadze and the Catholicos-Patriarch cooperating closely, each essentially strengthening itself individually while also reinforcing the other. This culminated in the signing of the Concordat in 2002, a constitutional agreement that further formalized the role of the Orthodox Church and legitimized its position.
Ilia II used these years to centralize his governance, replacing the old guard with newer clergy, disciplining defectors – at times, mercilessly, and recruiting more clerics – often without proper education or even a clean criminal record.
The stars were aligned in Ilia II’s favor. In the absence of strong ideological and religious alternatives, the Georgian Orthodox Church gained the upper hand. It steadily made inroads into the public mind, and what had once been completely dominated by communist thought was gradually being replaced by Christian teaching. Ilia II also seemed to reach across all layers of society – from politicians to crime bosses, from businesspeople to public figures. Even within the liberal circles of the early 1990s, the Church appeared to be seen as a place of progress and personal salvation. Among the wider public, he was steadily emerging as a champion of national values, Georgian culture, traditions, and way of life.
With growing public standing, Ilia II felt able to assert his independence, and as the 21st century approached, he began gradually picking up on criticism of the authorities. As a result, what had, in his first two decades, been solely pastoral and didactic preaching slowly took on a more political tone. Simultaneously, he pursued a growing isolationist agenda, effectively minimizing ecclesial ties with non-Russian patriarchates – a choice that stood in stark contrast to his earlier positions and a choice that would shadow the Church until the end of his tenure. He also began decrying the spread of other denominations, labeling them as foreign-imposed and calling on the authorities to restrict their functioning. In 1994, for instance, Ilia II spoke of the expansion of “numerous foreign religions and sects,” listing Catholics alongside Jehovah’s Witnesses, Krishna devotees, and others. Similarly, in 1997, Ilia II spoke of “foreign religions and totalitarian sects” attacking the country and undermining “national feelings”.
Still, Ilia II remained highly reserved when it came to outright challenging the authorities. He understood that to maintain his influence and reap the benefits of the post-Soviet transition, he had to stay on good terms with the state. But unlike in his earlier years, being on good terms no longer meant that he or his clergy would be subordinate to the authorities. Times had changed – and so had Church-State relations.
From Rose Revolution to Georgian Dream
Ilia II may have owed his initial rise to power to Eduard Shevardnadze, but he also displayed remarkable instincts in reading the political situation and distancing himself from his former ally. On November 23, 2003, he refused to attend the inaugural sitting of Parliament following the disputed elections of November 2, 2023. The session was effectively disrupted by protesters, culminating in Shevardnadze’s resignation and the coming to power of Mikheil Saakashvili and his United National Movement.
In the next years, Ilia II would be at his prime, enjoying high popular standing and almost unparalleled socio-political influence. His words would comfort the saddened and uplift the weary. Churches were being constructed on almost every street corner, mass baptisms attracted hundreds, sermons gathered thousands, and couples welcomed third and fourth children in the hope of receiving baptism from Ilia II – a practice he initiated to reverse falling birth rates.
This new reality reflected on the Church-State relations, too. While previously Shevardnadze and Ilia II had stood on roughly equal footing, commensurate in political experience, age, and authority, the new generation of politicians now found themselves dwarfed by his presence. Consequently, what had once been an equal partnership became decidedly one-sided and in favor of Ilia II.
President Saakashvili spared no effort to win the hearts and minds of Ilia II and other high-ranking clerics, setting generous budgetary provisions for the Patriarchate, and lavishing the clergy with gifts, land, property, valuables, and even SUV cars. Saakashvili would later recall that no other secular leader had facilitated the construction of churches and the overall strengthening of the institution as extensively as he had – and in this, he was perhaps right.
Still, his modernization agenda and his assertive style put him in crosshairs with Ilia II; already in 2004, Ilia II showed his discontent about “extreme liberalism”. A year later, he would speak of “pseudo-liberalism” gaining hold in Georgia – a message he would repeat on numerous occasions in the next years. Ilia II also eagerly embraced the social conservatives and Soviet-era intelligentsia disgruntled by Saakashvili’s modernization agenda, as well as the pro-Russian segments who disliked the country’s pro-Western drift, giving them the necessary moral backing and political legitimacy. Incidentally, these will be the very three groups that Ivanishvili will rely on to tighten his grip on power in the early 2020s.
In a world dominated by emptiness, violence, and uncertainty, Ilia II came to symbolize depth, order, and moral authority.
This was the period when the first rifts began to emerge over Georgia’s geopolitical orientation. Ilia II was always ambivalent about placing the country in any single camp. When Shevardnadze was president, he spoke of both the sins and the merits of all camps, presenting Georgia as neither fully Asian nor European, also portraying it as a country located at the intersection of east and west, north and south. This characterization resonated closely with the discursive images of Georgia in the early years of Shevardnadze. But in later years, the Patriarch would become far more outspoken about the alleged ills and sins brought by the West.
What further widened the rift between Saakashvili and the Church was his deteriorating relations with Moscow. The Georgian Orthodox Church traditionally maintained close ties with the Moscow Patriarchate, and this policy persisted even in the aftermath of the 2008 war.
While Georgia and Russia were at loggerheads over Abkhazia and the Tskhinvali Region, Ilia II displayed an increasingly Russia-aligned posture in the international affairs of the Orthodox world, particularly with respect to the role of the Patriarch of Constantinople, Moscow’s long-time ecclesial rival. The policy brought some benefits for the Georgian Orthodox Church – in August 2008, for instance, Ilia II was granted access to the conflict zone to deliver assistance and repatriate the bodies of fallen Georgian soldiers. His subsequent visits to Moscow, six in total in the aftermath of the Russo-Georgian war, were also warmly welcomed by Russian leaders, both secular and ecclesial. Moscow also refrained from recognizing the secession of Abkhazia and Tskhinvali from Tbilisi’s canonical jurisdiction, even if treating the two areas as part of its pastoral care.
Path to Public Veneration
These frictions played a role in the 2012 elections, with the Church tacitly endorsing the opposition Georgian Dream coalition. The coming to power of Georgian Dream may have ushered in a new era in Georgian politics, but it brought little change to Church-State relations. The power asymmetry between the two continued under Bidzina Ivanishvili, the leader of the ruling party. A product of the wild 1990s of Russia, who in 2005 presented himself as a “materialist” who does not “believe in life after death,” Ivanishvili was never at ease with religion, yet he, too, recognized the societal standing of the Georgian Church. As a result, he and his appointees embarked on ritual visits to the Patriarchate, routinely appearing alongside Ilia II in carefully staged displays of veneration.
Internally, the Church continued to pursue a highly conservative agenda. It supported the homophobic campaigns that ended in violent attacks on May 17, 2013, and July 5, 2021, and openly opposed the 2014 anti-discrimination law. The Church consistently challenged gender equality initiatives and spoke out against artificial insemination and surrogacy. Externally, the Church maintained a pro-Russian orientation. It skipped the Pan-Orthodox Council in Crete in 2016 and refused to recognize the autocephaly of the Ukrainian Orthodox Church in 2019, signaling solidarity with Moscow and a challenge to Constantinople. At the same time, senior clerics welcomed the normalization of relations with Russia while also starting to voice strong anti-Western messages.
In later years, Ilia II’s declining health left him increasingly incapacitated, and authority within the Patriarchate appears to have shifted to a more hardliner faction. These anti-Western forces grew significantly stronger in the past few years, simultaneously reprimanding or suppressing those who expressed alternative viewpoints. Their messaging and positioning about domestic and external have also become noticeably sharper. Moreover, rather than acknowledging the government’s authoritarian tendencies, they have openly endorsed the Georgian Dream’s agenda amid protests that preceded the 2024 Parliamentary elections. They also failed to speak against the authorities’ recent crackdowns on protesters, and those who did were effectively sidelined.
This marked a clear departure from the early and middle years of Ilia II’s tenure, which – although distinctly hostile to liberal ideas and modernization – still demonstrated a degree of restraint in foreign policy and party preferences. But those surrounding the Patriarch spoke on his behalf, drawing on his moral and institutional authority, and this was simply too strong to be opposed, even when conveyed through the words of others. As a result, recent allegations of misconduct among senior clergy, including bribery, money laundering, and even grave canonical violations, appeared to have little impact on public perceptions. Even serious personal accusations, including those raised by individuals within Ilia II’s own circle, failed to significantly undermine his popularity.
By this stage, Ilia II had reached an almost untouchable status in the eyes of many believers, widely regarded as a deeply sacred figure who transcended criticism.
Closing benediction
On March 17, 2026, when Ilia II passed away in a Tbilisi hospital, he had already assumed the stature of a living canon – a figure who enjoyed an unparalleled depth of admiration, love, and devotion.
Seen through this lens, it is hardly surprising that hundreds of thousands of Georgians have flocked to the Trinity Cathedral in Tbilisi to bid farewell to the Catholicos-Patriarch. In a world dominated by emptiness, violence, and uncertainty, Ilia II came to symbolize depth, order, and moral authority. But who was he really, as a person, as a citizen, or as a preacher? And how should we remember him and his legacy?
In the coming weeks and months, many words will be spared about him and his life. Stories about the renewal of the church will flood bookstores, television stations will feature documentaries and special reports, his sermons will be emulated across the country, and his photos will circulate on social media. Over time, for the majority, he will become a mythical figure – a radiant, almost legendary presence.
To me, too, he will be remembered as a Churchman – an exceptionally charismatic cleric who transformed a near-death institution into a highly organized apparatus. He will also be remembered as a devoted Statesman – a man who dedicated his entire life to strengthening the Georgian nation and the Georgian nation-state. He will also be remembered as a gifted Politician – a man who outlived (and perhaps even outsmarted) most of his clerical and secular contemporaries, managing to maintain influence even at his lowest points.
They say one should never speak ill of the dead – a rule almost sacred in Georgia. Yet, Ilia II was a figure whose life demands both appreciation and critique.
To me, he may be remembered as a Churchman, but not a commoner. Sure, he spoke the words of humility, modesty, and moderation, but he was not a genuine voice for the poor and the weak. His constant company of the rich, the famous, and the powerful, coupled with his taste for lavish audiences and extravagant gift-giving, and his preference for architectural grandeur, an unusual style for the otherwise minimalist Georgian tradition, spoke of a man who may have been a common man’s favorite, but was not one of them.
He will be remembered as a Statesman, but not a unifying figure; he certainly represented the majority of the nation, but did little to heal the political wounds or address the grievances of those outside the mainstream. His insistence on a narrow vision of Georgianness left many – linguistic, religious, political, and sexual minorities – marginalized, and at times even threatened in the very core of their being.
He will be remembered as a Politician, but not a democrat. Time and again, Ilia II showed a preference for centralization over delegation, for discipline over cooperation. His dominating, almost single-handed rule made it easier – if not paved the way – for Georgia’s abrupt slide into authoritarianism. It has also come to haunt the very institution he created; absent his guidance, the Patriarchate has slowly degenerated into dysfunction, falling short of the very meaning of Ecclessia as a collective body.
But, perhaps – just perhaps – the burden we endowed him to carry was simply greater than a mortal can carry. Perhaps we demanded more than a single person can handle.
Whatever the case, I wish he finds his eternal peace!
March 22, 2026.
The author is a long-term researcher and observer of Georgian politics. Due to professional circumstances, he identifies himself for this article under the pen name Giorgi Varsknelidze.
The post Obituary | Ilia II – Man Who Reinvented the Church first appeared on The South Caucasus News – SouthCaucasusNews.com.
