Christ is Risen!
This year I had the blessing to spend Holy Week and Pascha on Mt. Athos. I went with a few friends (one from the States, one from Serbia, one from Congo) to Zographou Monastery for the first two days of Holy Week and to Grigoriou for the remainder of Holy Week and Pascha. I would like to share with you, my friends and family, some experiences and reflections surrounding this week, not to brag (because our Pascha is the same wherever we celebrate it I think) but just to share with you our particular humble blessing on this Feast of Feasts!
I was told to go to Mt. Athos at least one time for Pascha. I decided to take this advice (now that I am in a stage in life where I would not be leaving a family for the visit) and packed my bags for the Holy Mountain.
Until the very last moment we had some logistical difficulties. I had arranged for all of us to stay at Zographou monastery for 2 nights, Xenofontos for 1 and then for at least 2 out of the 4 of us to stay at Grigoriou for the remainder of the trip (the monks were not sure if they could take all of us at Grigoriou or just two). Without hearing back from them, however, we proceeded on our way, hoping that we would be able to spend Pascha as a group and not have to go to different monasteries if there was no room. This was a great opportunity to practice putting things into God’s hands, and that is exactly what we tried to to. Thankfully, everything worked out perfectly and we did not have to split up at all.
There is a thickness to Holy Week that cannot be described. The richness of the prayers and hymns, the absence of food, the weight of an event in time happening so long ago but with so many ramifications for us today. The air is thick with meaning. A normal week passes by in an instant, but there is something that doesn’t allow you to pass Holy Week so quickly. It’s not worth, I don’t think, to try to dive deeper into this mystery.
The first two days we experienced the services in Church Slavonic. We were in church for the greater part of each day. When got off the boat at Zographou we walked up a road for about one hour to get to the monastery. The monks were already in church. We entered the katholikon (main church of the monastery) and were immediately met with the site of 20 or so monks and a dozen laymen making prostrations silently (reverent bows that one makes at various times during the services, especially those of Lent, which entail bending your whole body until you are on your hands and knees). Holy Week had begun. Zographou is a beautiful monastery, of enormous size, tucked away in the mountainous landscape of Mt. Athos. It is very quiet and does not have quite so many visitors as some of the other monasteries (which can be a good thing at times).
After the two days had come to an end we packed our bags again and headed for the boat. Embarking upon the second half of our journey we were also becoming more focused on the reality of Christ’s passion, crucifixion, three-day burial and Resurrection. We arrived at Grigoriou ready to continue this journey toward Christ’s resurrection, and toward our own!
At Grigoriou we were met with traditional Athonite hospitality. Some of the monks that I know there were very kind to us and spoke with us a number of times to discuss various matters in our lives and to talk to us about the spiritual life, giving us tips for how we can carry out Christ’s commandments in the world.
There were a few “moments” that struck me very deeply (among many of course) throughout our pilgrimage that I would like to share:
Banging the Talenton
The talenton is a thin, flattened wooden staff-like instrument that is held in it’s center and struck with a wooden mallet. It is used to call people to prayer, but also to promote the joyous atmosphere of the various church feasts (Pascha included). We were standing in the Paschal liturgy a little after midnight (or it might have been the Paschal Orthros during the canon) when one of the monks that I know tapped us Americans (and our Serbian friend) on the shoulders and asked us if we would like to help bang the talanton’s to bring in the Paschal feast. We readily accepted and were led outside with a group of pilgrims, and each given a talenton and mallot. Armed and ready we were told to follow in a single-file line behind a monk who would lead us in our talenton-banging procession. We began to strike our wooden “bells” and processed joyously around the entire monastery. It was such an innocent and simple moment of joy but we were all grinning from ear to ear and banging away at our wooden toys experiencing the infectious joy of the Paschal joy.
Paschal Light and Procession
When the hour to begin the Paschal service came, all of the candles in ancient chapel were put out and the monks and laity stood in silence and wrapped in expectant darkness. Gradually and quietly the priests began to sing within the alter and to pass around the paschal flame one to another. We were all encourage to received our flame directly from the serving priest at the front of the church, so we squeezed our way to the front to light our candles. Slowly but surely the pitch blackness disappeared as a golden flickering light grew within the chapel one candle at a time. We made the typical procession around the main chapel for Pascha, singing the paschal hymn, reading the Gospel reading, and finally coming back to the enormous monastery doors at the entrance of the chapel, where the priests conversed with “someone” inside using the words from psalm 23 (24) “Lift up your gates you princes and be you lifted up you everlasting gates and the king of glory will enter!”...and the response from within: “who is this king of glory?”...and the triumphant reply: “the Lord strong and might,y the Lord mighty in war.” And this is repeated twice more until the doors are flung open and everyone floods the church which is literally alive with swaying golden candalabras, flickering candles from all corners of the chapel and a gauntlet of priests and monks sprinkling you in the face with holy water and wishing you Paschal greetings, yelling: Christos Anesti (Christ is Risen), and waiting for the response: Alithos Anesti (Truly He is Risen)! With every step that you take, back into the church, your heart is lifted higher and higher, and it continues to ascend in an unbroken chain of beautiful hymns and sites as everyone is flung, head-first, into the Paschal hymns. Christ Has Risen!
Paschal Divine Liturgy begins with the singing of the Paschal Hymn: Christ is risen from the dead, trampling down death by death, and upon those in the tombs bestowing life. This is chanted multiple times and in many languages. We heard it in Greek, French, Romanian, Arabic, Swahili, English. A group of us were asked to chant it in English!i There were around 15 priests celebrating the liturgy together and 3 or 4 deacons. All of the priests wore matching vestments, and the deacons wore their most radiant and celebratory garments. It was truly a beautiful manifestation of the Kingdom!
After the service we went to the refectory for a celebratory meal, and then went to bed.
Pascha Sunday and Simonopetra
We awoke the next morning to the beautiful site of a thin fog on the water and remembering the night before as if it were a beautiful dream. We spent the day so peacefully. A group of young men from various different countries (2 serbs, 1 palestinian, 3 americans, 1 from congo, 1 greek) all gathered together to take an enjoyable hike to the neighboring Simonopetra monastery. We were all together singing songs, talking about our lives in our respective countries. We took a break by the beach and climbed some of the rocks and relaxed in the sun. It was hard for us to believe that we could be the recipients of such a wonderful opportunity to be together, sharing the feast with another--all on the same page, all rejoicing at eachother’s existence. We clung desperately on to every moment of our time together, and the time passed so richly and almost as if we had entered into a twilight zone of sorts...everything was so real, and liberated (at least for brief moments) from the tensions and psychological stress of pressing obligations and schedules. Glory to God.
When we arrived at Simonopetra we were a bit tired from our walk but happy to be there. We went into the guesthouse and waited for the guest master. He brought us all some tsiporo (a deliciously refreshing traditional alcoholic beverage which is perfect to cool you down after a hike) and loukoumi (turkish delight). He asked us where we were from and we burst into a joyful “apo pantou” (from everywhere!). It was such a great group of young men, all sharing the grace of the feast together--indescribable!
We stayed at Simonopetra for the Agape Vespers where we heard the gospel being read in at least 7 languages in beautiful byzantine chant. We returned to Grigoriou as it began to get a bit dark, after an incredible meal of fried fish, homemade wine and delicious dairy products. The following day, our day of departure, we finished the service (which included a Litia and procession around the monastery) and were invited to speak with one of the elders of the monastery who shared some spiritual advice with us, but most of all, showed us a true example of humble love.
We were overjoyed but a bit saddened to leave, but all the while remembering that the Paschal flame--the joy of Pascha--is not a one time/year event, but occurs all year round.
Also the Grace that we received from the feast strengthened us a bit, freed us a bit. This is a reality that can be found everywhere! We were grateful, however, to experience it this year on Agion Oros.
Wednesday, April 29, 2009
Sunday, April 12, 2009
How My Friend Began Holy Week...
A friend of mine, fellow student in Thessaloniki, shared the following experience with me. It struck me and I thought I would share it with you all:
“Holy Week had begun. Earlier today (Sunday) I had gone to the Palm Sunday Liturgy and later at night I attended the Bridegroom Matins at St. Haralambos. The chanting was exquisite. The chanters sang as if calling out to God in continual exhortation. The church was filled with people and the air was thick with the heaviness and gravity of the coming week--Christ’s trial, crucifixion, passion, but the hope of his Resurrection. I actually felt as though something was going to happen--some serious event.”
“After the service and a quick trip to St. Demetrios to venerate the relics and drop my friend off nearby, I went to a dear friend’s house to have a small supper with him before I left the following day for Agion Oros. We are close friends and it was a sweet time of conversation and reflections, because we would not be with one another for Holy Week and Pascha. At the end we exchanged greetings for Pascha. All of a sudden an urge of over-flowing affection came over me and I just wanted to say ‘I love you’ to my friend. I said it, and he said it back...and it was a beautiful moment. Glory to God!”
“After I left his apartment it was about 11pm. In my head I was battling some thoughts of pride...oooh, I said ‘I love you’ to him...he probably thinks I’m pious or something...even though the reality of the situation was that it was an urge, presumably from Above. I was having these thoughts, when I saw a single figure walking towards me. There wasn’t anyone else around, and the man who was approaching was obviously pretty drunk. I could see in his eyes that he wanted to talk to me, and I was alone and didn’t know if he wanted trouble. I was also carrying some bread and lenten cheese with me that I took from my friend’s house to feed my friend who would be traveling to Mt. Athos with me the next morning. I was afraid. I thought about my wallet. I looked for an escape. Should I cross the street? I thought about it, but knew how drunk peoples’ minds work. They are drunk, but there is some sense about them that can smell fear, that can sense subtle aspects about your behavior that provoke them to more disturbing behavior. So, Glory to God, I had the thought to say a quick Jesus prayer and continue walking. As soon as I said the prayer, though it all happened fairly quickly, I’m pretty certain everything was clear--I was empowered with Wisdom and Courage. He came up to me and I could tell he wanted to ask me something. A thought CLEARLY occurred to me to give him the bread and cheese. I gave it to him. I said ”για σένα (for you).“ He looked at it and asked ”τι είναι αυτό;“ I said ”λίγο ψωμί, ένα δώρο για σένα.“ Maybe I said this to butter him up a bit so he would be flattered and not saying anything else, but it was what HE did that astonished me. As soon as I said this, and gave him the bread, he grabbed my hand and kissed it, I felt compelled to do the same and kissed his hand. Afterwards, our eyes met, and his disposition had changed. He was happy, his eyes were glittering. I looked at him more closely and noticed he was wearing a cross. I greeted him with the seasonal ”Καλό Πάσχα“ but added ”Καλή Ανάσταση.“ He thanked me I think, I can’t remember exactly, and turned to go. But as he was walking away, I could hear him repeating the word ”Ανάσταση.“
”The Jesus Prayer is real. I kissed the hand of Christ and saw His face in that of a drunk man’s through GOD’S GRACE. My fear, though real and fallen, was transformed into God’s love through a simple exhortation of His mercy and by calling upon His name. Say the Jesus Prayer as a REAL exhortation, because it is REAL. Glory to God in His Saints and through His mysterious and wonderful works for us, unworthy and sinful though we be!”
“Holy Week had begun. Earlier today (Sunday) I had gone to the Palm Sunday Liturgy and later at night I attended the Bridegroom Matins at St. Haralambos. The chanting was exquisite. The chanters sang as if calling out to God in continual exhortation. The church was filled with people and the air was thick with the heaviness and gravity of the coming week--Christ’s trial, crucifixion, passion, but the hope of his Resurrection. I actually felt as though something was going to happen--some serious event.”
“After the service and a quick trip to St. Demetrios to venerate the relics and drop my friend off nearby, I went to a dear friend’s house to have a small supper with him before I left the following day for Agion Oros. We are close friends and it was a sweet time of conversation and reflections, because we would not be with one another for Holy Week and Pascha. At the end we exchanged greetings for Pascha. All of a sudden an urge of over-flowing affection came over me and I just wanted to say ‘I love you’ to my friend. I said it, and he said it back...and it was a beautiful moment. Glory to God!”
“After I left his apartment it was about 11pm. In my head I was battling some thoughts of pride...oooh, I said ‘I love you’ to him...he probably thinks I’m pious or something...even though the reality of the situation was that it was an urge, presumably from Above. I was having these thoughts, when I saw a single figure walking towards me. There wasn’t anyone else around, and the man who was approaching was obviously pretty drunk. I could see in his eyes that he wanted to talk to me, and I was alone and didn’t know if he wanted trouble. I was also carrying some bread and lenten cheese with me that I took from my friend’s house to feed my friend who would be traveling to Mt. Athos with me the next morning. I was afraid. I thought about my wallet. I looked for an escape. Should I cross the street? I thought about it, but knew how drunk peoples’ minds work. They are drunk, but there is some sense about them that can smell fear, that can sense subtle aspects about your behavior that provoke them to more disturbing behavior. So, Glory to God, I had the thought to say a quick Jesus prayer and continue walking. As soon as I said the prayer, though it all happened fairly quickly, I’m pretty certain everything was clear--I was empowered with Wisdom and Courage. He came up to me and I could tell he wanted to ask me something. A thought CLEARLY occurred to me to give him the bread and cheese. I gave it to him. I said ”για σένα (for you).“ He looked at it and asked ”τι είναι αυτό;“ I said ”λίγο ψωμί, ένα δώρο για σένα.“ Maybe I said this to butter him up a bit so he would be flattered and not saying anything else, but it was what HE did that astonished me. As soon as I said this, and gave him the bread, he grabbed my hand and kissed it, I felt compelled to do the same and kissed his hand. Afterwards, our eyes met, and his disposition had changed. He was happy, his eyes were glittering. I looked at him more closely and noticed he was wearing a cross. I greeted him with the seasonal ”Καλό Πάσχα“ but added ”Καλή Ανάσταση.“ He thanked me I think, I can’t remember exactly, and turned to go. But as he was walking away, I could hear him repeating the word ”Ανάσταση.“
”The Jesus Prayer is real. I kissed the hand of Christ and saw His face in that of a drunk man’s through GOD’S GRACE. My fear, though real and fallen, was transformed into God’s love through a simple exhortation of His mercy and by calling upon His name. Say the Jesus Prayer as a REAL exhortation, because it is REAL. Glory to God in His Saints and through His mysterious and wonderful works for us, unworthy and sinful though we be!”
Wednesday, April 8, 2009
Wow!
The Reading is from Isaiah 58:1-11
Thus says the LORD: "Cry aloud, spare not, lift up your voice like a trumpet; declare to my people their transgression, to the house of Jacob their sins. Yet they seek me daily, and delight to know my ways, as if they were a nation that did righteousness and did not forsake the ordinance of their God; they ask of me righteous judgments, they delight to draw near to God. 'Why have we fasted, and thou seest it not? Why have we humbled ourselves, and thou takest no knowledge of it?' Behold, in the day of your fast you seek your own pleasure, and oppress all your workers. Behold, you fast only to quarrel and to fight and to hit with wicked fist. Fasting like yours this day will not make your voice to be heard on high. Is such the fast that I choose, a day for a man to humble himself? Is it to bow down his head like a rush, and to spread sackcloth and ashes under him? Will you call this a fast, and a day acceptable to the LORD?
"Is not this the fast that I choose: to loose the bonds of wickedness, to undo the thongs of the yoke, to let the oppressed go free, and to break every yoke? Is it not to share your bread with the hungry, and bring the homeless poor into your house; when you see the naked, to cover him, and not to hide yourself from your own flesh? Then shall your light break forth like the dawn, and your healing shall spring up speedily; your righteousness shall go before you, the glory of the LORD shall be your rear guard. Then you shall call, and the LORD will answer; you shall cry, and he will say, "Here I am."
"If you take away from the midst of you the yoke, the pointing of the finger, and speaking wickedness, if you pour yourself out for the hungry and satisfy the desire of the afflicted, then shall your light rise in the darkness and your gloom be as the noonday. And the LORD will guide you continually, and satisfy your desire with good things, and make your bones strong; and you shall be like a watered garden, like a spring of water, whose waters fail not.
Thus says the LORD: "Cry aloud, spare not, lift up your voice like a trumpet; declare to my people their transgression, to the house of Jacob their sins. Yet they seek me daily, and delight to know my ways, as if they were a nation that did righteousness and did not forsake the ordinance of their God; they ask of me righteous judgments, they delight to draw near to God. 'Why have we fasted, and thou seest it not? Why have we humbled ourselves, and thou takest no knowledge of it?' Behold, in the day of your fast you seek your own pleasure, and oppress all your workers. Behold, you fast only to quarrel and to fight and to hit with wicked fist. Fasting like yours this day will not make your voice to be heard on high. Is such the fast that I choose, a day for a man to humble himself? Is it to bow down his head like a rush, and to spread sackcloth and ashes under him? Will you call this a fast, and a day acceptable to the LORD?
"Is not this the fast that I choose: to loose the bonds of wickedness, to undo the thongs of the yoke, to let the oppressed go free, and to break every yoke? Is it not to share your bread with the hungry, and bring the homeless poor into your house; when you see the naked, to cover him, and not to hide yourself from your own flesh? Then shall your light break forth like the dawn, and your healing shall spring up speedily; your righteousness shall go before you, the glory of the LORD shall be your rear guard. Then you shall call, and the LORD will answer; you shall cry, and he will say, "Here I am."
"If you take away from the midst of you the yoke, the pointing of the finger, and speaking wickedness, if you pour yourself out for the hungry and satisfy the desire of the afflicted, then shall your light rise in the darkness and your gloom be as the noonday. And the LORD will guide you continually, and satisfy your desire with good things, and make your bones strong; and you shall be like a watered garden, like a spring of water, whose waters fail not.
Sunday, March 15, 2009
Story from the Holy Mountain...
My mother encouraged me to post this story, and so out of filial obedience I am presenting it to you!
I spent Forgiveness Sunday on Mt. Athos. Some of my first thoughts and assumptions when I decided to do this were from the life of St. Mary of Egypt (a story that I have heard every year since I can remember when she is remembered during Great Lent) where we find a beautiful picture of the monastic traditions encompassing this profound and pregnant event:
“Many days passed and the time drew near when all Christians fast and prepare themselves to worship the Divine Passion and Ressurection of Christ. The monastery gates were kept always locked and only opened when one of the community was sent out on some errand. It was a desert place, not only unvisited by people of the world but even unknown to them.
“There was a rule in that monastery which was the reason why God brought Zosimas there. At the beginning of the Great Fast [on Forgiveness Sunday] the priest celebrated the holy Liturgy and all partook of the holy body and blood of Christ. After the Liturgy they went to the refectory and would eat a little lenten food.”
“Then all gathered in church, and after praying earnestly with prostrations, the elders kissed one another and asked forgiveness. And each made a prostration to the abbot and asked his blessing and prayers for the struggle that lay before them. After this, the gates of the monastery were thrown open, and singing, "The Lord is my light and my Savior; whom shall I fear? The Lord is the defender of my life; of whom shall I be afraid?" (Psalm 26:1) and the rest of that psalm, all went out into the desert and crossed the River Jordan. Only one or two brothers were left in the monastery, not to guard the property (for there was nothing to rob), but so as not to leave the church without Divine Service. Each took with him as much as he could or wanted in the way of food, according to the needs of his body: one would take a little bread, another some figs, another dates or wheat soaked in water. And some took nothing but their own body covered with rags and fed when nature forced them to it on the plants that grew in the desert.”
So this was my picture of what Forgiveness Sunday would look like. In many ways, it was naive and somewhat idealistic, in other ways it was VERY close to reality.
Arriving on the Thursday before the first week of Great Lent I stayed at the monastery together with around 50-70 other pilgrims. The monastery was very full and if you didn’t arrive early to services, you were lucky to find a seat.
The food was delicious and simple as usual, but especially delicious as it was the last days of dairy products. Thus at every meal there was something cheesy and creamy to be had. I had heard from one of the monks that on Sunday evening there would be a very nice meal after the Vespers service.
After a few days of meeting some of the local Greek pilgrims (which is a story in and of itself, and a VERY good experience) we arrived at the Sunday of Forgiveness. Vespers ended and we went into the Trapeza (Refectory) as usual. The tables were set with extra special food for the final meal (last supper? :)) before the Trimera (3 austere days of the beginning of Lent). The meal began and the reading, of course, that was proclaimed aloud from the amvon was on the theme of the day. After everyone had finished, the abbot (who is a well-known figure in Greece, previously a professor at the University in Athens, author of many books and a spiritual man) addressed everyone on the theme of the day as well. After this was over, however, something happened which really made an impression on me.
The monks have a tradition of singing various hymns during this particular meal in teams. Thus, one table would come up with a commonly-agreed upon hymn and would chant it for the rest of the brethren and pilgrims. This went on for 45 minutes or so, various tables of monks sharing hymns. Then the abbot would say “Father so-and-so...” come up here and chant “such-and-such” a hymn for us.“ And Fr. So-and-So who could very well have been in his 70’s would come up, accompanied by a few other monks to make the ison, and pour out his soul by chanting this hymn. Sometimes the abbot would ask if anyone had anything to chant that they were interested in chanting, other times someone would just begin. There were hymns in various languages as there were some Romania workers present and some other foreigners. One very poignant part was the relationship between the monks. They expressed their deep joy in being together and their love for one another in a sober, somewhat muted, but authentic manner. The quietude of the event allowed the reality of this love to come through that much more. As was the case so long ago in the Deserts of Egypt and Syria and elsewhere, the monks were preparing to embark on a serious journey. Surely, the austerity was a bit more pronounced in the earlier centuries where monks did not know if they would return alive from their pilgrimage into the desert, but the sense of beginning was very tangibly present.
Thankfully, I was not only able to witness the festive celebration, but also the actual beginning of the fast. Services lasted for the greater part of each day and monks (unless they were unable for health reasons) fasted from partaking of anything to sustain them for the first 3 days. They ate the spiritual food of the services, of the readings from St. John Climacus which were proclaimed in the morning service in the katholikon (main church), and from their collective prayers, but ultimately and primarily, they were preserved, in their weakness, by the Grace of God.
It is difficult to fully capture this event--yes, even in impossible--but I pray that you would at least get a glimpse into the sobriety of the practice that I witnessed. My mind rested on the thought that despite the fact that they are not in the Egyptian desert and don’t necessarily have the immediate threat of death impending as they embark on their journey, these Athonite monks robe themselves with a similar spirit. They have sacrificed their entire life for the Lord, and ideally, they have died to the world. Thus the epidemy of this vow, a full expresion of it, it seems, can be found in the Lenten journey. Just as we, in the world, use it as a time to re-focus our lives on Christ and repentance, they too do this, keeping in mind their vows of renunciation of one thing and acceptance of another. No, there is no difference in the expectations between a monk and layman regarding salvation, but this experience emphasized the fullness of this expectation that we are all called to. The full renunciation of the ”world“ (as we Orthodox Christians phrase that which is sinful, corrupt and tears us away from God) and acceptance of Christ.
St. Nikolai Velimirovic highlights this point, and quotes St. Isaac the Syrian as well:
"Every day and every hour, proof of our love for God is required of us," says St. Isaac the Syrian. God shows His love for us every day and every hour. Every day and every moment we stand positioned between God and sin.” (Prologue reading March 17).
No need to try to sum up this experience too much. May God give us the strength to remain close to him and the strength to love Him!
with love in Christ,
Mike
I spent Forgiveness Sunday on Mt. Athos. Some of my first thoughts and assumptions when I decided to do this were from the life of St. Mary of Egypt (a story that I have heard every year since I can remember when she is remembered during Great Lent) where we find a beautiful picture of the monastic traditions encompassing this profound and pregnant event:
“Many days passed and the time drew near when all Christians fast and prepare themselves to worship the Divine Passion and Ressurection of Christ. The monastery gates were kept always locked and only opened when one of the community was sent out on some errand. It was a desert place, not only unvisited by people of the world but even unknown to them.
“There was a rule in that monastery which was the reason why God brought Zosimas there. At the beginning of the Great Fast [on Forgiveness Sunday] the priest celebrated the holy Liturgy and all partook of the holy body and blood of Christ. After the Liturgy they went to the refectory and would eat a little lenten food.”
“Then all gathered in church, and after praying earnestly with prostrations, the elders kissed one another and asked forgiveness. And each made a prostration to the abbot and asked his blessing and prayers for the struggle that lay before them. After this, the gates of the monastery were thrown open, and singing, "The Lord is my light and my Savior; whom shall I fear? The Lord is the defender of my life; of whom shall I be afraid?" (Psalm 26:1) and the rest of that psalm, all went out into the desert and crossed the River Jordan. Only one or two brothers were left in the monastery, not to guard the property (for there was nothing to rob), but so as not to leave the church without Divine Service. Each took with him as much as he could or wanted in the way of food, according to the needs of his body: one would take a little bread, another some figs, another dates or wheat soaked in water. And some took nothing but their own body covered with rags and fed when nature forced them to it on the plants that grew in the desert.”
So this was my picture of what Forgiveness Sunday would look like. In many ways, it was naive and somewhat idealistic, in other ways it was VERY close to reality.
Arriving on the Thursday before the first week of Great Lent I stayed at the monastery together with around 50-70 other pilgrims. The monastery was very full and if you didn’t arrive early to services, you were lucky to find a seat.
The food was delicious and simple as usual, but especially delicious as it was the last days of dairy products. Thus at every meal there was something cheesy and creamy to be had. I had heard from one of the monks that on Sunday evening there would be a very nice meal after the Vespers service.
After a few days of meeting some of the local Greek pilgrims (which is a story in and of itself, and a VERY good experience) we arrived at the Sunday of Forgiveness. Vespers ended and we went into the Trapeza (Refectory) as usual. The tables were set with extra special food for the final meal (last supper? :)) before the Trimera (3 austere days of the beginning of Lent). The meal began and the reading, of course, that was proclaimed aloud from the amvon was on the theme of the day. After everyone had finished, the abbot (who is a well-known figure in Greece, previously a professor at the University in Athens, author of many books and a spiritual man) addressed everyone on the theme of the day as well. After this was over, however, something happened which really made an impression on me.
The monks have a tradition of singing various hymns during this particular meal in teams. Thus, one table would come up with a commonly-agreed upon hymn and would chant it for the rest of the brethren and pilgrims. This went on for 45 minutes or so, various tables of monks sharing hymns. Then the abbot would say “Father so-and-so...” come up here and chant “such-and-such” a hymn for us.“ And Fr. So-and-So who could very well have been in his 70’s would come up, accompanied by a few other monks to make the ison, and pour out his soul by chanting this hymn. Sometimes the abbot would ask if anyone had anything to chant that they were interested in chanting, other times someone would just begin. There were hymns in various languages as there were some Romania workers present and some other foreigners. One very poignant part was the relationship between the monks. They expressed their deep joy in being together and their love for one another in a sober, somewhat muted, but authentic manner. The quietude of the event allowed the reality of this love to come through that much more. As was the case so long ago in the Deserts of Egypt and Syria and elsewhere, the monks were preparing to embark on a serious journey. Surely, the austerity was a bit more pronounced in the earlier centuries where monks did not know if they would return alive from their pilgrimage into the desert, but the sense of beginning was very tangibly present.
Thankfully, I was not only able to witness the festive celebration, but also the actual beginning of the fast. Services lasted for the greater part of each day and monks (unless they were unable for health reasons) fasted from partaking of anything to sustain them for the first 3 days. They ate the spiritual food of the services, of the readings from St. John Climacus which were proclaimed in the morning service in the katholikon (main church), and from their collective prayers, but ultimately and primarily, they were preserved, in their weakness, by the Grace of God.
It is difficult to fully capture this event--yes, even in impossible--but I pray that you would at least get a glimpse into the sobriety of the practice that I witnessed. My mind rested on the thought that despite the fact that they are not in the Egyptian desert and don’t necessarily have the immediate threat of death impending as they embark on their journey, these Athonite monks robe themselves with a similar spirit. They have sacrificed their entire life for the Lord, and ideally, they have died to the world. Thus the epidemy of this vow, a full expresion of it, it seems, can be found in the Lenten journey. Just as we, in the world, use it as a time to re-focus our lives on Christ and repentance, they too do this, keeping in mind their vows of renunciation of one thing and acceptance of another. No, there is no difference in the expectations between a monk and layman regarding salvation, but this experience emphasized the fullness of this expectation that we are all called to. The full renunciation of the ”world“ (as we Orthodox Christians phrase that which is sinful, corrupt and tears us away from God) and acceptance of Christ.
St. Nikolai Velimirovic highlights this point, and quotes St. Isaac the Syrian as well:
"Every day and every hour, proof of our love for God is required of us," says St. Isaac the Syrian. God shows His love for us every day and every hour. Every day and every moment we stand positioned between God and sin.” (Prologue reading March 17).
No need to try to sum up this experience too much. May God give us the strength to remain close to him and the strength to love Him!
with love in Christ,
Mike
Thursday, March 5, 2009
A Simple Memoir of A Simple Man...
Today (which was really a week or so ago) was a spring day, and infused with a deep heart-breaking stillness after hearing the news of the repose of a newly-befriended, but beloved, American monk living on Mt. Athos.
Fr. Barnabus spoke with a southern drawl. He had a pot-belly and pure silverish white hair and beard. Though long and uncut, his hair was thin, especially after his treatments.
I met Fr. Barnabus for the first time at an American friend’s apartment here in Thessaloniki. I didnt know it at the time, but Fr. B had been diagnosed with prostate cancer and was beginning to make regular visits to Thessaloniki for treatment. This form of cancer is usually fairly beatable, and therefore both he and his doctors were fairly optimistic.
As the weeks rolled on, I would see Fr. Barnabus here and there--once on the ferry back from Mt. Athos and a few more times in Thessaloniki. The American friend whose apartment he would stay in, left for a large portion of the winter to spend Christmas vacation with his family in the States. While he was gone, Fr. Barnabus had come in for treatment, and had decided that it was becoming too much for him to commute back and forth from the Holy Mountain, so he made the move out of his monastery in order to finish this round of treatment. For this reason, and because our American friend was in the States, Fr. B asked me occasionally to pick things up for him, and I would visit when I could to keep him company. Through these fairly regular encounters over the previous few months, I was able to get to know Fr. Barnabus a bit, and pick up on a few traits of his.
He never really struck me as anything special in the beginning.
He was very quiet, pleasant, even-tempered and wouldn’t really get worked up very much (at least not while I was around him).
I remember one instance where he was a bit more worked up. He had just got off the phone with Metropolitan Jonah, the newly-elected primate of the Orthodox Church in America, who was a long-time friend and co-struggler in California at one point. He was like a little child who had just spoken to some big star. He was so invigorated and visibly over-joyed that he was able to get through to M. Jonah and was able to have a word with him.
I also remember that whenever I would try to wow him with some miracle story or something that I thought was impressive or that would get his attention he would respond by a slow, southern-style, head nod and a very indifferent, but far from rude, “ok, ok...” and would not give these words of naivete the fire that they were looking for.
I recall on a number of occasions his comments of gratitude towards different people. Initially I heard him mention his abbot a few times at Karakallou monastery who “put up” with him as an elderly English speaking monk. He would say “he’s been verrrry good to me” and would emphasize this, as if he was some vagrant or beggar that was just looking for a place to lay his head. What a sacrifice and humiliating experience it must have been to subject himself to a different language, different country/culture/spiritual family, at such a stage in life (he was in his late 50’s-early 60’s when he came to Athos as far as I can gather).
He wouldn’t really give any kind of advice or spiritual words of wisdom. The most I heard him say to someone who had expressed a lot of spiritual troubles to him (a young person who was going through a period of discernment for vocational paths) was “Ok C____, I’ll be praying for you” (something like this and some very trivial, but encouraging words).
As time went on, and his body became weaker from the treatments, his appearance became a bit more disheveled. He was still so soft and kind, and very real, whenever I came over. He was telling me about the exercises that his doctor had prescribed and how he needed to try to walk a lot in order to stay in shape during his treatments.
I remember during one visit he was walking into the living room in front of me, and just out of a burst of something, he spurted out “O Michael, Michael, Michael, my dear, dear boy.” I don’t know why I remember this, it was so simple, but it had such compassion in it.
I don’t know. Fr. Barnabus’ life, to me, was so simple. I didn’t really know him that well or for that long, but really made an impression on me by his simplicity, by his compassion, by his lover amidst suffering.
A couple of weeks later I was in my friend’s Apartment where he stayed and noticed a book on the desk in the living room. I don’t know if it was Fr. Barnabus’ book or not, but I noticed that some of his belongings were next to it, so I assumed that it might have been. It was “The HIdden Man of the Heart” by Fr. Zacharias Zachariou from the Monastery in Essex--A Compilation of lecture he gave in America at a clergy retreat.
There was a book-marker marking a section in the chapter roughly entitled “On preparing for the day of death.” Who knows, maybe the book wasn’t even his, but it really engrained the mission of a monk to come to this place in himself where death is regular contemplation. I read the portion of the chapter which was a Q&A with Fr. Zacharias where someone asked him to relate a story about when he was serving at a church in a village in Greece and the Priest asked him to give the sermon to the congregation. The Priest pointed out to Fr. Z that many were wearing black in the congregation, and this was because a plane had crashed recently in the area killing many of the families of the villagers there. Fr. Z was at a loss, especially because he not suffered such a loss as them, and knew that he would just stumble over his words. Eventually, however, he did his best by recounting two powerful examples of the effects of prayer. One was when a plane that he was flying in lost power in one engine and he had come to terms, during the course of the emergency landing, with his approaching death, and had been praying throughout...but the plane landed safely. When he returned to the monastery, his spiritual father, the famous Fr. Sophrony said...you’re safe because of the prayers! He recounted another moving story of prayer in the face of adversity from his family history in Greece under Turkish occupation.
Anyway, Fr. Barnabus was a witness to the simplicity and silence manifested in the life of a true Athonite monk. My impressions of him were more from the absence of something there (i.e. the silence, the simplicity) than from some complex theological supposition.
Fr. Barnabus spoke with a southern drawl. He had a pot-belly and pure silverish white hair and beard. Though long and uncut, his hair was thin, especially after his treatments.
I met Fr. Barnabus for the first time at an American friend’s apartment here in Thessaloniki. I didnt know it at the time, but Fr. B had been diagnosed with prostate cancer and was beginning to make regular visits to Thessaloniki for treatment. This form of cancer is usually fairly beatable, and therefore both he and his doctors were fairly optimistic.
As the weeks rolled on, I would see Fr. Barnabus here and there--once on the ferry back from Mt. Athos and a few more times in Thessaloniki. The American friend whose apartment he would stay in, left for a large portion of the winter to spend Christmas vacation with his family in the States. While he was gone, Fr. Barnabus had come in for treatment, and had decided that it was becoming too much for him to commute back and forth from the Holy Mountain, so he made the move out of his monastery in order to finish this round of treatment. For this reason, and because our American friend was in the States, Fr. B asked me occasionally to pick things up for him, and I would visit when I could to keep him company. Through these fairly regular encounters over the previous few months, I was able to get to know Fr. Barnabus a bit, and pick up on a few traits of his.
He never really struck me as anything special in the beginning.
He was very quiet, pleasant, even-tempered and wouldn’t really get worked up very much (at least not while I was around him).
I remember one instance where he was a bit more worked up. He had just got off the phone with Metropolitan Jonah, the newly-elected primate of the Orthodox Church in America, who was a long-time friend and co-struggler in California at one point. He was like a little child who had just spoken to some big star. He was so invigorated and visibly over-joyed that he was able to get through to M. Jonah and was able to have a word with him.
I also remember that whenever I would try to wow him with some miracle story or something that I thought was impressive or that would get his attention he would respond by a slow, southern-style, head nod and a very indifferent, but far from rude, “ok, ok...” and would not give these words of naivete the fire that they were looking for.
I recall on a number of occasions his comments of gratitude towards different people. Initially I heard him mention his abbot a few times at Karakallou monastery who “put up” with him as an elderly English speaking monk. He would say “he’s been verrrry good to me” and would emphasize this, as if he was some vagrant or beggar that was just looking for a place to lay his head. What a sacrifice and humiliating experience it must have been to subject himself to a different language, different country/culture/spiritual family, at such a stage in life (he was in his late 50’s-early 60’s when he came to Athos as far as I can gather).
He wouldn’t really give any kind of advice or spiritual words of wisdom. The most I heard him say to someone who had expressed a lot of spiritual troubles to him (a young person who was going through a period of discernment for vocational paths) was “Ok C____, I’ll be praying for you” (something like this and some very trivial, but encouraging words).
As time went on, and his body became weaker from the treatments, his appearance became a bit more disheveled. He was still so soft and kind, and very real, whenever I came over. He was telling me about the exercises that his doctor had prescribed and how he needed to try to walk a lot in order to stay in shape during his treatments.
I remember during one visit he was walking into the living room in front of me, and just out of a burst of something, he spurted out “O Michael, Michael, Michael, my dear, dear boy.” I don’t know why I remember this, it was so simple, but it had such compassion in it.
I don’t know. Fr. Barnabus’ life, to me, was so simple. I didn’t really know him that well or for that long, but really made an impression on me by his simplicity, by his compassion, by his lover amidst suffering.
A couple of weeks later I was in my friend’s Apartment where he stayed and noticed a book on the desk in the living room. I don’t know if it was Fr. Barnabus’ book or not, but I noticed that some of his belongings were next to it, so I assumed that it might have been. It was “The HIdden Man of the Heart” by Fr. Zacharias Zachariou from the Monastery in Essex--A Compilation of lecture he gave in America at a clergy retreat.
There was a book-marker marking a section in the chapter roughly entitled “On preparing for the day of death.” Who knows, maybe the book wasn’t even his, but it really engrained the mission of a monk to come to this place in himself where death is regular contemplation. I read the portion of the chapter which was a Q&A with Fr. Zacharias where someone asked him to relate a story about when he was serving at a church in a village in Greece and the Priest asked him to give the sermon to the congregation. The Priest pointed out to Fr. Z that many were wearing black in the congregation, and this was because a plane had crashed recently in the area killing many of the families of the villagers there. Fr. Z was at a loss, especially because he not suffered such a loss as them, and knew that he would just stumble over his words. Eventually, however, he did his best by recounting two powerful examples of the effects of prayer. One was when a plane that he was flying in lost power in one engine and he had come to terms, during the course of the emergency landing, with his approaching death, and had been praying throughout...but the plane landed safely. When he returned to the monastery, his spiritual father, the famous Fr. Sophrony said...you’re safe because of the prayers! He recounted another moving story of prayer in the face of adversity from his family history in Greece under Turkish occupation.
Anyway, Fr. Barnabus was a witness to the simplicity and silence manifested in the life of a true Athonite monk. My impressions of him were more from the absence of something there (i.e. the silence, the simplicity) than from some complex theological supposition.
Check out SHS Curriculum Excerpts!
I highly recommend checking out the newly updated St. Herman’s School website if you haven’t already (surely a biased plug, but there is much to learn and the text that you will find on the site goes into detail about Orthodox Education...very important topic). Even if you think you have no interest in this particular topic...you do :)...no just check it out and see.
http://sainthermanschool.org/school/academics/curriculum.html
with love,
Mike
http://sainthermanschool.org/school/academics/curriculum.html
with love,
Mike
Tuesday, March 3, 2009
Proverbs...
My son, if you receive my words and treasure up my commandments with you, making your ear attentive to wisdom and inclining your heart to understanding; yes, if you cry out for insight and raise your voice for understanding, if you seek it like silver and search for it as for hidden treasures; then you will understand the fear of the Lord and find the knowledge of God.
~Proverbs 2:1
~Proverbs 2:1
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)