Pilgrimage to Athos Part II

The dirt road to the Skete of St. Anna offered breathtaking views of the sea and surrounding mountains. Little did I realize as I walked that the my life was about to change in a major way and that God would test my faith.  The skete belongs to the Holy Monastery of the Great Lavra. It is the largest and oldest skete of Mount Athos. It is located at an altitude of 340 m in a rugged but fertile region close to the Athos cape. It was founded the last decades of the 17th century in order to honor St. Anna.

It is a Greek idiorrhythmic skete, consisting of fifty one kalyvae inhabited by approximately 85 monks. Idiorrthymic monasticism is the oldest form of monastic life. Unlike cenobetic monasticism which emphasizes communal worship, strict discipline and manual work, monks at St. Anna's skete live a more isolated and independent life. Some are occupied with fishing and gardening, whereas others practice hagiography, wood carving, the production of incense and miniature art.

As we entered a small gate which marked the boundary of the skete we decided to rest awhile. Sipping some water I looked up surveying the high ground where the central chapel was located and where the monks often gathered to worship on feast days.  The church built in 1764, preserves a relic of St Anna, her left foot and also houses her wonder-working icon. That icon is festooned with hundreds of photos of children born to childless couples. I wiped the sweat from my brow and told Nick that I wanted to venerate the Icon and relic on his mother's behalf since St. Anna is her patron Saint and namesake.  I had hardly finished my sentence when a monk rounded the corner carrying the relic in a silver box. Nick and I looked at each other.  He greeted us and realizing we weren't quite sure how to get to our destination offered to lead us. It seems he was returning the relic after taking it to the kalyvi of a sick monk.   

As we walked to church, he informed us that the primary mission of the skete was to help childless couples to concieve through the help of prayer. Almost daily they send holy water, antidiron and instructions for prayer through the mails to those that seek their help and in return recieve hundreds of photos every month of the children born to those couples. Such is the power of faith and prayer.  At St Anna's we met Father Cheruvim, a Greek American who is a graduate of Holy Cross seminary in Boston. When he realized we were from America and that Nick was a seminarian he invited us to stay at his kalyvi. There were two other monks there, both iconographers who paint icons in a small workshop overlooking the blue Aegean Sea. One of them, Father Theophilos, sat down to share coffee with us, while the younger monk prepared a mid-day meal.  Fr. Theophilos talked about the Greek immigrant communities overseas and confided that they were his country's last great hope. We were in his daily prayers, even though the much respected geronta whose spiritual children now inhabit the kalyvi we found ourselves in often described America as a modern Sodom and Gomorah.  Now long gone his photo hung  in the simple cell that was his home for most of his life. Each kalyvi has its own chapel, and the monks who live there hold regular services. This particular one was dedicated to the entry of the Holy Theotokos into the Temple which is celebrated on the 21st of November each year and is coincidently my birthday.  The Virgin Mary's parents, Joachim and Anna, who had been childless, received a heavenly message that they would bear a child despite their advanced age. In thanksgiving for the gift of their daughter, they brought her, when still a child, to the Temple of Jerusalem to consecrate her to God. Mary remained in the Temple until puberty.

We ate the evening meal in a small kitchen with Father Cheruvim and Father Theophilos. A very different experience than the communal dining at the monasteries. We talked about home, mutual acquaintances and life on Athos. Nick revealed our plans to climb to the summit of Athos the next day and both monks encouraged us to do so. "You must get an early start," advised Fr. Cheruvim and promised to have some food ready to take along to sustain us on the arduous journey we were to make. That evening Niko and I sat on a terrace watching the sun go down. He looked pensive and I asked him if anything was wrong.  He looked at me and said "I want to become a monk.  I have been wanting to tell you this for over a year but haven't had the courage to do it."   I was too stunned to reply for awhile. Nick had spent  a few weeks at a monastery in Central Greece the previous year and had returned twice.  I hadn't given it much thought, thinking it was good way for him to develop spiritually since he wanted to become a priest and had completed his third year as a seminarian.  God wanted my child and unlike Abraham I wasn't about to give him up so easily. "Niko, you are on Athos, of course, the monastic life looks attractive right now, however, you are way too young to make such an important decision, finish school first."  Nick had a pained expression on his face, before he could say anything I got up and said, "lets get some shut eye, we have a long climb ahead of us."  

It was still dark when we left the next day using flashlights to light our way.  The climb became steeper as we progressed. Much of the initial climb is up stone steps that have been hewn into the rocks. Two hours into our trek I was beginning to breathe heavily and feel exhausted, we had a long way to go. Nick slowed his pace so I could keep up and often looked back at his old man, visibly worried. "Keep going" I said, jokingly, "I'll let you know if I'm going to have a heart attack."  The first light of the new day began to reveal the beautiful forest that we were in. The shade of the trees protecting us from the sun's increasingly powerful rays. Now and then, we stopped to rest, took our packs off and drank water which seemed to taste better the longer we walked. We were alone with our personal thoughts, neither of us wanting to upset the other by talking about the pain each of us kept hidden. Nick saddened by my reaction to the direction he had chosen for his life and my terror at losing the future I had envisioned for my son.  As we continued our climb I began to pray. I was mad at God: why me, why my son? I was ready to negotiate, to strike a deal with God himself, surely he would listen here of all places. He would let me keep my son and I would give myself up to him as a sacrificial lamb.  Have mercy on me, a sinner.  

The sun began to get hotter and brighter as we broke through the tree line.  We could see the rocky summit in the far distance since the trees were very much diminished in the higher altitudes.  I began to think of the Ladder of Divine Ascent, an icon that I had often contemplated. The terrain began to level off and in the distance we could make out the church of the Panagia.  We had climbed 1500 meters. We met some other climbers who had been resting before there final ascent.  There were also a few Albanian stonemasons who had just arrived with a caravan of mules after having delievered bags of cement to the summit.  Construction there of the Church of the Transfiguation is nearing completion.  We filled our water bottles from the cistern and pulled some crusty bread and olives out of our packs to eat.  As we surveyed the summit towering above us, another 500 meter trek, I realized I was in no shape to continue on.  Nick tried to talk me into trying for the top but I was spent and we both knew it. He joined the climbers leaving for the summit and I watched them move up the trail until I lost sight of them.  Sitting there I thought again of that troublesome icon. It depicts many people climbing a ladder; at the top is Christ the Pantokrater, prepared to receive the climbers with open arms into Heaven. Also shown are angels helping the climbers, and demons attempting to shoot with arrows or drag down the climbers, no matter how high up the ladder they may be. Most versions of the icon show at least one person falling. I said a silent prayer for my son, my family and for myself.

The Albanians were sleeping now and the mules had gathered around a bone dry watering container. One of them kept staring at me, obviously wondering if I was going to get up and fill the container with water.  I began pulling water up from the cistern and filling up the water container as the mules fought for their turn at it. They gulped down bucketful after bucketful occasionally kicking line jumpers behind them until they all had their turn.  I looked back up to see Nick and the others but they were no longer visible.  I found some shade and fell asleep oblivious to the bugs buzzing around my face.  A few hours later, I could see climbers descending, and eventually could make out my son Nick with them.  I walked out to meet him, he was visibly tired but elated to have reached the summit.  He was very talkative. I sat back and enjoyed listening to the youthful enthusiasm in his voice while relating his adventure.

After resting, Nick and I began our descent hoping to arrive before dark. Descending is always easier, though it felt like it took longer than our ascent.  By the time we returned to the kalyvi it was dark and the monks prepared a hot meal for us which we gobbled down. That night I had difficulty sleeping, not because I wasn't tired but rather because I was troubled by the thought of losing my son. Christ had beckoned to him and he was ready and willing to follow, was I to stand in his way or should I step aside?  I tossed and turned until sleep in its mercy embraced me.  

We said our goodbyes and left the next day, catching the morning boat back to Ouranoupolis, returning to the world with all its noise, pleasures and temptations.  After a few more days together, Nick and I set out on our respective ways. I was returning home to Maine and Niko was returning to the monastery in the mountains of central Greece which would be his new home. Against my advice, he had dug in his heels and refused to change his mind. Forty years earlier, I had in similar fashion joined the Marines despite the wishes of my own father. My combat service had visibly aged Dad over the years until his death, always living with the fear of losing his son.  The relationship between a father and son is a difficult one.  The son always has his father's love, yet he must also earn his father's respect and admiration.  It is by leaving home and fighting his own battles that the son is able to achieve this. Now it was my turn to put on a brave face and wish him well. I would not see him again for another eight months.  Over the years I had learned that what happens in my life is not always under my control.  Once again, I had to put my son, my family and myself in God's hands and trust in his mercy and love.

 

14 Di' Efhon Ton Agion (Melos Arheon)

 

Comments

[NOCTOC]

Thank you so much for sharing this experience. You write so beautifully.You have really touched me, not in a sentimental manner, but in a spiritual way. May God bless you for being such a wonderful father and may God bless your son, who has chosen to follow Him.

[Stavros]

It took me a long time to get around to writing this post. It was cathartic and an important step for me. Very much like writing about the death of my father and mother. I am just an average father who has made my share of mistakes in raising my sons. Hindsight is always 20/20 as they say. Most of us do the best we can.

I was in Greece a few weeks ago in order to see my son. He is well and it was good to be with him again after so many months. I will write about it eventually because the odyssey that began with my grandfather who first came to America in 1907, has now come full circle with my son's return to Greece a hundred years later. May it be blessed.

Your blog is doing well, keep it up. I envy your tenacity and your ability to create such beautiful posts. Thank you for your kind words, Na se kala, file

[Margaret]

Stavro,

I, too, was very grateful for you sharing this experience with your readers. I'm glad that you had this opportunity to spend time alone together with your son - time neither of you will ever forget - and that you did get to see Nick again, even if you had had such a long wait. The mountain and the ladder to climb - very powerfully interwoven in your beautiful writing. Neither would be worth climbing if they were not difficult. I love that icon, and will always wish I could see Athos for myself, and be a bit envious of those who have been lucky enough to go there.

With best wishes, as ever.

[Stavros]

Hi Margaret,

I am glad I could finally share this with you. A friend of mine who is a frequent visitor to Athos always goes with his wife and daughter. They stay at a wonderful women's monastery at Ormylia, The Annunciation of the Theotokos, while he goes to Athos.

I hope you and your family are well.

[Iris]

Je lis tous tes articles, Stavros, en mémoire de ma famille partie de Smyrne en 1923, et je te remercie.

Iris
http://www.flickr.com/photos/irohanko/5605380426/

[Stavros]

Always good to hear from you, Iris, Your photos are beautiful.

Mémoire éternelle to your family.

[Manoli]

Yia sou Stavro,

That was a great article, I too have been to Mount Athos and must confess it’s an amazing place. You feel like you have been taken back into the Byzantine era. At the time I had visited the family and had caught up with some of my Greek Australian friends and we did the usual touring of the islands, but nothing compared to Athos, the serenity, and spirituality of the Holy Mountain is something else.

Bori h Eladitsa na ehi ta provlimata tis, ehi omos ta monastiria kai tin omorfi pneumatiki zoi pou prosfernoun.

Many of the western countries brag about their efficiency, progress and economies, unfortunately though when it comes to spiritual matters they are bankrupt.

I also highly commend the way that you accepted your sons decision to join the ageliko shima, for a parent it is a great blessing to have a child devoted to God. O Theos na evlogisi tesena, ton yio sou kai oli tin ikogenia sou.

Kalo Pasha, apo tous antipodes.

[Stavros]

Manoli,

When I visited Athos I was intrigued by the influx of non-Greeks to the Holy Mountaion and the increasing number of monks who are not native Greeks. They are drawn to a spirituality that is increasingly difficult to find in our modern societies. Interestingly, monasticism is alive and well in America, with over 20 thriving monasteries established here by the Athonite Geronta Ephraim and I suspect it is making inroads in Australia as well. This is particularly telling because Orthodox Christianity is in fact a counter-culture that shuns the worldly concerns in our countries. Whether it will continue to thrive in Greece, or expand to places like America and Australia will depend in large part on whether the secular worldly culture will co-opt Orthodox Christians like ourselves into abandoning the Orthodox mindset and faith. The jury is still out but I am hopeful that we will persevere. Na mas filai o Theos.

Kali Anastasi se olous sas. Na se pantote kala.