Mt Athos wrap-up

Well, I'm finding it difficult to cover the rest of my time on Athos in detail, so I'll give you the rest in broad strokes and snapshots. Disclaimer: this post may be grammatically (or otherwise...theologically?) incorrect. :)

The rhythm of life in the monasteries and sketes I've already established somewhat. The morning service and liturgy generally began around 4:00 AM at most places I went to, and finished somewhere around 8:00 AM. This was followed by breakfast, usually something simple. On fasting days it was bread, olives, and tea, and on other days it was usually something like bread, cheese, possibly wine, and an egg, some vegetables, and/or an apple. Each meal was eaten in silence. On fasting days, no one said a word; on regular days, scripture was read for the duration of the meal. Following breakfast there was often a short scripture reading in the church, usually around 30 minutes. Many of the monks didn't attend this, as they had other jobs they needed to get to.

For monks, the rest of the day until about 4:00 PM (depending on the monastery) was dedicated to work. There's quite a bit to do. Each monastery is self-sustained. Simonos Petras, for example, had a tailor who mended anything that needed mending. One monk used to be a chemical engineer, and he had designed the monastery's combination hydroelectric/solar power system. I found him fixing pipes for the hot water system. Other monks tended to the garden, as each monastery grows about 70-90% of its own food, including fruit and vegetables, tea, and olives. Some monks cooked and baked, others were responsible for the pilgrims quarters, or maintaining the library, doing the dishes, or any other tasks that a small community might need doing.

Work was followed by an hour of free time, during which monks napped or read, or perhaps socialized with visitors. Usually there was a service lasting about one hour (vespers?) before dinner. I'd give more detail regarding the content of these services, but again, Greek. Even if I had spoken Greek, this was like...classical Greek that Greeks don't really speak (and have trouble understanding). Dinner usually involved something hot, like rice-stuffed peppers, hot potatoes, or a soup. Wine was also included, and often a Greek salad with tomatoes, onions, peppers, cucumbers, and olive oil. There was usually some kind of cheese. The food was incredibly simple, and there wasn't a ton of it, but I didn't really find myself hungry the entire time I was there. It was incredibly satisfying, very clean stuff. The simplicity of fresh vegetables, water, and wine was really nice. The wine, by the way, was pressed from each of the monastery's vineyards. The same grapes used for the wine were often on the table to eat as well. Each place I stayed had different grapes, and each wine had a very distinct taste. It was interesting to sort of taste each monastery as I moved from place to place - a sort of extra perception that you don't usually get. Dinner was followed by a 15 minute reading from scripture in the church, after which the relics were brought out for veneration. I got used to seeing these incredible treasures at each monastery: the bones of the apostle Mark and St. George, the hand of Mary Magdelene, the hand of John the Baptist, the three gifts that the wise men gave to Jesus when he was born, olive oil that appeared miraculously during a time of famine, ancient icons and reliefs, and several pieces of the true cross, always encased in silver. The rest of the evening was cell time for the monks - a chance for them to retreat to their own rooms and read, pray, and eventually sleep.

After I returned from Iviron on the second day, I spent another night at Karyes; I was less excited for the four hour service this time. I learned later that it's perfectly acceptable to fall asleep during the service, or to walk out part of the way through and come back later. No one really cares. So I attended the first hour, slept the next hour and a half, came back for another hour, and then went to breakfast. At later monasteries I woke up in time for the liturgy, which usually began at around 6:00, so that I could enjoy the chanting and avoid some of the lengthier parts of the service. I suppose that sounds weird and impious, but I'll defend myself by saying that it wasn't my idea - a couple of the monks recommended it to me.

It was time to move on from Karyes, but my companion and I had joined up with another older Greek pilgrim who told us that many of the monasteries were full. We spent that night about 15 minutes walk outside of Karyes with some monks he knew from an earlier visit. This was quite a different experience. The monks who don't live in sketes or monasteries (and there are many) often live in houses with one or two other monks. The house includes a small chapel that was no less impressive despite its small size. Nectarius and Christophilos were two of the three monks who lived there. They had been in the same house together for the last 50 years - they were 70 and 80 years old, respectively. Christophilos was given to laughing and dancing, and worked with incredible energy in the garden. Again, these guys were more or less self-contained, but without the benefit of a larger brotherhood to split the work. Nectarius was a sweet old guy who sort of tottered around the house (also very capable despite his age) and simply smiled, ate his food, and took a moment to bless me whenever he thought to. It was an incredible experience - a lot of the structure of a monastery was disposed of, and what was left was a couple of guys who had simply devoted their lives to purity and seeking God. Church services were still done in the morning and evening, but there was discussion of the reading and the rhythm of the service while it went on. Instead of reading the scriptures, Christophilos simply recited them. At 80, he occasionally received a prompt of the start of the next sentence, after which he would rattle off scriptures from memory for another five minutes until the next prompt. He essentially had the Bible memorized.

Here I must explain the exclusion of pictures. Pictures of the inside of most of these churches were not allowed, and taking pictures of the monks was discouraged. Nectarius and Christophilos were very kind and allowed me to take their pictures, but I'm keeping them to myself out of respect for them and their lives.

From Karyes we took a bus to Dafni and a ferry on to Dionysiou. The monastery was very well run and well put together, and I met a lot of great people there. It was my first experience in a monastery instead of a skete, and the structure and organization was impressive. Everything was in place, and there were a lot more modern conveniences. There was quite a range of lifestyle. Some monks, like the monks I mentioned, live a very simple and often difficult lifestyle in their devotion to God. Others, especially the monks in monasteries, find that having some basic amenities and comforts help ease their distraction from their own preoccupations and allow them to focus more closely on their faith.

I took a day trip from Dionysiou over the mountains to the monasteries of Gregoriou and Simonos Petras, roughly four or five kilometers northwest along the coast. I could've taken the ferry, but I opted to hike and get a better feel for the landscape. I left most of my things at Dionysiou and traveled with only my camera and some water that day. I left at about 10:00 in the morning, and it took me about four hours to get to Simonos Petras. Quite a long time, but traveling along the footpaths along the rugged coast involved a lot of up and down as I crossed each of the mountain roots that stuck out into the sea. The trail between Gregoriou and Simonos Petras was only about 2km long, but it plunged down to sea level before starting the 1000ft climb to Simonos Petras, switchbacks and stone steps the entire way.

I showed up in Simonos Petras winded, and was taken in by the kindest monks I met on Athos. I was fed lunch and immediately introduced to an American father (monks are called fathers). I'll call him Father X, because he'd get a kick out of it, and he was one of the most humble, unpretentious, and warm people I've ever met. He took it upon himself to show me everything. He took me to the library, let me hold a 15th century book that was one of the earliest books to actually be printed on a press, and talked with me about the monastery and its history. He had work to do, but he dropped it for that afternoon and evening. He pointed out that I had come a long way, found a place for me to stay for the night (people reserve their stays here six months in advance), and dug up a toothbrush and toothpaste (both brand new) for me to use that evening. He stayed with me during church to explain aspects of the service. After dinner, he took me to the cemetery for sunset views of the monastery, then on to the garden, where he brewed the monastery's local tea. It was the strangest thing to have someone simply ignore themselves and selflessly look after my interests - rarely have I felt such tangible grace in a person. I even wondered a couple of times that evening, as we sat outside the gardener's hut (take a look at that picture of the sunlight over the water - that was the view as we drank tea), if he wanted something. In the real world, you know, anyone who is that nice to you wants you to do something for him, but Father X simply wanted to make sure I had something to do, I think. We talked about literature, our favorite authors, why I was there, and some theology and history of the orthodox church. Every so often you connect with a person almost instantaneously - this was one of those times.

I woke up at about 6:00 the next morning to listen to the divine liturgy. The choir at Simonos Petros was spectacular. Father X found me in the church; he had been looking for me, jacket in hand, because his first thought of the morning apparently was "it's cold. Eric didn't bring anything with him - he's probably cold. I should bring him a jacket." Tell me. Who does this? I've never seen someone so absorbed with everything but themselves. He found a seat for me right inside of the church where I could watch everything.

I left after lunch - they insisted I stay for some food before I left - and walked back to Dionysiou. I arrived at about 2:00 in the afternoon and packed my things. My experience traveling to monasteries alone had convinced me that I should strike out on my own from here on. I parted with my Greek American friend and hiked off to Agios Pavlos, or St. Paul's, the next monastery down.

The contrast was a slap in the face. A sign was posted on the door that non-orthodox were not allowed in during the church service. I sat outside that evening until dinner. At dinner, I was taken away from the group of pilgrims and monks eating at one end of the room and escorted to a table on the other side, left to eat along with one other man - a catholic. Excluded from the service that morning, I simply slept in until 7:00, packed my things, and left.

I was headed further down the peninsula towards Nea Skiti (New Skete), where a celebration of the birth of the Virgin Mary, one of the biggest events on Athos, was set to take place the next day. There was no place to stay at New Skete, so I continued another kilometer or so to St. Anne's Skete, just over the mountain. I found a place to stay there after waiting until 3:00 in the afternoon. I met with a monk whom Father X had told me to see, and we talked for an hour about America, politics, and other aspects of the outside world that he was interested in. He had email, which he explained was good when used properly, but sinful when not. A very kind guy.

The monk at the guesthouse where I was staying asked me if I was orthodox. I told him that I was protestant, but trying to learn more about orthodoxy. He became suspicious when he read my pass, which said that I was catholic (I hadn't noticed this until now). He asked me why I wasn't orthodox, to which I replied that I had been raised protestant and that my parents were protestant - I never really had an opportunity to be orthodox. He gave me a look, sort of disgusted, like "what does that have to do with anything? You should be orthodox." His English wasn't very good, so the conversation didn't progress much more beyond that, except for his reminder the next morning: "You must be orthodox. You must be orthodox to go to paradise. Do you understand?" I nodded. He was intimidating and responsible for my food. My nod didn't do much. Evidently, I understood that I must be orthodox, but still wasn't. What was I thinking?

This leads to a greater question that's going to continue to play out while I travel; a question I've been expecting all along. We protestants, you understand, don't have much of a claim on the original church of Christ, at least historically. The Greek Orthodox have a pretty good claim (well, pretty great, actually), and so do the Ethiopians. And the Serbians, it turns out, and the Russians, and the Mar Thoma, and the many who would be frustrated to see that I've left them out. We protestants split off from the Catholic church thanks to Martin Luther, and as far as the Orthodox are concerned, we're a breakaway sect of a breakaway sect that now lies far from the original church in a splintered, scattered sort of a mess. And they have a point, in a way. We don't think much about our history or our right to much, but this is a big deal for many others. I'm not going to toss a conclusion out, but think about that.

I was able to attend the celebration of the birth of the Virgin Mary at New Skete - an all night vigil filled with praying, chanting, scripture reading, sermons, Eucharistic communion, and beautiful symbolism. They pulled out all the stops - huge candle chandeliers fully lit and set swinging around in a circle, palm branches over the doors, incense and lamps everywhere. It was beautiful and twelve hours long.

I caught a ferry to Dafni the next morning after crashing on a couch for a couple of hours. It was Sunday, so a ferry wasn't running to the next and last monastery I wanted to visit. I hiked about 5km from Dafni, and arrived at Xenophondos, having been taught a couple of words of Georgian (which I now forget) by a guy I met along the way. I met another American monk that evening, but he was unfortunately tied up that night and the next morning, so we didn't have an opportunity to talk. He found me a bed, towels, and food, for which I was very grateful.

I left the next rainy morning to head back to Ouranopoulis. I was struck by the way each monk personally interpreted his faith despite the rigid theological unity of the Greek orthodox church - some incredibly warm, some approaching hostility; some looking a little glazed over, others seemingly unable to contain their joy. Reverence and piety were universal, something I believe that protestants can all too often overlook. I loved the symbolism, and the colors, and the smell of incense, symbolizing the sweetness of prayers rising up to God. Lighting a candle to pray is a beautiful thing.

Everyone takes what they learn in a different way. I left Athos having decided that I'm a minimalist when it comes to my faith. We'll see.