Pilgrimage to Holy Mountain p 39

39.

Invitation and Farewell:

I had been at Saint Anne’s monastery about six weeks when Father Thomas, a handsome old Greek monk with a beautiful long white beard who spoke excellent English, offered to show me a saint’s cave nearby.

The history of the cave was that long ago, before the monastery was built, a recluse famous for his wisdom and piety had lived there for many years. The present day monks of St. Anne’s keep it ready for special prayer vigils.

At the appointed morning hour, I met Father Thomas at his very pleasant, clean and modern skete about a ten minute walk from Saint Anne’s.

Before we hiked down the path together to the saint’s cave, Thomas spoke to me: “You have lived out in the world a long time and you have certainly seen how futile and foolish are most men’s lives. You surely know by now that the life of the spirit is the only true life and the religious life we live here hopefully leads us to a better understanding of that spirit. I am authorized to ask you to consider prayerfully whether you would join us on Holy Mountain. You would have a room in a skete similar to mine—you could be a simple monk or a priest if that is what you feel called to be or just a lay helper if you prefer—you have seen that there is always healthy work to do, nourishing food, pure water and free medical care. We think you would fit into our community very well. I would like you to pray about this in the saint’s cave, if you will.”

This unexpected offer pleased me. I did admire the way of life these men led. I did think they had something beyond price and worthwhile though it was very different from my accustomed way. I thought their life was good––complete in a way that life in the outside world is not. It was peaceful and meaningful, rich and beautiful–even uplifting…my mind was open as we entered the saint’s cave. This was surely the place to pray––an icon, a candle, some fresh flowers—Father Thomas left me alone and I opened up in what is “prayer mode” for me.

An hour later I left the cave and walked back up the path to Father Thomas’ skete.

“Father Thomas, I will leave Holy Mountain soon. There are still things I feel I must do in the world. Thank you and thank your community for offering me a place—it would be lovely, but it is not my path.”

Father Thomas smiled in a kindly way. A few days later I was on the little boat that carries pilgrims from monastery to monastery, and as the launch pulled away from the small dock I gazed up at Saint Anne’s perched so high above the sea. As the boat moved down the coast, I watched the passing cliffs and valleys of Holy Mountain with the sad feeling that I would never again see this beautiful place in this life.

Tomasito, 2009


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