Plgrimage to Holy Mountain 34

34

Touring the Peninsula:

During my fifth week at Saint Anne’s, Father Athanasius suggested that I take a few days off and walk around the Holy Mountain peninsula to see what the other monasteries are like and to get a more general view of the land. Though my life at Saint Anne’s was far from boring, I thought it would be interesting to see some of the other monasteries, so I willingly went.

Free meals and lodging are provided for pilgrims at all the monasteries, so I didn’t need to carry anything except water and a snack. The footpaths are occasionally marked so it would be difficult to get lost and any sort of crime–robbery or any such molestation of pilgrims is absolutely unheard of. There are no predatory animals, snakes or poisonous plants. This is one of the few places on earth where you can walk without fear.

Father Athanasius gave me a simple map showing where the major monasteries are. Saint Anne’s is on the southwestern side of Holy Mountain near the tip of the peninsula, so. I decided to go around the southern cape of the peninsula to Great Lavra, one of the oldest and largest of the monasteries. Most of the Greek pilgrims go by boat from monastery to monastery, but I preferred to go by foot in order to really get to know the countryside. Besides, it is an easy walk of only a few hours between monasteries..

Hiking on undemanding dirt paths is one of things I dearly love, and the Holy Mountain trails, though sometimes a little stony and rough, are seldom out of the sight of the sea and are always interesting.

I left early in the morning and arrived at Great Lavra in time for lunch. I checked in with the Guest Master, ate quickly and, since I am a library enthusiast, immediately went in search of the legendary library since I had heard that there is an unequaled collection of ancient manuscripts here.

Great Lavra is as large as a small town, but, just like Kyries, there seems to be no one around. Oddly enough, it takes me the better part of the afternoon to even find the library which turns out to be closed. But I do eventually meet another American pilgrim who is here with his fifteen-year-old son. The American is Orthodox and is fulfilling a vow he made when his son was born: to bring him to this sacred place. He told me the high point of his pilgrimage occurred this morning when his son was allowed to hold and look thru a manuscript completed in 800 AD.

Great Lavra is certainly impressive, but I like the small, more personal, friendly and “homey” Hagia Anna much better.

Tomasito, 2009


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Plgrimage to Holy Mountain 33

33

Rite at the Top:

Some days later Father Athanasius suggested that I attend another celebration–this time at the little stone shelter at the top of the mountain where I had earlier encountered the outlaws.

This was to be another all night session but I would be the only person from Saint Anne’s to attend. He said I should carry a blanket since the nights got cold at the top.

After the evening meal but before the light faded on the day of the celebration, I made my way once more up the slope to the summit–but what a change had taken place!

Where before there had been only the three outlaws and myself, now there were maybe a hundred or more priests and monks milling about. The ceremony was to take place in the same little stone hut that I had so casually occupied with the outlaws for tea and biscuits but now there was such a crush of monastics that I could scarcely approach.

A fierce monk was guarding the water cistern and food and he very grudgingly allowed me a cup of water and a piece of bread

These celebrants, I thought, could only be the bureaucrats so scorned by the outlaws.

And, of course, there was no trace of my outlaw friends.

After I received the bread and water, I spent most of the long, dark night hanging around the edges of the celebrants—never again entering the little building-- but it was cold and miserable for me and not at all the uplifting ceremony I had experienced just a few days earlier at Saint Anne’s.

In the small hours of the morning I crept away from the noise and commotion at the hut and climbed down from the summit. It was bitterly cold so I found a sheltering crack in the rock, wrapped myself tightly in my blanket and slept.

At first light I found my way back to Saint Anne’s and joined my familiar “brothers” for breakfast.

Tomasito 2009


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Pilgrimage to Holy Mountain 32

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Saint Anne’s Day:

Father Athanasius told me he would like me to help some of the monks prepare for the special celebration of Saint Anne’s Day at the monastery.

And so, a few days before the celebration, we “turned to” cleaning the church: sweeping, mopping, dusting and polishing it high and low. The church was not very big compared to some of the others on Holy Mountain but was sizable enough to keep a lively cleaning party busy for a couple of days.

The floor plan of the sanctuary is cruciform, I think it is called, but more of a square shape actually and without the extended nave of most other European churches. The central part of the church was topped by a high traditional Orthodox dome and there were big square pillars supporting the superstructure. The pillars and walls were covered with murals featuring life-sized full length portraits of historic Orthodox saints.

One of the branches of the X shaped room was filled by an elaborate altar with doors at the sides for priests to come and go, and polished individual wooden stalls lined the walls of the rest of the room. These stalls were for the monks to stand in during long services and the stalls were equipped with a small bench-like protuberance where a monk could rest part of his butt and get a little rest during the hours-long ceremonial rites.

On the morning of Saint Anne’s Day itself, we covered the floor of the sanctuary with sweet smelling leaves (bay leaves, if I remember correctly) and throughout the day guests from many other monasteries began to arrive.

I had been warned that the ceremony would start in the afternoon and last all night. The word was that if you wanted to get the full benefit of the ceremony you should spend as much time as possible in the church during the service, and, by all means stay up all night. This staying up all night was stressed so I thought I would try it.


The service was splendid. Gifted monk singers had been brought in and a tall, stately and stout high priest with a fluffy white beard-- dressed in a marvelous heavy-looking robe--officiated. He read and chanted with a beautiful rich bass voice, sometimes solo and sometimes with the choir. Other priests and monks took turns reading or chanting. Occasionally a monk swinging a billowing censor of incense would walk around the room leaving a haze of sweet smelling smoke.

The sanctuary was lit by dozens of candles and sometimes during the singing a monk would lower the main iron candelabra, brilliant with candles and suspended by a sturdy rope from a pulley at the center of the dome, to just above head height. Then, using a long pole, the monk would set it spinning in slow circles around the room. The motion would cause the candles to flare in the breeze creating a medieval “sound and light” show of hypnotic beauty.

The murals on the walls and ceiling and the robes and eyes of the celebrants reflected this marvelous torrent of light from their gilded, painted and living surfaces, blending art and life in a wonderful way.

I stood in one of the stalls for as long as I could and then went out to walk in the courtyard. I did this all night long as had been recommended, the only non-Orthodox witness of this extraordinary ritual.

The performance could not have been improved by an Hollywood impresario–the casting was perfect, the performance by all players magnificent. I have never seen nor will probably ever see better or more meaningful theater. The celebration communicated in some mysterious way a profound echo of the grandeur and splendor of a long departed age of faith!

Tomasito, 2009

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Pilgrimage to Holy Mountain 31

31

The Icon School:

After living at Saint Anne’s for about three weeks, Father Athanasius told me after breakfast one day that taking care of Saint Anne’s monastery is a rotating job. Both he and the monks presently on duty here only remain here for one year. During this year they serve the pilgrims who appear at the gate daily and do the maintenance work of the church and related buildings. But for the rest of their lifetime stay on Holy Mountain, they live at one or another of the sketes nearby pursuing their vocation as icon artists.

Then he asked me if I would like to visit a studio where icons were being produced. Though I had claimed to be most interested in the production of icons when I asked for permission to remain on Holy Mountain, this was the first time I had been invited to see one. Of course I said I would very much like to visit such a school and he asked me to follow him.

I thought we would have to walk to another monastery at least, but to my surprise Father Athanasius led me to a large sunny workroom where some of the same monks I had helped make up pilgrim’s beds that morning were gathering to create world famous icons.

This icon studio, I learned, one of the most important on Holy Mountain, was right here at Saint Anne’s!

The monastery, though small, was composed of such a maze of corridors and rooms that if you didn’t know where something like this studio was it was next to impossible to find without a guide.

I had noticed that every day after breakfast and morning chores, most of the monks not needed for other work would disappear. I had supposed that they went out to the garden, maybe even fishing or to other tasks, but now I saw them assume work stations with the same calm deliberation with which they performed their housekeeping duties.

Father Athanasius recited a prayer and after a short silent meditation the monks silently began work.

I had been told that the creation of an icon was a religious act and now I saw that it was really just an active form of prayer. The monks’ prayer mode continued seamlessly into their production of the works of art. To my great surprise, Father Athanasius was not only Abbot of the monastery and cleaner of toilets but also an accomplished artist.

I saw that these exquisite icons are produced as a community effort rather like an assembly line.

Some workers prepare the wood boards which are the icon’s “canvas”, others prime the wood with a gesso mixture. Some prepare paints. Some artists are experienced in painting backgrounds, coloring figures or applying gold leaf and others do the finest details and lettering. The icons thus manufactured are donated or sold to Orthodox churches, believers and art collectors all over the world. There is, I was told, a constant demand for them and some are quite valuable. Part of the money earned through sales of their icons goes to defray some of the expenses of the Hagia Anna monastic community.

To Orthodox believers, these icons, prepared with such diligent care and following ancient traditional models, are literally “windows into another world”.

They believe that contemplation of the icon is an aid to spiritual growth and understanding, and their icons are treated with the care and respect accorded to other “sacred objects”.

Since these icons are a sort of visible prayer, they are never signed by any of the artists responsible for their fabrication.

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Tomasito, 2009


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Pilgrimage to Holy Mountain 30

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The Abbot’s Job:

One day I went into the pilgrim’s restroom and found Father Athanasius on his hands and knees scrubbing out a toilet.

He was such a distinguished man with such an exalted position in the Holy Mountain hierarchy that I thought such work was beneath his dignity so I asked him if I couldn’t do the cleaning work for him.

“Absolutely not!” he said, “Are you trying to take my job away from me?!”

Tomasito, 2009


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Pilgrimage to Holy Mountain 29

29

The World Language:

Tourist pilgrims came and went daily at St Anne’s and there was always someone new to talk to.

Often in the evenings a group of a dozen or so men from all over the world would meet around a big table in one of the empty upstairs rooms to talk and enjoy each other’s company. It was especially interesting for me since the conversations were mostly in English and I was often the only “native speaker” of the language present–though, as you can tell from my writing, I am myself only a “colonial”, an American user of the English language.

Long ago when I was a high school student in Albuquerque, New Mexico, one of my teachers postulated that the English language might become the new “world language”, but that only time would tell.

It does seem now that English is at least a most useful “second language” and perhaps the world’s “language of choice”.

Tomasito

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Pilgrimage to Holy Mountain 28

28

My Hand Gets Kissed:

After I had been at Saint Anne’s a couple of weeks, Father Athanasius gave me standard-issue black work clothes and one of the monk’s black bill-less caps to wear. I was supposed to tuck my long hair up under it like all the unshorn Greek monks do. I had let my beard grow on my long pilgrimage from Germany to Holy Mountain so I suppose I looked just like any Orthodox monk except they all had black Greek beards and mine was sort of a Nordic brown.

As I have said, many Orthodox men from all parts of Greece love to take a free summer vacation away from families and routine life and make a pilgrimage from monastery to monastery on Agion Oros. One day, as I was helping stack a pile of boards near the main gate of the “close”, a new group of these Greek “summer vacation” pilgrims arrived.

One of the more devout pilgrims seized my hand, raised it to his lips and gave it a big kiss. No one had ever kissed my American hand before and I was so surprised that I snatched my hand away from him and hid it behind my back.

The brother monks behind me almost burst with silent laughter at my odd behavior and later on Father Athanasius suggested that I simply accept any hand kissing that came my way. “You look to the pilgrims like one of us and it is a custom for Orthodox men to show their respect for monks and priests by kissing our hands. Just let them do it. It won’t hurt you.”

Tomasito


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