Journey to Athos (part 3 of 3)

Perhaps his greeting, “we have been waiting for you” was what he said to everyone, but for me it was personal. Next he took me down a flight of stairs to his cell, a Spartan, wood floored room with a stasithea, a standing chair made of intricately carved wood and a small wooden stool. He pulled down a seat in the stasithea for me to sit as he took the only other piece of furniture in the room, the stool. Across from where we sat was a wall of hand written icons illuminated by hanging ornate oil lamps.

For the next five hours he told me who I was and how I had arrived at this point. I knew the moment I first looked into his eyes that I had found what I was seeking, what Maharishi told me I would find, a master, a source of living truth. His name was Father Dionysios, he was in his late twenties and he was a disciple of the Abbot of the Monastery, Geronta Aemilianos, who at the time was away in Moscow visiting the Patriarch of Moscow.

After having my life revealed to me in ways I never imagined and telling him that I wanted to stay, he took me out and up a flight of stairs to the Guest House into a beautifully furnished room normally reserved for visiting Bishops, with a bed. Before leaving me to sleep, he said, “now I will wash your feet from your long journey.” I protested and he reminded me of Christ’s words to Peter. “If I wash thee not, thou hast no part with me.”

Feeling purified, I slept a long and deep sleep. Startled awake by the late morning Sun, I was suddenly gripped with an overwhelming fear of what I had done. Despite the wonderful things that had happened to me the night before, I only wanted to escape. I contrived a story I would tell this Monk Dionysios, that I needed to go to Karyes to recover my backpack and that I would be right back when in reality I would exit Athos as fast as possible, spend a few weeks on the beaches of Crete and then return home to America.

With this idea fully baked in my head, I opened my door and there at the end of the long hall was Father Dionysios laughing and holding my backpack. As I approached he said “why do you let fear grip your heart?”

Immediately the fear vanished and I spent the next 9 months with this man, in this sacred monastic community, in joy. It would be 32 years later that I learned just how my backpack made it’s way from Karyes to Simonopetra that night and to my hand the next morning.

I was moved to common space in the Guest House until Geronta Aemilianos returned to the Monastery several weeks later. During this time I came to know some of the monks, in particular an American Russian Orthodox Priest, Father David, who became my mentor in all things Orthodox. He had served as a Priest in Alaska to a tribe of Aleut Indians before coming to Athos. He was on Athos for a year to learn and then to return to America to serve a congregation at the bidding of his Bishop.

There were not clocks at Simonopeta, time was measured by the position of the Sun and services held accordingly, thus the “time” was always adjusting to the movement of the Seasons of the Sun. Athonites lived on the Julian Calendar which meant we were 13 days behind the rest of the World. Essentially, time as I had known it was destroyed.

When Geronta Aemilianos returned, I was taken to him by Father Dionysios, who acted as my translator. I was told I would be moved to a cell at the bottom of the Monastery and that I would work with Father Michael, a young monk about my age. Part of my job was to teach Father Michael English as he taught me Modern Greek. Father Michael’s ambition was to live in the Sinai Desert in the cave of St. John of the Ladder. Geronta Aemilianos told Father Michael that he must learn English before he could go to Sinai, so he was inspired!

Father Michael and I lived at the lowest level of the monastery. One time he took me to his cell which sat right above a cavern where there were iron shackles embedded in the stone. The monastery was built to repel pirates and my assumption was the shackles were for pirates captured, or perhaps for crazy wayward monks. My cell had the added feature of a small door at the back which lead to my own private cave. At this point the monastery stone walls were at least ten feet thick and I had an arched window well built into the stone. In the window well was a small table and stool along with a small iron wood-burning stove. Outside my window was a balcony with views to the peak of Athos and the Sea. Often the color of the sea matched the color of the sky and it was like looking into infinity.

Another monk told me the story of Father Michael, that he was the first monk to be tonsured to the Great Schema in Geronta Aemilianos’ community, the highest level of Orthodox Monasticism. One night, all of a sudden, Geronta Aemilianos called all the monks to the Church and tonsured Father Michael. The next morning, the police came to take him away. When they arrived in Ouranopolis, there on the dock stood his Mother and his Bride-to-be. When his Mother saw him in the Great Schema, she screamed, knowing that there was no way that he could now be married.

Father Michael had many duties in the Monastery, one of which was to care for the mules and donkeys. I would follow him as he conducted his tasks and we would teach each other our languages as we worked.

One Summer day as we walked outside the Monastery, a moving cylinder object suddenly appeared before us on the path, blunt at both ends, about a foot long with a two inch diameter. As it moved, he laughed and asked if I know what it was. I did not. He said it was a snake. He went on to say, “during the Summer the snake ate rodents and during the Winter, the rodents ate the snake, from the tail,” thus the unusual shape.

Another time, one of the mules escaped from the Monastery. It was Father Michael’s duty to retrieve it. We followed that mule for 3 days and eventually it lead us back to the Monastery. I quickly learned that if I ran after the mule, it simply ran faster. As we walked on our mule-led tour we encountered traveling monks and heard wonderful stories of the Holy Men of Athos.

For the Feast of the Holy Transfiguration in August, Father Michael, Father David and I received the Blessing from Geronta Aemilianos to journey to the peak of Mount Athos. It was a time of fasting, our travel food was olives and bread. As we approached the tree line, there were very large ancient trees just before the elevation where everything turned to solid rock. We sat among the trees eating olives when we saw an old monk approach with a donkey shouldering baskets filled with bread crumbs. Suddenly, from a tree across from where we were sitting a basket fell, tied to a rope and the old monk filled the basket with bread crumbs and up it went into the higher branches of the tree. It was a Dendrite, an ascetic living in the branches of the tree, never leaving until he fell to his death.

As we approached the peak, the stone all turned to white marble and there were large displaced marble boulders strewn about. I was told that this was from the time of Alexander the Great who had the idea to have his bust carved into the face of the mountain by slaves. This effort failed, but not before moving some major marble.

At the top we met up with several other monks and spent the night in a small chapel at the peak, chanting. The ground was covered in snow while the heat of August boiled below.

It was during this trip that Father Michael told me the story of the Holy Twelve. These were the most holy monks on the mountain, the minimum age requirement was 200 years and it was by invitation only. A new one was only added when one died. Very few ever saw one of these monks but their reputation was pervasive and it was believed that it was they, with the Archangel Michael, thought to often hang out at the peak, protected this Sacred Garden of the Theotokos, the Mother of God.

On more than one occasion, sitting on my balcony, in a perfect blue sky, I would see a small cloud slowly move across the otherwise clear sky and become darker as it approached the peak, only to become stuck on the peak with lightening bolts flying out of it. It was like a cartoon. I imagined the Archangel Michael doing battle.

I learned after I left Mount Athos that soon after my departure Father Michael received the Blessing to go to Sinai and to live in the cave of St. John. Years later he returned to Greece and last I heard he was living in the Peloponnese writing books.

Father David and I often received the blessing to wash dishes. I remember it as a wonderful time. The cook was not a particularly friendly sort but it was he that told me the story of the community. Geronta Aemilianos was living as a hermit in Meteora, a place where unique geological pillars of stone erupt from the Plains of Thessaly, on which were built ancient monasteries. In recent times Meteora has become the second most popular tourist destination in Greece, following the Parthenon.

Geronta Aemilianos was the disciple of Bishop Dionysios of Trikola, for whom Father Dionysios was named. Geronta Aemilianos lived in a cave with a snake. When Father Dionysios was in high school, he went to Geronta Aemilianos to become his disciple. Bishop Dionysios blessed the action and they moved up into a nearby monastery. The classmates of Father Dionysios all followed him, both boys and girls, after their graduation from high school. During this time Bishop Dionysios died and the parents of the children of Trikala were enraged that their progeny had been stolen.

When the new Bishop was elected, the parents convinced him to exile Geronta Aemilianos hoping they could regain their heirs. When the monks of Athos learned about this, they offered Geronta Aemilianos the ancient Monastery of Simonopetra which was down to a handful of old monks. A new monastery for the women was built at Ormylia on Sithonia, the peninsula next to Athos.

One of the Fathers from the original disciples of Geronta Aemilianos, Father Silouan, only appeared in the Church once a fortnight. He never appeared at meals or anywhere else. When I would see him in the Church his eyes were always covered with his cowl. One Moonless night, in the early morning hours, I had to go to the bathroom. As I exited the Church, I saw Father Silouan approaching with his eyes exposed. As I looked into his eyes I saw Galaxies shining and illuminating the darkness, literally. He smiled and entered the Church. I was later told that he was the only disciple who had the Blessing to practice vigilance. On Athos, that meant never sleeping and never lying down. To train in this practice the monk strung a rope across his cell so that it passed just under his arms when standing. Whenever the monk passed out, the rope would jolt him awake and prevent him from hitting the floor. In 2009 I learned that Father Silouan had graduated to cliff cave dweller and recipient of the weekly bread crumb run, lowered by rope from above. No one has seen him in years.

The majority of monks on Athos live in community but there are a significant number that live as hermits known as idiorhythmic (by their own rhythm) monks. Most idiorhythmic monks lived in a fixed location but there were those among them who were wanderers, who stayed in no fixed location but moved from place to place. During my time at Simonopetra we had the fortune to be visited by one such monk, Father Chrystomos. He was a rotund man appearing in his late forties, he never spoke and I don’t recall him sharing meals with the rest of the monks. He was with us for several months. Often I would see him from my balcony in the gardens below vigorously digging up onions, brushing off the dirt and eating them whole like a lion eating its prey.

Father Chrystomos had the added advantage of being known as a “Fool for Christ.” This was a nice way of saying he was as crazy as a dingbat. During his stay at Simonopetra the monks gave him wide berth. He was often in the Church and he stood near me where I became aware of his antics. He made a strange clicking noise with his tongue almost constantly and he would never look anyone in the eye. He had the most beautiful skin.

One night during Holy Week, at an all night vigil, I suddenly heard new voices in the chant, voices like those of a boy’s choir and I started to look around for the source. For the first time I saw Father Chrystomos take notice of me. After searching with my eyes every corner of the Church without finding a source, I finally looked up and in the dome of the Church were these celestial beings, 15 feet tall, standing with their feet at the level of our shoulders and filling the main dome of the Church.

Yes, this can be attributed to hallucinations brought on by fasting and lack of sleep, but when I looked toward Father Chrystomos, he was looking me dead in the eye with a loving and confirming smile that acknowledged what I was seeing. In that moment I realized he heard these voices and saw these beings all the time. After he left, I was told that he was a Serbian Prince by birth.

My nine months on Mount Athos were for me a time of gustation where I became free of the dualism of Western Christianity and of Far Eastern Thought that saw the World as delusion and illusion, something to be escaped. This was Heaven on Earth. These were warriors storming the Gates of Heaven with the belief that “God became man in order that man could become God.” These men were materialist of the highest order and at the same time, they were humans who had joined the Angelic Order.

Whenever I had a need, Father Dionysios appeared to meet that need. Sometimes I would not see him for weeks only to be awoken by him from a nightmare shaking my shoulder and saying, “why do you let those demons in your head?” There were two occasions I had nightmares and both ended with a visit from my Geronta, Dionysios shaking me from them.

One Summer day Dionysios and I were out walking near the Cemetery Church. He said, “let’s go visit the bones.” In Athonite tradition, when a monk dies he is quickly buried in a shallow grave, with his vail sewn over his face, no coffin. After 3 years, when a new grave is needed, he would be dug up in a ceremony where the remaining bones would be washed with wine and oil and stacked in a room under the Cemetery Church.

Dionysios reached above the door to the Bone Room and as his hand came down it was holding a three to four foot writhing snake. I almost jumped out of my skin! He laughed and carried the snake to the tall grass near the path and as it slithered away he said again, “why do you let fear grip your heart?”

Either he had planted the snake to impress me or here was a man who was at home in every situation. Based on all my other experiences with him, I knew that he was unshakeable.

Following my first six weeks at Simonopetra, I was made a Catechumen by Geronta Aemilianos with the name Chariton meaning “of Grace.” I had to enter the Church in the dead of night, naked, and spit in the face of Satan. After my first three months, on Holy Saturday I was awakened by Dionysios and taken in a procession to the Sea where I was Baptized along with three French, former Roman Catholic monks, one of which was a leading Patristics Scholar for the Vatican.

I remember entering the water with the knowledge from past studies that the Sea near Athos was the most shark infested water in the Aegean. I was most thankful to exit the water unscathed. We were anointed with Holy Myrrh and dressed in white robes and each given a large candle which we carried while dressed in our “robes of light” for days, whenever we departed our cells. A large table was set at the nearby Port House and a feast ensued with poetry recited by Greece’s eighty year-old Nobel Laureate Poet.

As the afternoon progressed, finally everyone except Father Dionysios, a mule and I had made the journey back to the Monastery. Finally Dionysios said, “it is time for us to return.” He took the mule and led the way up the steep winding stone path.

About half way up, at the place where the path forks to go to the cave of Saint Gregory Palamas, Dionysios stopped and turned to me and kissed me right on the mouth. I am ashamed to say that my first thought was, “o my god, he’s gay!” And next he breathed into me and said, “today you are filled with the Holy Spirit.” Immediately my head exploded and my vision, as a single eye, rose out of my skull, to a height of what seemed like about 100 feet. I could see in all directions at the same time and I saw us with the mule, on the path. After maybe half a minute, my vision descended back into my skull and returned to normal. For that brief moment I saw the Universe in a wholly new way, beyond time, beyond myself. In Baptism, I took the name, Christopher, in memory of my Anglican Mentor, Father Christopher Morley.

As we approached the monastery, a monk was waiting for us and he took me aside, behind the stables and he said, “I have this precious relic from Saint Christopher for you. This is not the Christopher who bore the Christ Child on his shoulder. This is the Second Century Martyr, Christopher, who was fed to the lions. The lions ate all but his bones and his heart. The Roman Emperor had the remaining heart brought to him and cut open. Inside the chambers of the heart were the Greek Letters IC XC, the symbol for Jesus Christ. This relic for you is from his bones.”

One day Father David came to my cell and said, “I am going to Daphni to get some supplies, would you like to go?” Immediately I thought of the cookies I had seen there and said “yes.” I should have gotten the Blessing to make this journey but I did not. When we returned to Simonopetra, my stomach satisfied with strawberry sandwich cookies, Father Dionysios greeted me with a look of disappointment on his face. I had not seen this before. He took me out onto a balcony and simply said, “in a moment a person can loose their soul.” I cried and begged his forgiveness. After some time in silence he said, “and in a moment a person can regain their soul.”

When Father David’s year of study ended, he said to me, before I return to America I am stopping in England for a visit with Bishop Antony Bloom, Father Kallistos Ware, and the Abbot Silouan, would you like to come with me and learn from these renowned Western Orthodox scholars? I couldn’t resist. As I got Geronta Aemilianos’ Blessing to go to England, he said, “when you return to Athos, you return to die.”

In the middle of my last night on Athos, Dionysios came to my cell and said, “come with me.” As we entered the Monastery Courtyard there was a pack mule which he took and the gates to the monastery were opened to us and we walked out into the night wilderness above the Monastery. After maybe an hour, after passing a camp of workers with a large fire, we came to a small overgrown Church. Dionysios was wearing a beautiful pleated black silk robe and as he approached the door, he swished the robe sending dust and cobwebs flying. As he opened the Royal Doors of the Iconostasis, he swished the alter sending dust flying. From the mule he brought in the Holy Vessels, made of gold and he began the Liturgy.

I noticed in the Narthex a sealed Holy Water bowl. It was obvious that this Church had not been used in years and I wondered if there was still water in the bowl, and more importantly, was it without mold, still fresh. The old monk who first greeted me outside Simonopetra had told me that the major difference between Orthodoxy and Catholicism was in the Holy Water. He said that Catholics put salt in their Holy Water to keep it from corruption and that Orthodox blessed the water and it became incorruptible. Sure enough, when I opened the bowl, there was water that tasted fresh.

When it came time to receive Communion, I went outside the Alter and stood. When Dionysios turned to give me Communion, I was frozen and could not move. He turned back and completed the Liturgy.

On our walk back to the Monastery he asked me “do you understand what happened?” I said “no, it was my intent to receive Communion but I was frozen.” He responded, “you can only receive Christ from the hand of Geronta Aemilianos.”

A few days after Father David and I left Athos, Father Dionysios was tonsured into the Great Schema and became a cave dweller. It would be five years until I saw him again.