A Visit to the Holy Monastery of Esphigmenou

By Matias Fagerlund

On a recent trip to Greece I was blessed to visit the Athonite Monastery of Esphigmenou, which is known for its uncompromising defence of the Orthodox Faith, along with two of my nephews. Having collected our diamontiria, the visas required for entry to Mount Athos, at Ouranoupoli and sailed on the beautifully named Axion Estin along the western coast of the peninsula, we disembarked at the arsanas of Hilandar. From here we proceeded not by foot, as I had hoped, but by minibus. While I had already learnt that there are now roads on the Holy Mountain I could not have imagined just how far this new development, anathema to previous generations of monks, has gone. Numerous zigzagging roads cut glaring yellow scars in the otherwise pristine wooded hillsides. Judging by my map – which describes itself as a “hiking” map – the concentration of roads on Mount Athos is, if anything, greater than elsewhere in Greece, and the sight of several diggers along our route suggested that this work of construction, or destruction, is still ongoing. Gone are the days, it would appear, when pilgrims travelled by foot.

After a brief visit to Hilandar, where a friendly Serbian monk invited us to enter the inner section of the catholicon to venerate the precious relics, I was determined to avoid the roads and continue to Esphigmenou by foot along the old mule tracks which used to be the sole transport routes on the peninsula. This idea aroused no particular enthusiasm from my two teenage co-pilgrims, who grudgingly obliged, climbing the atmospheric but now rarely trodden trail with the expressions of two Russian conscripts who have just been ordered to march from Moscow to Vladivostok.

As Esphigmenou came into view we were startled by the sight of a police car approaching the monastery on the road below us. Having read about the harassment and persecution to which the monks of Esphigmenou are subjected on account of their refusal to commemorate the Patriarch of Constantinople, I had imagined that the monastery existed in a siege-like state of constant surveillance and that we would have to devise some clever stratagem to get past the police cordon. This proved to be somewhat of an exaggerated view of the state of affairs. There were no police when we arrived at the gate, only a youngish, good-humoured monk who wondered if we had come to stay or just visit.

The next monk we encountered, who was tasked with registering visitors, seemed suspicious of my Orthodox credentials. Where was I from? “Finland.” “But Finland is not an Orthodox country.” After explaining, using my nephew as interpreter, that while Finland does in fact have an Orthodox Church I am not a member of that (liberally oriented) Church, but of the Greek Old Calendar Church under Archbishop Kallinikos, the ice finally broke: “Bravo!”

We were then assigned to a guestroom, and to specific beds in the room. On a walk around the monastery we noticed that immediately below the windows of our room a large black and white banner had been hung, with the words “ORTHODOXIA I THANATOS” (“ORTHODOXY OR DEATH”). Somewhat disconcertingly, I discovered on returning to the room that the bed assigned to me was located immediately behind “DEATH.”

Adjusting to the daily cycle of services on Mount Athos can be a challenge for someone who is used to going to bed at midnight. At Esphigmenou Matins begins at the eighth hour of the night according to the Byzantine reckoning, which is still followed on Mount Athos – 2 a.m. our time. One hour before that a bell is rung and shortly before the service the semantron is sounded. On entering the church one is immediately struck by how dark it is. I at first wondered where all the monks were, noticing only after a while that they were seated all around the walls, scarcely visible in the general darkness. The large internal space of the catholicon is lit only by vigil lamps and a few candles, which are put out and relit at certain points during the service, and all readings are done by the light of a single candle or vigil lamp. What peace did I not experience in this place! Here, at least, the recent trend in Orthodox churches of replacing lampadas and candles with artificial light has not caught on. To some sensitive souls this intrusion of harsh modernity shatters the perception, if not the reality, of the church as a place set apart from the world, where the heavenly realm meets the earthly. On Mount Athos, where I gather none of the twenty monasteries use electrical light in church, no such obstacle exists. The gentle natural light and absence of any technology make it much easier to concentrate on the one thing needful: prayer.

Another striking aspect of the services is the sobriety with which they are conducted. All readings are done in a plain, monotonous voice, without emphasis or emotion. On weekdays almost nothing is chanted; nearly everything is read. On Sundays the reverse applies: most of the service is chanted, but always in a true Byzantine style, without a trace of sentimentality. The monks do the readings, light lampadas and move across the church with a certain measured haste. Those who serve do so with great seriousness and concentration, including the monk who monitors that the pilgrims hold one hand under the cup when drinking holy water. Not one drop of holy water or one crumb of prosphora must be allowed to fall to the floor. Everything betokens a deep reverence for that which is holy.

Matins is followed immediately by the Liturgy, which on weekdays is served in a small side chapel, and ends just as the first dim rays of light begin to penetrate the church. As far as I could tell, no one approached the chalice on either of the days we were there. I was told afterwards that the monks follow the Rule of Saint Sabbas, which means that they commune fortnightly, and twice a week in Lent.

The service takes about five hours, nearly six on Sundays, and is followed by trapeza. Here, like in church, absolute silence reigns, apart from the reading from the Lives of the Saints, and woe betide any pilgrim who dares to utter so much as a syllable. At trapeza it became apparent that Esphigmenou is somehow managing to cope, despite the patriarchally instigated blockade under which they live. Generous portions of (very tasty) food are served and I was struck by the large number of pilgrims present. Although Esphigmenou is today the largest monastery on Mount Athos, numbering 115 monks, the lay visitors seemed to be in the majority.

Having initially encountered a certain scepticism on account of my obviously non-Greek appearance – can this man really be Orthodox? – I was fortunate later on to become acquainted with some of the monks. One of these was Fr Elias, a Pontic Greek of noble countenance and graceful bearing who spoke fluent Russian. On our second day he approached us to ask if we would like to venerate the relics. These proved to be no ordinary relics: one of the largest pieces of the True Cross, the skull of Saint James the Apostle, the left foot of Saint Mary Magdalene, a piece of the dried blood of Saint John the Baptist, a fragment of a garment worn by the Mother of God, a part of the sponge held up to Christ while He was on the Cross, and many other extraordinary treasures whose presence here no doubt imparts a special grace to this holy site.

Two other monks whom we were blessed to meet were the brothers in the flesh, Fr Niphon and Fr Gaius. Fr Niphon, who keeps the bees, is hoping one day to receive a blessing from Abbot Methodios to go into reclusion, this having always been his desire. Fr Gaius’ obedience is wine-making. We asked, several times, if we could help with the work but this was never on the agenda. Did we want to drink gin, vodka or tsipouro? Having settled on the latter, we sat down at the edge of an olive grove and engaged in conversation amid the gentle humming of honeybees. “Are there other noncommemorators on Mount Athos?” I asked. “Not at the monasteries, but at the sketes and kellia.” We also learnt that Esphigmenou is not the sort of place where monks spend their time in front of a screen. Other sources inform me that many monks on Mount Athos now have WiFi in their cells and iPhones in their pockets but such infernal inventions have no place at Esphigmenou. Only two monks, who produce the monastery’s online publication, have access to e-mail. After a discussion on the necessity of receiving heterodox converts by Baptism, the perfectly Orthodox nature of humour and the importance of bringing back the memory of the Western saints, Fr Gaius popped the inevitable question: What did I think of Brexit? “Wonderful news,” I said. “I hope it leads to the collapse of the EU, which is a stepping-stone towards the one world government of Antichrist”. “Exactly!” This view perhaps explains why Esphigmenou has not chosen to exercise its final legal option of appealing the patriarchal eviction order hanging over the monastery to the European Court of Human Rights, but to rely solely on prayer and the protection of the Mother of God, in whose garden they live.

Even though we spent only two nights at Esphigmenou the experience was a profound one. The very fact that Mount Athos is cut off from the rest of Greece and not readily visitable owing to the visa régime helps to create a sense of being separated from the world and its preoccupations. The absence of electricity, or technology of any kind – and of women – removes every external source of distraction, so that monks and pilgrims alike are able to focus all their attention on their spiritual life. There is in fact nothing else to do. The room we stayed in was barren of everything, even books, leaving one with no other option than to pray. There is something to be learnt here.

 

Source: The Shepherd (St. Edward Brotherhood, Woking, UK), December 2016, pp. 15-19.