|
Volume III. Chapter 17
The Omega Point
Mt. Athos and the end of the world
Translated from the Russian
 e
cast off from the resort town of Uranopolis. Ahead of us the
Holy Mountain looms slowly larger. Its summit is covered in
clouds. They seem to be hiding some secret from the world's
view...
For the first half hour the ship goes along
the part of the Athos coast which belongs to our Panteleimon
Monastery . Here are the grandiose
buildings of the Russian skete New Fiviada.
Today they lie in ruins.
Panteleimon Monastery on Mt. Athos
|
During the dictatorship of the "Black
Colonels", the Greek government had planned to build a
highway leading to Athos. At that time Patriarch Pimen came
forth with an official protest. Construction was halted.
The Russian lands, which lie along the isthmus connecting the
Athonian peninsula with the mainland, defended the bastion
of piety. Note the symbolism: Even here the servants of the
Antichrist couldn't reach their goal without crossing Russian
territory!
In our day the neat but powerful bulldozer
of the European Community is moving in the footsteps of the
"Black Colonels". In Thessaloniki we saw an arrow-straight
highway being built. That arrow is aimed at the heart of Athos.
The road, if finished, will bring with it all the "wonders"
of the modern world.
The monks can imagine perfectly well the crowds
of civilized barbarians, colorful tourists of both sexes dressed
in shorts, who will come to Athos in search of new impressions.
A maelstrom of passions will devour the Holy Mount. And the
ban established by the Mother of God herself one and a half
thousand years ago will be violated.
In 422 Princess Placidia, daughter of the
Byzantine Emperor Theodosius the Great, made a visit
to the local Vatopedion Monastery. But she could not enter. A
commanding voice emanating from an icon of the Mother of God
stopped her at the threshold. After this occurrence the elders
of Athos issued a law forbidding women access to the Holy
Mountain...
The end point of the road now being built is
said to be the Lavra of Athanasius the Great. But in the
metaphysical sense this is the road to the end of the world.
Why? That is the subject of the discussion to follow.
+ + +
The scalding top edge of the Sun was just barely
visible, and now it's extinguished beyond the blue horizon of
the Aegean Sea. Midnight has arrived on Athos, which lives
on Byzantine time. The new day finds us, four wanderers from
Russia who by God's will have succeeded in making the journey to
the Holy Mount, in the Greek Monastery of Xiropotamos.
All is quiet in the archondarik, or
pilgrims' hostel. Many are already asleep. Night service
lies ahead. It's going to be especially grand, for tomorrow
is the monastery's Name Day, the Exaltation of the Cross.
In the middle of the night all are awakened by
the dull thud of a gong: It's time for service. Athos prays
at night for the well-being of the world. Athos is vigilant
when the world, unaware of the kingpins on which it revolves,
sleeps or amuses itself.
We enter the church. Yesterday we were shown
a piece of Our Lord's Cross from its altar. It's the largest
piece of those which remain, more than thirty centimeters
in length. While kissing it you notice the nail running through
the wood in one place...
Everything is engulfed in darkness. Here and
there oily spots of light are cast by the lamps on the
icons and icon-frames. Two Greek monks sing in low voices,
as if answering each other. One voice sounds from the right
of the altar, and another from the left: "Kyrie Eleison!" --
"Lord have mercy!". Along the walls is a stasidia of high
carved standing-chairs. You can either stand in them, leaning on
the rounded armrests, or sit. Holiday services can last from
fifteen to seventeen hours.
Here everything seems as it must have been in
Byzantium a thousand years ago.
+ + +
The fate of Xiropotamos, the first mention
of which is made in the Fifth Century, is symbolic. In 1280
the monastery accepted
union with the Catholics. The
monks served a Latin mass together with their Catholic "brothers"
in the presence of Michael Paleologue. In the middle of
mass the stones of the cloister began to shake, and the monastery
was destroyed to its foundations. The emperor fled from Athos is
horror.
(Something nearly as frightening happened with ecumenists
of recent centuries in the Lavra of Athanasius the Great. The
bodies of those who served mass together with the Catholics
remained undecomposed after death, and their facial features
became distorted, diabolical. Their nails and hair grew out.
These satanic "relics" are preserved to this day.)
Later the son of Michael Paleologue was
to rebuild the walls of Xiropotamos, but the lesson which
the monarch received on the Holy Mount was wasted on his
descendants. When the Byzantine Empire as a whole concluded
union with Rome, her walls came tumbling down.(1)
But Athos, the unshakable rock of ancient
devotion, remained, fated to "abide to the end of time".
Is this not a miracle? And is it not a miracle that the
monastic life, with its its surprising dwellers, continues to
this day here as it has for centuries?
How do Russians get to Athos? More often than
not by recommendation, through the Mt. Athos representative
in Moscow. But there are other ways...
...After kissing the "Worthy It Is" Icon, we left
Karea, the monastic republic's miniscule capital, consisting of
no more than a few dozen buildings. Nearby is St. Andrew
Skete, formerly the property of Russian monks, where the
head of the Apostle Andrew is kept. And it was here that we ran into that
person, with bright blue eyes, and face tanned by the sun.
St. Andrew Skete on Mt. Athos
|
"Russians?"
"Yes, from Moscow. And what's your name?"
"Father Gerasim."
"Where are you from?"
"From Athos."
"And before that?"
"From Athos. I'm an Athonian monk."
Five years before a young pilgrim from Russia
fell behind and was late for his ship. He asked some Greek
monks who happened by in a car -- a rare occurrence in these
parts -- for a ride. They had driven less than ten minutes
when crash, bang -- the car flew into a gully.
Our pilgrim regained consciousness in a
Thessaloniki hospital, with bruises and broken bones. After a
bit they sent him to Panteleimon Monastery. Six months later the
Greek starets Father Nectarios,
who had been riding in that very same car, came to the cloister
and took the young man away, as a novice.
Father Nectarios has been striving in holiness
on the Holy Mount for half a century already. Once he was
novice to the last great Russian Athonian starets,
Father Tikhon. (The Greeks considered Tikhon a saint even
during his lifetime. Some heard angels serving him in church.)
Two years passed, in toil and prayer. With a
metal pin in his bad leg, our former pilgrim climbed to the
summit of the Holy Mount. To make a long story short, he became
Father Gerasim, a monk in the Greek Monastery of Koutloumousion.
Now that Russian monk has received blessing to
build his own cell, a church in honor of Seraphim of
Sarov, and living quarters. Modest help is given by the
kinot, the Athonian government. Donations are few, and
there is much work... The walls have already gone up.
+ + +
...They're lighting the candles in the cathedral
church at Xiropotamos. Wax ones, no less than a meter tall.
A monk enlivens them with flame with the help of a long pole.
The church chandelier lights up, then the horos -- a
huge ring six meters in diameter -- surrounding the chandelier.
It's decorated with crosses, two-headed eagles and intricate
patterns. Then the large lamps surrounding the horos
on three sides are lit...
The symbolism of lamps is especially significant
on Athos. The monks told us about an inextinguishable lamp
hanging over the Royal Gates of the cathedral church at Iveron
Monastery. On holidays it miraculously begins to swing to and
fro: Such is the sign of the presence of the Mother of God.
But at times the lamp goes into motion even on other days.
It swings violently. What is the Mother of God warning the monks
of Athos -- and through them all Christians -- of? Of the trials
which the Lord will soon allow to take place for our sins. The
lamp has been nervous of late: Expect cataclysms of a worlwide
scale.
Here's one contemporary witness: "The Athos
monks recalled: Just before Turkish forces attacked Cyprus the
lamp began swinging with such force that oil spilled from it.
The same thing happened on the eve of the American-Iraqi
war!!!. The lamp began swinging just before the earthquake
in Armenia. Iveron novices monitor the condition of the
lamp carefully. When it begins to swing more than usual,
especially on non-holidays, they send out an announcement to
all monasteries of the Holy Mount. After this a collective
prayer to the Virgin for her mercy and intercession begins.
The news is even relayed to the hermits of Athos, with a
request to intensify prayer and fasting..."
...On the Birthday of the Mother of God rocky
paths led us onto a high seaside cliff. Spread out below us
is a small bay. Next to it -- the walls of Iveron.
It was here, over one of these coastal hills, where
a gigantic statue of Apollo towered in pagan times. When the
Mother of God set out to visit Four-Day Lazarus on Cyprus, a
fearful storm rose up on the sea. The ship was driven onto
Athos' rocky shores. (In those days it was called Apolloniada.)
As soon as the Virgin set foot on the land the idol crumbled into
dust. In this manner Athos was given over to Her dominion.
It was at this same place, but many centuries
later, that the Iveron icon of the Mother of God swam onto
the shore atop the waves.
During the time of the Byzantine
iconoclasts a warrior once broke into a pious household
and struck the family icon with a spear. To his horror, blood
began flowing from the face of the Virgin. He fell to his knees
in repentance. On the soldier's advice, the widow who owned the
icon cast it into the sea with a prayer, in order to save it from
desecration. Several centuries passed, and one day it
miraculously arrived on the shores of Athos, in a shaft of light
stretching to the heavens. The monks placed the icon on the
altar of the church in the Iveron Monastery, but found it the
next morning over the cloister gates. They returned the icon to
the church, but the same thing happened again. Finally, the
Mother of God appeared to one starets in a dream, saying:
"I don't desire to be protected by you; I wish to be your
Protector... As long as my icon abides in this dwelling, the
grace and mercy accorded to you by My Son will not wane."
This is the spot where the Iveron Icon arrived in Athos.
|
The Russian novice Parfeny, tonsured at Athos,
witnessed that during the Greek Uprising of 1822, when
the Iveron Monastery was invaded by Turkish soldiers, they were
unable to disturb the Gate-Keeper Icon, which by then was
decorated with a priceless riza
and many magnificent jewels. A few years later a monk serving
near the icon saw, to his surprise, a Woman dressed in black.
She was vigorously sweeping up in the cloister.
"The time has come to sweep up this monastery. It's gone
so many years without a good cleaning," said the Woman, and
disappeared. Soon the Sultan issued a firman for all
soldiers to leave the Holy Mount, though he had threatened
many times before that to destroy her monasteries to the
foundations.
The Mother of God walks the earth here.
On the 21st of August 1903 monks were giving
alms at the Great Gates of Panteleimon Monastery. A novice,
Gavriil, took a photograph. When he looked at the developed
picture he was amazed. On the silver plate was a figure which
he hadn't seen, a figure of the Mother of God, humbly receiving
a crust of bread! Not long before that several ascetics had
seen the Virgin in broad daylight. 95 years later the Russian
monk Lazarus gave us this amazing photograph as a gift.
According to legend, before the end of the
world Athos too will descend into the maelstrom of passion.
The Iveron icon will leave the Holy Mount just as miraculously
as it arrived. This will be one of the signs of the impending
Second Coming.
Iveron Monastery. The Gate-Keeper Icon is inside this church.
|
Today those old gates have been bricked up.
Next to them is a small church, inside it the Iveron Icon.
The church was empty when we entered. Anyone may look at the
miraculous image.
It differs from most of the copies which
we've seen. On the chin something like a fresh bullet-hole
is visible. On the neck there's a streamlet of dark,
congealed blood.
Holy Mother of God, save us!
In the neighboring church, also empty, hangs
that very same "swinging lamp" -- motionless, thank God!
Near the monastery entrance Father Joseph,
a starets with the appearance of an ancient prophet,
called us over. "Journalists?", he asks. (How did he know?)
He motions us to follow, presents us with photographs.
Our road lies onward, to the monasteries of Stayronikitas
and Pantokrator, and we ask the starets' blessing.
He shakes his head: "I'm nothing."
+ + +
Twilight has caught us by surprise at the foot
of the Holy Mount. We knock at the gates of a cell. Silence.
No one opens up. At another one the same thing happens.
Suddenly, from above, beyond the bushes, a voice cries in
Russian: "Who goes there?"
"Pilgrims from Moscow", we answer.
After a short pause: "Come over here." So we
find ourselves in the cell of the Russian hermit Benedict,
made of flat stones piled one on another with no mortar.
The starets isn't home. We're received by his novice,
Father Kuksha.
"And we were ready to lay down on the grass".
Our interlocutor shakes his head: "Here,
especially in Karulia, it's better not to sleep outside."
"Snakes?"
Father Kuksha looks at us intently and seriously.
He seems to be weighing how we'll react to what he's about
to tell us. At last he answers: "Demons... It's like this,
you see. You begin praying, and there's a pounding of hooves
around the cell. As if a mule were galloping. But how could
that be, with an abyss on one side and a cliff on the other?
Father Kuksha: "They try to frighten you..."
|
"They try to frighten you... At times there's
such a roar that you hair stands on end. Once I was overcome
with an indescribable terror for no visible reason. At that
moment the bunk fell, and a whole army of rats began scurrying
about on the floor. I stand up -- and can't remember the Jesus
Prayer. I burn it into my heart, letter by letter. Finally, I'm
able to overcome it completely, and fear retreats.(2)
"Not long ago one priest, also a pilgrim, spent
the night in the neighboring cell. He thought, probably,
that I was simply afraid of my own shadow from loneliness.
But in the morning he came in, pale as a ghost.
"'At night', he says, 'someone grabbed me
by the arms and legs and tried to drag me out of the cell.
And two steps from the front door there's an abyss! I can't
see a thing, for the life of me.' They were holding the priest
so tightly that he couldn't even cross himself. Finally he
was able to make a sign of the cross. He switched on his
flashlight. There was no one there...(3)
"The startsy know how to drive out
the demons. And which of our enemies wouldn't be afraid of
someone like our Father Stefan? The Virgin herself once came
to his aid. The authorities once wanted to evict him for
occupying his plot of land in Karulia without paying money.
At that moment the Mother of God blocked the astonished
policemen's way."
We'd heard of Father Stefan before, in our
Panteleimon Monastery. Some say that he possesses the gift
of prophecy. In any case, when our monk Safrony paid a visit
to the starets, the latter drew for him some sort of
road on a map, on which he wrote: "120 kilometers". Soon the
monk was taken away to Thessaloniki for an operation.
"Well", says Father Kuksha, "we've sat and talked
too long. It's cramped here. I'll show you to that cell.
And...", he turns to me, "you'll lie down here at the entrance.
Look, I'm locking the door. If someone comes in at night,
remember: The door's locked. You just have to cross yourself
in time. They often come here at night."
The light goes out. Somewhere mice are scraping.
I begin the Jesus Prayer...
In my troubled, light sleep I hear footsteps
at the door. Human ones. Maybe it's one of our people?
It's impossible to go along the narrow path along the abyss
in such darkness without a flashlight. I raise my head --
total darkness. But the footsteps continue. I cross myself
and once again sleep overcomes me. The whole thing happens
again, twice. I meet daybreak with relief.
In a few days one of my co-travellers who'd
spent the night in the neighboring cell, a person already on
in years, said: "Do you know what happened to me that night?
I woke up, and there, next to me, was my wife. She died a
year and a half ago. I feel the warmth of her body, her flesh.
The same feelings are aroused in me as when she was still alive.
She beckons me. I lean over her and kiss her... and at that
moment the vision disappears."(4)
+ + +
"In my first days in Karulia I was afraid
of the demons. I wanted to leave. But then I said to
myself: 'It's my home. It's they who should leave.'
They can't stand the sight of a cross. Once at night I look
out the window. Forty of them are coming down the road.
'No problem', I say to myself. 'Just come closer.' Then I
begin to make the sign of the cross over them. They start
running, threatening spitefully. They cry: 'You monks want
to occupy our place'...".(5)
We're paying a visit to the Serbian hermit
Schiarchimandrite Stefan. He's been at Athos half a
century, and in his solitary cell for forty years.
There are various rumors about the
starets. Some say he's fallen into false exaltation,
talks too much, and moves too constantly and nervously. Others
call him a holy fool. And holy fools are not easy for many to
live with. But ours is not to judge.
He greets us unusually, it's true, running out
to meet us dressed in lay clothing. He's humming and whistling
something. From a distance he looks like a well-built youth.
Only the beard and long, felt-like hair give away his age.
We make our introductions. "Georgiy?", asks
the starets, upon hearing my name. "That's good.
Holy martyrs answer our prayers more quickly than others."
He invites us in. From the pier his cell is
visible if you strain your eyes, but we wouldn't have been
able to find it on our own. Our host parts the thick bushes.
Beyond is a barely noticeable stony path. It's steep!
In places you have to pull yourself up by a rope. Finally we
reach his property.
The main cell is really a cave, with two little
lakes inside. Over the decades the starets has erected
walls at the cave entrance. There's a church, a small pilgrims'
hostel, and various outbuildings. The hermit speaks quickly
but understandably, in a mixture of Russian and Serbian.
"I carried the soil for the garden here from
far away. I had to make five thousand trips! I brought the
stones up from below, from the pier. Carried them at night.
When it's cool and the moon is shining, it's so fine!
I was strong. I've never been to a doctor in my life."
Father Stefan, a former chetnik, has already prepared a grave for himself.
|
The starets is standing next to a cross
with the inscription: "1922. Schiarchimandrite Stefan".
He's already prepared a grave for himself.
Our host leaves us for a minute, returning in
ecclesiastical garb on which we notice one unusual detail:
On his knit cap is an emblem of the chetniks, Serbian
partisans during World War II. Father Stefan commanded
a detachment.
"They tried to execute me", he recalls.
"Put me up against the wall and fired at me with machine guns
from two meters' distance. They couldn't hit me. I took to my
heels. Bullets are flying around my head, my clothing is
scorched, but I got away without a scratch."
We find ourselves in a little room with a view
of the sea. It's full of icons. There are many photographs,
too, which were left here or sent to this unusual monk by
pilgrims grateful for his spiritual help. On one of the
photographs is Father Stefan himself. He's writing something.
Next to him are some doves.
"The birds like it when I write", says the
hermit. There are many books here, too. The starets
of Karulia is known for his theological works, which he writes
in Greek, English and German.
"Now I'm writing a book about the end of
the world," says Father Stefan. "People are afraid of two
things -- disease and war. But everything needs to be used
for the good. Recently, after a storm, when I was cleaning
up some felled trees, I felt a sudden pain in my heart,
and a burning in my head. I say: 'Glory to thee, O Lord!',
and the pain goes away. We have to thank God for everything,
even for disease, for death. And for war? America always
envied Russia's enormity. At the beginning of the century
American Masons gave money to Japan to wage war against Russia.
Russia had a devout Orthodox Tsar who prayed. During the battles
many saw how angels took the souls of Christians who perished up
to Heaven. During the Second World War, when people were
atheists, there was nothing like that.
"Confess, take communion, and be afraid of
nothing. Confession is the key to the Kingdom of Heaven.
I've told you everything. War or no war -- now you know what
to do.
"And America, by the way, will soon fall,
and in the most fearful fashion. Its demise will be total.
Americans will flee and try to save themselves in Russia
and Serbia. All this will come to pass."
Our host began to prepare a simple dinner for us:
"People like to stay with me. I'm rich."
Unlike most monks, Father Stefan allowed us
to take pictures, but on one condition: that his flowers be
visible in the photos.
He fulfilled all our requests and answered all
our questions, and with such humility! And I'll never forget
his penetrating gaze. It seemed as if he knew everything about
each one of us. And he spoke to us like children. At a certain
point he broke unexpectedly into song: "You, my comrade, don't
think ill of me...". He sang in an incredibly high descant.
When he finished he said: "Once I had a good man's voice,
but I lost it. Now I sing like a child."
In parting the monk presented us each with a
little icon of the "Troeruchitsa" (Three-Handed) Mother of God.
* * *
The path to the summit of the Holy Mount
begins at Karulia Pier. All around are giant cacti.
Their seed-containing heads, which are edible, are covered
with myriad tiny needles. They taste a bit like persimmons.
In Karulia, which has always been known for its poor earth,
cacti are a much-needed supplement to the hermits' diet,
which has consisted for centuries of olives and dried bread.
Once upon a time, ascetics would lower baskets from their
"swallows' nests" on long ropes, and fishermen happening by
would fill them with supplies. These "food hoistings" were
known as "karulia".
The steep rocky path is generously manured
by mules. Albanian mule drivers carry stones and supplies on
them. By the way, the Albanians appeared here only recently.
Earlier the monks carried both stones and earth themselves.
Sometimes you look on some sharp peak which would be impossible
to climb, it would seem, and notice a kaliva (a remote
dwelling for one or two hermits) on it.
We came across innumerable ruins and stone
terraces constantly on our journey through Athos. And those
five-story buildings in Panteleimon Monastery constructed of
giant monoliths, which are now in ruins! In the Panteleimon
workshop, where turn-of-the-century equipment still stands,
are many hernia belts. The novice's service is hard work!
All of Athos is paved with the stones of monastic labor.
And labor is but the visible part of prayer.
Over the centuries, the monks' prayers have
been carried up to Heaven, but the stones have remained here
on earth. ...Above Karulia Katunakia begins. The sun is
burning on the day we arrive here and we stop, drenched in
sweat. A young monk comes out to meet us. We give the usual
Athonian greeting: "Evlogite (Bless us)". Our interlocutor
answers: "O Kirios (The Lord blesses you)". We point upward,
and pronounce one of the few Greek words we know, "Athos".
But as it turns out, the monk speaks a bit of Russian. At this
point the usual pilgrim's treats make their appearance -- a
glass of tasty liqueur (in our monastery it's anise liqueur),
rahat-lukum and a glass of cold water, which today is the most
valuable thing of all.
Our new acquaintance has an unusually quiet
and soft manner. His name is Father Vasily. Caucasian by
nationality. He left
Kazakhstan as a six-year old boy. He's been on Athos for
the last several years. We find ourselves in a cell of
icon-painters, mostly young, good-looking monks. They call
them klimeosi, after the starets who founded
this hermitage. Next to us at table is the present abbot,
Father Chrisostom.
Father Vasily shows us the workshops. As it
turns out, it was here that the famous Iveron Montreal
Icon was painted. And it was here that
its journey through the world began, together with Joseph
Munoz-Cortez. Literally five days before our arrival an
exact copy of the wonder-working image, which disappeared after
Brother Joseph's murder, was sent to America. It was ordered by
the House of the Icon, created by friends and comrades of the
late Munoz-Cortez. It was painted by Father Chrisostom, as was
the original.
The brothers of Katunakia are
ziloti, zealots of piety. Many of their
"swallow's nest" cells can be reached only by scrambling up
ropes. Such inaccessibility is a precondition for heroic
self-abnegation. The ziloti live according to ancient,
extremely strict rules.
* * *
Sundown has interrupted our climb at Kirasia.
Before giving us room on a hard ascetic's bunk the monk asks us
several times: "Orthodox? Orthodox?" We answer with the sign
of the cross. Then he points to the Church of St. George,
and to some occupied and vacant cells, saying: "Russik".
Practically everything here was built in the last century by
people from our monastery.
ziloti don't honor Patriarch
Bartholomew in their prayers, though Athos traditionally lies
within the canonical territory of the Ecumenical Patriarch. They
tell how they once refused to let the Constantinople arch-cleric
into their monastery, Esphigmenou. On its entrance, in white
letters on a black background are the words "Orthodoxy or Death!"
In their cells the ziloti say:
"Bartholomew's a Mason. Bartholomew gave his blessing to the
lodges in Greece. Bartholomew worships with the Roman Pope.
Bartholomew's an ecumenist, and he's broken practically
all the canons. It's no accident that his predecessor, the
Mason Meletius, was struck and killed by lightning. It's no
accident that the remains of the latest patriarch-Masons,
Afinogor, for example are undecomposed when they're dug up.
And they're not at all like the remains of saints..."
Many call the ziloti schismatics.
Other, more experienced Athonian monks are more circumspect.
"We can't judge a person before God does. Elder Paissios said
that we must pray for Bartholomew."
Some say: "You can't just cut off liturgical
communion with the Church and cast the very principle of
hierarchy into doubt, as the ziloti do.
"In the monasteries of Athos monks meet,
sharing their accumulated wisdom with others. In this way they
avoid extremes. And Bartholomew, be he a Mason or ecumenist,
will have to answer for himself to God on Judgement Day.
We simple monks must pray for our own salvation."
But some hold the opposite view. "The experience
of the Ecumenical Councils shows that those who were in the
absolute minority and even accused of schism turned out to
be right in the end. The ziloti are accused by those
for whom the former's piety is a living witness against them.
And by those who themselves, like Bartholomew, possibly stand
on the threshold of canonical deviation, on the threshold of
real, not imagined, schism."(6)
* * *
From Kirasia the climb to the Holy Mount goes
through deep woods alternating with bright meadows. Rays of
warmth seem to emanate from the cool greenery. A sweet smell
envelops the meadows. Maybe this is more than just the aroma
of flowers? Maybe these are fragrant prayers, raised up by
an invisible intercessor?
Athos is full of legends about invisible
startsy. Some say there are forty of them, some say
twelve.(7) Among them are said to be
Greeks and Russians, and Serbs... They abide in prayer and
fasting on the slope of the Holy Mount. Here's one typical
legend:
A young novice once met a funeral procession in the
mountains.
"Come with us", said those accompanying the
coffin to him.
"OK, but first I need the blessing of my
starets," answered the novice.
"Oh, foolish one!", exclaimed his teacher.
Did you see a cell anywhere around? Those were
startsy! I've prayed my whole life to see them, just once,
and you didn't follow them! Run back there!
But when the novice returned the procession had
gone.
They say that when one of these ascetics
(they're sometimes called voski, that is grazers,
living entirely off the fruits of nature) dies, the invisible
brotherhood returns yet another Athonian monk to the fold.
The prayers of the startsy for the
well-being of the world have a mighty power. But they have
another secret mission...
"We take the legends of the invisible
startsy seriously", said one spiritual mentor in
Panteleimon Monastery, Hieromonk Makary. "When the new
generation of Russian monks began to appear here in the 80s and
90s they were able to see those few still-living men of great
holiness who preserved the traditions of the Holy Mount through
the most difficult times. These holy men accepted the stories of
invisible startsy as absolute truth. The legends arose
with the revelations of the Mother of God to certain zealots,
among them Elder Paissios"...
We'll continue our tale, taking heed of Elder
Paissios' warning about "spiritual tourists". By this, the
great starets meant those visitors who recount their
impressions, experiences and emotions in an exaggerated,
overly-exalted style. Reminding himself of these words, the
author of these lines will attempt to relate only what he saw
and heard.
Athonian monks watch keenly for signs of the end
times. With great grief they told us about the fate of an
ancient olive tree, grown from a seed of the tree under which St.
Panteleimon was beheaded.(8) Until
recently the tree prospered next to the church where the head of
the martyr is kept, but this year it dried up. There's
consolation in the fact, however, that a fresh offshoot has
appeared near the base of its trunk. This is what happened to
the Oak of Mamre in Palestine. Its last green branch recently
dried up, but they say the roots have produced new growth.
This icon turned black after the murder of the Russian Imperial Family in 1918
|
Events in the first dominion of the Holy Mother of
God have always shadowed events in Russia,
the country which has become Her second dominion. In the Church
of the Holy Protection at Panteleimon Monastery there's a
surprising icon of the "Not made by hands" Savior. The face is
black, nearly obscured. It brightens a bit only during prayers.
The icon grew dark on the day of the murder of the Tsar's Family.
Is it fated to be renewed?
"In our cells", says Monk Lazarus, "it's
peaceful and quiet, but we feel what's going on in our country
and the world. From Russia we get more and more remembrance
books in which the words 'killed' or 'missing without a trace'
come up again and again.
"The time will come when ships will come and go
constantly from Panteleimon Monastery, as was the case before
the revolution. For many of our countrymen a pilgrimage to
Athos will be their last chance for repentance.
"Earlier up to 40 liturgies per day were served
in the monastery. Thank God, thirty altars have already
been restored."
* * *
But in the meantime the world is kept in motion
by the prayers of monks, both living and dead.
Father Pavel, an middle-aged man from Chernigov,
Ukraine, does obedience in Panteleimon Monastery's skull
chamber with psaltery ever in hand.
"According to Byzantine tradition the remains of
departed monks are dug up three years after burial and washed
with wine", says Father Pavel. "The soil of Athos possesses a
marvelous quality: that of witnessing the piety of the departed.
If the skull is white it means the monk was a worthy one.
If it's a bit yellowish, we need to pray for him. And a waxy
and fragrant skull witnesses that its owner was a true
zealot.
"They're always praying for us", says
Father Pavel, with a slight tremor in his voice.
On Athos, where women are forbidden to set foot, no
one has been born for one-and-a-half thousand years. Here people
only die -- but without dying one can't be born into eternal
life.
"Athos is not for life", Monk Zenon tells us.
"Here you live from hour to hour, awaiting the End of the World.
At times a jet plane flies low at night, and the thought
crosses your mind: "Maybe it's an angel of death?"
On the shelves of the skull-chamber are the bones
of generation after generation of Russian monks. The name and
date of death are usually written on the forehead... Here's an
almost glowing, truly waxlike skull of a monk who died at the
end of the last century. We read: "Tonsured Monk Isidor".
Father Isidor, pray to God for us!
In the Church of the Holy Protection, on the top
floor of the brothers' common-house, are the head of Luke the
Evangelist, and fragments of the remains of John the Baptist, St.
Nicholas, Kozma and Damian, starets Siluan, and many other
servants of God.
"When we raise the glass cover we're bathed
in the most surprising fragrance," says Father Lazarus.
"The remains of martyrs are the most fragrant of all."
* * *
...The chandelier in the church of Xiropotamos
hangs low, as is the case in other Athonian churches, by
the way. The chains disappear into the murk of the cupola,
from where all feel the severe gaze of the Pankrator.
During chrismation the monk, stepping out into the center
of the church, begins to rotate the chandelier's flaming
immensity. Another monk swings the horos and neighboring
lamps with a pole. With flames now in triumphant motion, the
choir begins, in a low, unison droning sound which seems to
emanate from the rotating chandelier.
In front of your eyes the motion of the
Universe unfolds, and angelic choirs praise its Creator.
The indescribable terirem, a song of the prophets,
begins.(9) In this singing there are
no words comprehensible by human reason. It's like an echo of
choirs of angels. It's everything that God-inspired holy men
could encompass at the time of their greatest enlightenment.
O joy and wonder! Are we on earth or in Heaven?
Was it this rite which so enthralled Prince
Vladimir's ambassadors under the vaults of St. Sophia?
...Our countrymen appeared on Athos even before
the baptism of Kiev by St. Vladimir. This might have been in
the time of Michael III (around 842 AD), when "Rus
came to the Imperial City and
many of the Rus were baptized". And by 1016 we can already
read the signature on the founding documents of the Ksilurgu
Monastery: "Monk Gerasim, presbyter and abbot of a Russian
hermitage."
Later, in 1169, Russians incorporated the
Stary Russik skete, the ancestor of today's Panteleimon
Monastery, into their domain. The founding act, signed by all
the abbots of the Holy Mount, states: "Given to the Russians
for all time, as a people earnest, meticulous in everyday
affairs and praiseworthy in manner of living."
This was where Russian monasticism began.
The founder of the Kiev Caves Monastery, St.
Anthony, engaged in monastic toil not far from here, in
Esphigmenou Monastery. It was here, on Athos, that ecclesiastical
books were first translated from Greek into Russian. Russian
pilgrims carried away from here tales about saints, their
spiritual feats, the customs and rigors of monastic life.
It's symbolic that the foot of Russia's patron
evangelist, the Apostle Andrew, is in our monastery.
(See the appendix "In the Footsteps of the First-Called
Apostle").
* * *
The last building before Athos' summit
is Panagia. In this stone hut there's a little chapel and
sleeping quarters. There are mattresses and blankets, but few
choose to spend the night here, due to the cold. Even now,
at the height of day we're surrounded by clouds; their moist
embrace makes us shiver. At the top the temperature will be
below zero, we're told. We look up ever more often. Do we
still have far to go? Fatigue has set in.
At Panagia it's calm, but we can hear the wind
at the top, blowing unceasingly. Its sound is still far off,
like tufts of cotton rustling against the cliffs.
Finally we leave the clouds below us. We've
passed the last tenacious, scraggly pines. Beyond there's
nothing but stone -- light-colored, as if burned by the sun.
The path is marked sometimes by little metal arrows, but more
often by red spots of paint, without which it would be barely
distinguishable.
We round yet another cliff... The summit is
before us. Unexpected. Long-awaited. It appears like the
Omega Point.
The peak is crowned with a metal Orthodox cross.
We climb up to its base. Through the holes in the clouds the
whole peninsula is visible, as if on the palm of one's hand.
Its whole 80-kilometer length. The monasteries are like little
white points of light.
They warned us: To see downward one has to crawl
right out to the edge of the cliff and risk being thrown into
the abyss by a gust of icy wind. One can remain standing at
the very top only by holding on to the cross.
But we were spared such trials. The wind is
moderate today, and the down vests which we've packed are
not needed. It's warm enough in just a shirt.
The author stands on the summit of Mt. Athos. Transfiguration
Chapel, where the secret startsy will perform the last
liturgy, can be seen on the left.
|
The summit holds a maximum of several dozen people.
Here we are at Transfiguration Chapel, built at the end of the
last century. We leave a bit of incense and some little icons
which we've brought from Russia. We pray... I involuntarily
remember those mysterious Athonian voski. What's the
mission of these unseen men of prayer? Why do these hidden
elders pray to the Mother of God to keep them hidden from the
world? An enigma!
At the end of time they'll leave their secluded
refuges on the slope of the Holy Mount. They'll gather together
to begin their last ascent...
* * *
But how will they recognize the "end of time"?
How will they know when the hour's arrived? Through divine
revelation? One can only guess at the signs.
The world will open itself up to the winds of
falsehood: television, "cosmic awareness" and psycho-demonic
influence. For the time being this is all in the experimental
stages. (We could mention the psychotronic war waged against
Athos by Buddhists). The attacks are local for now, but their
scale will widen -- from the Holy Mount to the Third Rome.(10)
Moscow's "850th Birthday Celebration" seemed
to be dedicated to the memory of the heathen Kuchka.
A huge inflatable beer bottle was set up on Pushkin
Square, like some neo-pagan idol. Formless legions of paganized
Muscovites and "guests of the capital" (many of them wearing
foam-rubber horns on their heads!) streamed to their "temple".
A laser show projected "666" onto the walls of the
university.
A crush formed near the city zoo (a symbolic
place). As it turned out, a bank had announced by radio that
they'd be giving out free ice cream there. And the crowds of
city-dwellers flocked to the advertised goal.
So it turns out that "false wonders" -- raining
down fire from the heavens, moving mountains -- are unnecessary.
Just offer free ice cream and the crowd is yours! We don't
need to mention what would happen if humanity were given,
for example, free, unlimited energy from a vacuum. Or some
sort of shocking spectacle...
"The action begins with the appearance of the Star
of Bethlehem in the night-time sky, which grows ever larger and
larger, flares up, and, glowing with an unearthly brilliance,
turns into a thunderbolt. The light-streaming bolt of plasma
opens up the heavens. From its radiance emerges the image of
Jesus Christ, descending from the heavens. We hear the sound of
solemn fanfares, Christian melodies. A choir sings. Jesus walks
smoothly along the Moscow River. His figure is monumental and
magnificent, significantly larger than human size.
"Jesus is talking with God. He is transfigured.
Before everyone's eyes he rises up to the sky. Apocalyptic
scenes follow. And Jesus is seated on his heavenly throne..."
That was an excerpt from the scenario
of a grandiose holographic film. Enthusiasts from the
"Spiritual Movement of Russia" are obsessed with the idea of
showing this film on the 2000th anniversary of Christianity.
The headquarters of this organization are near the Church of
Christ the Savior, and it's next to this holy place that they
intend to project their holographic spectacle. Neo-paganism is
characterized by a cyclical view of time (everything comes
full-circle). That's why they're drawn to this sacral spot.
Here, where the baptism of Russia was brought to completion,
is where they want to symbolically begin the neo-pagan era.
(One is reminded also of attempts to introduce strange,
to say the least, architectural elements into the church's
construction.)
Who will play the main role in this "miraculous"
film? ...One frightful guess in that regard is confirmed by a
recent scientific discovery connected with the Shroud of Turin.
(It was made at the Center for Advanced DNA Technology at
Texas University.) One of the scientists, microbiologist
Leoncio Garcia-Valdez, announced: "We can now say with
certainty that traces of human blood are present on the shroud.
The blood belongs to a man." The inflamed imaginations of
those who welcomed the creation of "Dolly" were quick to
suggest a monstrous idea: Let's clone Christ! But even if
such manipulations were allowed to occur, just who would a
perfect physical copy of the Son of Man be? A mere biological
facsimile, deprived of His Divine hypostasis? Exactly what
is needed to imitate the Savior more successfully than anyone!
In the meantime his army is already
being formed. It will be molded from a gooey mass of humanity
to whom the supreme secret of the Cabbalah, hidden throughout
the centuries, is to be revealed: that the god whom all will be
made to bow down to is none other than ... Satan. Already in
our day the Cabbalists write: "According to legend, beginning
in 1995 the eyes of the masses will open up to true fulfillment
and the purpose of the testaments, and millions will begin to
study the Cabbalah, which will hasten the world's liberation and
the coming of Moshiach."
Thousands of clones, legalized Cains; masses of
possessed victims of Cabbalistic black magic; hordes of demonic
occult revolutionaries; and whole regiments of satanists will
come crawling out of their dungeons... Together they'll form
the shock troops of Orthodoxy's persecutors.
Their rage will be recognized and legalized, for
human laws are written not by God, but by Veliar .
And hell's advocates are striving mightily even today...
This coddled minority (a projection of the
first minority, which was cast down from Heaven) will merge
into the roiling mass of the sodomite and already completely
"democratized" majority. The Iveron Icon will leave Athos.
A red calf will be burned on the sacrificial altar of the
Third Temple of Jerusalem; its ash, mixed with water,
will be sprinkled on the Jews gathered at the gates.
Rampant sin, the violation of all divine laws,
will boldly, triumphantly invade the sacral territory of Athos.
The peninsula will be drowned in vice.
The "excess" population of the planet will be
done away with in more or less humane fashion. The "golden
billion" will achieve such material prosperity that no longer
will anyone wish for Heaven.
Then they ought to remember the words of
St. Paul: "For when they shall say, Peace and security;
then sudden destruction cometh upon them, as travail upon a
woman with child; and they shall not escape." (1 Thessalonians
5:3)
But who will remember the prophecies by then?
Only a few will understand the meaning of what's happening
around them.
At that time "from the earth", from "scientific
materialism" a false prophet will emerge, armed with
rationalistic knowledge. He'll perform many false miracles.
Then "from the sea", from the raging passions of
humanity, a man from the tribe of Dan will emerge. At first
he'll be pronounced ruler, then king, and finally, a god.
Practically no one will surprised at this. Paganism has a
rich experience in deification of mortals.(11)
...But then the all-round triumph will give way to
bewilderment. And a bit later even the computerized humanoid
digit-people will be horrified.
Amid great wailing and gnashing of teeth and panics on stock
markets the dollar will come crashing down. As in ancient
legends, this fake gold -- devil's gold -- will turn out to be
just so much rubbish.
The Antichrist's powers will wither. Including
such powers as "energy from a vacuum". It's not within Satan's
power to create ex nihilo -- he can only redistribute
what's been stolen.
The TV screens, whose flickerings replaced for
many the Sun of Truth, light of the Creation, will go blank.
For it will turn out that the illusion of money had financed
the illusion of virtuality.
Maybe that is when the hidden startsy
will gather?
They'll gather to begin their ascent of the
Holy Mountain. The same ascent to the blessed summit that
Athonian monks make every year on Transfiguration Day.
But at the end of time everyone, except for the
secret ascetics, will forget that path marked with red paint.
Maybe these twelve last Christians, like the twelve first
ones, will fulfil the number of the fallen angels in Heaven?
Then the Holy Mount, rising into the sky, will witness a great
mystery: the twilight of the seventh day of Creation.
* * *
...In Xiropotamos it seems an hour has passed.
The rotation of the chandelier, horos and lamps gradually
subsides. And then, to the barely noticeable swinging of
the lamps, the choir quietly breathes out its last sound.
Is this it? The end of the world? The silence lasts for a
few seconds. Or maybe it's minutes? Time has disappeared.
No one stirs.
...In the meantime, according to an Athonian
legend the mysterious startsy will climb higher and
higher. In front of them the summit will appear, and on it
the tiny Chapel of the Transfiguration. Candles will be lit,
incense burned. In the presence of of the icons brought
from all over the Orthodox world the startsy will
serve liturgy.
The last liturgy. And then that will be it.
The end of the world. The last full stop in the history book
of planet earth.
The Omega Point. It will connect (on
Transfiguration Day?) the last liturgy in Transfiguration
Chapel and the transfiguration of all that exists: the morning
of the eighth day.
The End, God be praised!
Return to the Table of Contents
Related reading:
Elder Paissios: "There's a war
on today, a holy war..."
Press materials on the
persecution of the monks of Esphigmenou
Ecumenism Awareness Pages
Ecumenism: Path to Perdition
The Final Warning: A History of the New World Order
Added to Site: 14 June 2003 -
Last modified: 14 June 2003
The Russian-language original of this chapter may be found at:
apocalypse_III-17.cp1251.html
|
