Category Archives: The Circle of Grace

BRIGHT WEEK MONASTERY MIRACLES

Conversion miracles, War/ Persecution miracles, Secret Christians

We visited a monastery, where a young British man who wanted to become a catechumen “accidentally” met a British Orthodox priest who was visiting the same morning and “happened” to be a parish priest very near this young man’s hometown. Last but not least, they had booked the same return flight to the UK that Saturday! So, this young man had his first 3 catechesis lessons that morning!

The nuns of war.

From Aleppo to …

Years ago, it was a deserted monastery with only two nuns. But in 2013, the war in Syria brought here a sisterhood from Aleppo. These nuns have experienced the war, and each has a moving story to share. This monastery is now vibrantly alive, full of radiant Joy and warm Love.

All of the sisters have studied at Syrian universities – from Fine Arts to Economics – all come from old Christian families, and most of them have postgraduate degrees in Theology, which they have studied in Greek Universities. Pavlos, the Metropolitan of Aleppo, their spiritual Father, asked them to come here.

This is a monastery where Arabic hymns and psalms mingle along with Greek prayers. But what is most amazing and I have never encountered before in any other monastery I have visited, is their joy and love. This radiant Joy and love are a fruit of their obedience to their spiritual father in everything, and especially to his word. This is what a sister told us: “The most important thing is that Joy in a person, being joyful, is a decision. When we are not joyful in this life, it is a sin against God and His love.

When I was in Thessaloniki, I can’t remember because it’s just one, visiting from one monastery to another, and the spiritual fragrance of those places is filled with the living Christ. I met a Gerontas. I won’t tell you his name because I know some know him, but some believe he is a saint already. And when you are next to a saint, you know it. Remember, Orthodoxy is very physical. I wanted to be near him, because you could feel holiness. He told us a story about a woman from Canada. She was Chinese. And she had a dream of this face, of this Geronda. She had this dream every night for four years in Canada. Four years. Every night, this Geronda would come in her dream and say, “Come see me. I don’t have so much time.” She didn’t know who he was. She didn’t know where he lived. So she went and had a car, and she went on a tour of monasteries in northern Greece. Until she arrived at this particular monastery, where Gerontas lived, “Ah, here you are”. (And then, this Gerontas made particular arrangements for her to be properly catechised and baptised back in Canada with a priest next door to her own house!) You see, there are some hidden Christians.

This Gerontas goes and secretly baptises people in Turkey. There are secret Christians. There are people who want to become Christians. Many Muslims, rather than going to Greece, go to Romania, perhaps.

Other little miracles happened during my stay in Thessaloniki. I asked Gerontas for a word. It’s a tradition in Greece to say, “Give me a word.” Do you have this tradition? He didn’t say anything. He took a sweet out of his pocket and gave it to me. And I knew what he meant. He said, Give, feed people with the sweetness of Christ. You see, he doesn’t speak English. And I don’t speak very much Greek, so he just gave me a sweet. Simplicity is the beauty of Orthodoxy.

This same Gerontas shared with us another monastery miracle. Many years ago, on Mount Athos, a small boat with monks and doctors met another small boat with some Italian students. One of them was so impressed with the holiness of the Fathers that he swapped boats and followed them to their monastery pilgrimage. Years passed by, communication continued between this Gerontas and this Italian student, miracles happened to his family with Gerontas’ prayers, including saving his father’s life from cancer, and now this Gerontas visited him in Italy and made arrangements for his catechism and baptism, again next door, by an Orthodox Italian hieromonk, a former Uniate priest and now a member of Gerontas’ synodeia.

The Beauty of “Wasting” Our Time

My husband thinks I’m wasting my time!

Every Wednesday morning, I drive to the Galini Nursing Home. I don’t have any people there; in fact, I didn’t know a soul when all this started. I just go there, sit in the common area, and knit.

I’ve been doing this for four years. I’m 71 years old, a retired teacher, and time is the only thing I have in abundance.

At first, the nurses were concerned. “Ma’am, are you looking for someone in particular? A room?”

“No,” I would say. “I’m just here to sit for a while.”

Eventually they stopped asking. They assumed, I guess, that I was a lonely soul with nowhere else to go.

But I had a plan. I watched the residents pass by, some in walkers, some in wheelchairs, almost all with their eyes fixed on the floor. When they saw me knitting, they would stop short. Their eyes followed the rhythm of the needles.

At one point, a woman named Eleni, 84, decided to talk to me. “What’s this going to be?”

“A blanket,” I replied. “For no one in particular.”

“It seems like a lot of work for nothing,” she said with a slight complaint.

“I guess you’re right,” I said with a smile. “Would you like to help me “waste” some time together?”

She looked at me as if I had offered her a miracle. “My hands haven’t touched a thread in thirty years.”

“Great. Then you won’t notice if I slip a stitch.”

She sat down next to me. I gave her the needles, and it was beautiful to watch, her fingers remembering the movements long before her memory recalled them.

By the next month, Mrs. Eleni had brought three friends. Then there were six.

The centre moved us into the sunny, glass-fronted room and officially christened us “The Needle Company.” We didn’t do anything special; we just sat together, our hands busy, chatting about the weather, our grandchildren, and how pain can be eased. The real change was invisible.

These women began to dress in their good blouses again. They stopped skipping breakfast. A resident, Mrs. Maria, 89, who had not spoken a word since her husband left, began to tell vivid stories of how they sewed uniforms during the war.

The blankets and scarves began to pile up. Colorful, slightly crooked, and completely incomplete. “Where are all these supposed to go?” Mrs. Eleni asked one day.

“To the ‘Homeless Hostels’ and the ‘Youth Shelters,’” I said.

So every month, we sent a box full of warmth, made by women the world had largely forgotten.

Last winter, a young man appeared at the reception desk of the Unit. He asked to see the women who made the blankets. The staff hesitated, but eventually led him to the sunny room. He was holding a blue-and-yellow scarf, filled with uneven rows of knitting.

“They gave it to me at the shelter facility in December,” he told us, his voice trembling. “I slept with it every night on the bench. There was a tag hidden in the edges: ‘Hand-knitted by Eleni, 84 years old. You are not alone.’”

Mrs. Eleni shivered, putting her hand to her heart.

“Now I’m back on my feet,” he said. “I found a room and a job that starts on Monday. I just had to come here and tell you… no one had ever made anything just for me. This scarf made me feel like I deserved to be saved.”

We were all in tears.

My husband still shakes his head every time I leave on Wednesdays. She thinks I just drive across town to gossip and knit with strangers.

But Mrs. Helen passed away last Tuesday. Quietly, in her sleep. At the funeral, her son sought me out. “My mother lived for Wednesdays,” she said. “She told me you gave her purpose again. You gave her spark back.”

Our circle still meets every week. Seven women, ranging in age from 78 to 95, create “awful” scarves for people who desperately need to know that someone, somewhere, is thinking of them.

I don’t solve the world’s biggest problems. I just sit in a sunny room and knit with some incredible women. But I’ve learned that sometimes, that’s exactly the way to save a life.

St. John of Kronstadt: The Circle of Grace (2)

St. John of Kronstadt: The Circle of Grace

How fascinating to see a Saint through the eyes of another!

Who would have thought that St. John of Krostandt had helped finance, all the way from Russia and in very difficult times, the construction of St. Nicholas Cathedral in New York! A Saint worthy to meet St. Seraphim Sarov in a vision in January of 1901, in order to warn him of the impending Russian ‘Golgotha’. A spiritual father to Abbess Thaisia and founder of numerous women monasteries under her godly administration. St. Theophan the Recluse, himself a remarkable ascetic of the faith, spoke of him with wonder: “Father John of Kronstadt is a man of God. His prayer has reached God by virtue of his great faith. May the Lord keep him in humility and devotion to His holy will, and in self-sacrifice.”

The Athonite starets St. Silouan asked for St. John‘s  prayers to become a monk. Having finished his military service, before departing for home, Symeon (his name before tonsure) and the company clerk went to visit Father Ioann of Kronstadt to ask for his prayers and blessing. However, Father Ioann was absent from Kronstadt, so they decided to leave him letters instead. The clerk began to write a long letter in his best handwriting, but Semyon wrote only a few words: “Father, I wish to become a monk. Pray that the world does not detain me.” They returned to their barracks in St. Petersburg and, in the words of the Elder, the very next day he felt that all round him “the flames of hell were burning.” St Silouan recalled later in his life: “I still marvel at the power of his prayer. Almost 40 years have passed, yet I have not seen anyone serve the way he did.”

New martyr Alexander Hotovitzky, a Russian Saint living and serving in the United States from 1895 to 1914, also had the blessing to meet St. John of Krostandt and work together! Specifically, St. Alexander traveled to Russia in 1903, and while there, he paid a visit to Fr. John Sergiev — known even then as the wonderworker John of Kronstadt. After his return to America, St. Alexander spoke with a reporter from the Wilkes-Barre Times.  did the research and reprinted the resulting, fascinating article, one of the best things I have ever read in a newspaper, at Orthodox History. (The original date, incidentally, is April 7, 1904.)

 

*The Circle of Grace

Blessed Elder Philotheos Zervakos: The Circle of Grace (1)

elder-philotheos

 

Blessed Elder Philotheos Zervakos was spiritual father to Photios Kontoglou, Sister Angeliki the Unmercenary (my spiritual mother),  and a spiritual child of St. Nectarios of Aegina. During his youth he chanted several times  at vigils served by the saintly Fr. Nicholas Planas. Elder Philotheos experienced two life-saving miracles in his life with St. Demetrios and visibly encountered the Saint.

 

  • This post marks the beginning of a series which has always fascinated me: The ‘inter-connection’ of the Saints, the faithful and members from my spiritual family in the Holy Spirit.  Glory to God! The circle of Grace expands like ripples in the pool!  “That they all may be one; as thou, Father, art in me, and I  in thee, that they also may be one in us ” (John 17:21, KJV) There will be no commentary or analysis on my part in this series; just a plain presentation of facts and accompanying hyperlinks. I would be greatly indebted to any of you who might point out to me further  ‘inter-connections’.