Surpassing the Material

Well here I am overdue on my promise to update after our return from the monastery, it has been some time since then and much has passed. I did not feel capable of writing publicly but I will attempt to catch you on what has transpired. We arrived at the Brotherhood of St Herman at around three in the afternoon on monday the 13th. We had spent some time winding through the arid, tree dotted hills around Platina to find it. When we did we greeted the first monk we saw, He was tall though mildly stooped as if by a burden unseen, white haired and bearded, his face lined but clear, his eyes sharp and fierce but without malice. I was intimidated and yet felt assured of a calm kindness. He pointed us to the guest house where we were welcome to stay. I found out later that he was Fr. Hilarion, the Abbot. Everything here seemed without excess or guile. All had a feeling of tranquil grace, though hardened and without ease. This was clearly a place of great struggle but great reward. I felt as one who did not belong, no one made me feel unwelcome but I nonetheless felt as an intruder in this place peace. It was the darkness within me that could not comprehend the light. It was a feeling of conviction, as though this place were a mirror by which one can peer into his own soul. A cold shower later and I was in vespers after which was dinner. We were then given a tour of the monastery grounds, at the end of which we visited the cell in which Fr Seraphim Rose lived and worked. Again I cannot fully express the feeling of the place, it was as though all facade had been stripped away and by merely being there the facades of my self were also being peeled back. After compline I went to bed in anticipation of an early rise for matins and hours at 4:30am. I wrestled with sleep and many foolish thoughts all throughout the service, at the end of which we had a pleasant breakfast. By the time we returned to the guest house it was 8:30am and succumbing to my weariness I took a nap. Later in the afternoon we thanked Fr Hilarion and took our leave of the monastery. Though only one day was to short a time it nonetheless left me with a deep impact. And so we ventured on to Sacramento, my mind reeling and my mood introspective. In sacramento we visited the Howells and had a very pleasant time swimming, golfing and playing croquet. Many thanks Fr Steven, Sally and Jon! And have a safe rest of your trip Matthew, Stasia, Isaac, Mary and kids. Just yesterday it was then that we set our course for San Francisco and crossing the impressive Bay Bridge entered the city. My expectations were, as you may expect from my previous entries, not high. We went to the overcrowded "Fisherman's Wharf" to get some clam chowder and sourdough bread which we then ate on one of the piers for lunch. Alcatraz was not far in the distance and the Goldengate was hazily visible beyond, it was all very scenic with sailboats gliding lazily towards the horizon. We then wandered over to visit the famous sea lions, then through some various shops and past a second rate attention hungry entertainer. Don't get me wrong, it is a very nice city, probably my favorite so far but I had already had enough of the noisy crowds. So we set off to meet with the priest who would show us Saint Johns relics, that was at least our original impression, what actually transpired was far better than we could have planned or hoped. Finding our way through town took a little time but we arrived at last at The Joy of All Who Sorrow or "the Old Cathedral" as it is sometimes called. It was where Saint John first served when he arrived with his orphans and refugees from the samoan islands. A beautiful old Episcopal church with rafters fashioned of redwood by english shipwrights, all gleaming with a warm sheen, The peak of the roof was almost imperceptible in its shadows as though opening into a great beyond. It had been transformed and was now an Orthodox sanctuary, lined with Icons and steeped in prayer. Fr James, the resident priest-monk, told us many things, including the story of the cathedral and of Saint John. In this place I stood in awe, the calm was... tangible. The walls seemed alive, the Icons glowed with warmth and in the midst of the stillness a sound of soft footsteps won wood floors would echo through, though no one had moved. It was a place unlike any other, I felt out of time and removed from the world outside. It bowed my heart again as at Platina, I could imagine the words of God to Moses, "Remove thy shoes for the ground on which you stand is holy". It all overwhelmed me and moved me to tears to stand there, so unworthy. Fr James then held a short prayer service to St John and blessed us and our van. This was all swiftly surpassing my expectations when he then had us stay to for dinner. An excellent meal in the excellent company of him sister Simone and Alexandria. Fr James is an excellent storyteller and he told us many more stories of the cathedral and St John whilst occasionally jumping up to check on the prophora he was baking. After the summation of our meal he took us to visit the cell where St John had lived while in San Francisco. It was not far away, situated within an apartment that looked much the same as all the others on the street except for it's iron gate with an Orthodox Cross. Within was another sanctuary within the city. The living room was a chapel, with the same Iconostasis from the orphanage in Shanghai and several relics. Every wall in the building had an Icon if not many, and many of them were miraculously self-restoring. Down a hall was his simple cell, possessing a desk two chairs and decorated with many more Icons as well as a picture of his Parents. The second chair was one which his orphans had bought for him in which he said his prayers and slept, He had no bed, indeed the room was not even large enough to fit one. We all took turns to sit in his chair, when my time came it was again overwhelming; a feeling of grace and love permeated the very room. We were invited to stay the night at the cathedral, what a blessing to sleep in a place so tranquil, a place where a Saint had served. This morning we arose and drove to the new cathedral for Divine Liturgy. We saw its onion domes gleaming in the morning sun from several blocks away, inside was magnificent, all was covered in beautifully frescoed Icons. Off to the right side of the nave lay the reliquary of St John. As I approached I felt surrounded, embraced, by a warm and loving presence. There he lay, his body un-decayed and his vestments untouched. Now I don't care what we see for I have seen him who the city, and the world was not worthy. Glory to God for these unexpected sidetracks! Nothing else could have been better. It reminds of for whom I live and for what I must strive! O holy Hierarch John pray to God for us!
PDTL