Unarmed & Unorthodox Pt. Two

Part Two: Mornings

My dad found a little monastery within spitting distance of some property he owns out in the middle of nowhere. He would drop by out of sheer curiosity, delivering toiletries and basic household items, trying his best to make small talk with this small community from a seemingly different world. I had only visited once before with my family prior to diving head-long into total immersion. The first time we all showed up I remember thinking that we have been in some culturally awkward situations before, but there is nothing like showing up to a Greek monastery with your small Asian mother, big American father, and not a single clue of what it meant to be Greek or Orthodox. After that visit, I remembered thinking to myself, “I’ve really got nothing to lose. It’s not like everyone’s got nuns for neighbors, let’s learn a thing or two while we’re in the neighborhood!” Maybe I’ll walk away from all this with nothing else but belly full of delicious vegetarian grub or maybe I’ll find nirvana, or whatever the Greek Orthodox equivalent is.

So that’s where I’m at: out in the middle of nowhere, helping nurse newborn goat kids, waving my hand around my face in the shape of a cross, and trying really, really hard to blend in. From daily 5 a.m. church services, to cleaning the church with nothing but a small bristled paintbrush, to eleven newborn baby goat kids to nurse, and finally midnight prayers before bed, there  is a lot to be said about monastic living.

Simplicity, solitude, and sanctification. Throw these three things together and you’ve got one insecure mess out of me. Yet the lives of these women are living testaments that stripping away worldliness and seeking a life of abundance while having nothing is inherently possible.

I threw my limp body out of bed and dragged myself past the gardens and peacock enclosures still veiled in the early morning’s darkness. Heaving the heavy wooden doors open I stumbled into the small dark church to attend my first 5 a.m. service. I followed the lead of a young girl, just one step ahead of me as she went through the typical procedures that must be done in the Narthex (the first part of the church, kind of like the equivalent of a front room). The girl began bowing, waving her hand in the shape of an invisible cross, and finally kissing the Jesus icon on the wall robotically before moving to next icon and doing the whole deal all over again. It was obvious she had done this thousands of times before.

I was a bit intimidated at the uncertainty of it all. There were three depictions of Jesus on the right side of the church and three Virgin Marys on left. Maria, the girl in front of me finished her motions on the right (Jesus) side before moving to the left (Mary) side. I shyly approached the first icon of Jesus, not feeling quite right with these foreign gestures and motions. I stood in front of an image of a man that seemed familiar yet so unfamiliar and gave him a slight head nod, mumbling a tired “Hey.” I thought that would suffice for now. I almost didn’t bother heading over to Mary’s side, but then thought this might be a good time as well as any to finally introduce myself, seeing as that we had never officially meet before. I approached her, smiled, and said hello. Feeling a bit awkward, I decided to wait for someone to formally introduce us, so leaving it at that, I turn toward the Nave (the main part of the church) and entered in.

The whole service was in Greek, which didn’t really matter, because even if it was in English I still wouldn’t have a clue to what was going on. It mostly consisted of the nuns singing these short little hymns. I didn’t need a translator to know the hymns were about their love for God and for their joy found in Christ. It was so beautiful I began wishing that I could start every morning like these nuns, full of unadulterated hope. I remember thinking during that service that I was really glad these women committed themselves to such a rigid and discipled life of total worship to God, because when I’m back home failing daily on my Lenten fast, I will always remember these women and the standard they hold themselves to. It really makes me think holiness might actually be possible, they carry themselves with a Spirit that we must only need to be still and let God be God and we’ll just be His precious children. He will provide our every need, protect us from our every fear, and cover our every sin. I’m over here trying to squeeze out of every last drop of God’s grace and mercy, weighed down by my fears, failures, and faults. As long as God is who He says He is, there will always be enough Love, Grace, and Mercy to go around.