One of the most austere places of contemplative prayer on earth for Orthodox Christians is the Holy Mountain, Mount Athos. It is a peninsula in Greece filled with many beautiful ancient monasteries that have functioned for centuries, housing pious men of prayer. These men live in community and also as hermits, committed to a deep ascetic life of prayer, fasting, and work. The peninsula is open only to men, a tradition that goes back to its origins and for the purpose of focused ascetic life. (The Orthodox Church also boasts many large and beautiful women’s monasteries, which are also known for similar asceticism, prayer, and work.) Mount Athos is deeply revered in our tradition for its wisdom, prayerful silence, and peace.
But there was a time in history when women and children were permitted not only to visit Mount Athos, but to live there. It wasn’t for the purpose of joining the monastic communities. During World War II and the Holocaust, the monks of Mount Athos opened their home to Jews in Europe whose lives were in grave danger. Whole Jewish families came to live on the peninsula, seeking refuge from the dangers of the world around them. The monks committed in those days to change their norms, to make themselves a bit uncomfortable for needs of those suffering around them. They changed their whole way of life to serve and help a group of oppressed people who were not like them at all. A relatively simple action, in fact, but one that challenged centuries of tradition and also saved the lives of their neighbors.
Today I’m asking this of myself and my friends. Are we willing to make ourselves uncomfortable for the sake of those suffering and oppressed around us? Are we willing to open our homes to serve them? To speak and stand up for those who might not look or act exactly as we do? Are we willing to change our status quo to do the right thing? To risk ridicule or judgment from those close to us as we challenge our long-held norms? It’s easy to see the honorable path when we look back at history. In the moment, we have to struggle and take risks to see it and choose it.
(See Mountain of Silence by Kyriakos Markides for more details on the Holy Mountain and the Holocaust.)
At Midnight 