A Heavenly Place

I expected our destination, with an address beside a narrow country road in the middle of nowhere, to be rough and untamed.  But I was wrong.  Yesterday my younger son and I visited an exquisitely beautiful Christian Orthodox monastery for women embedded in wilderness.  It was the day for the traditional Orthodox Feast to celebrate the death of Mary, the Mother of Jesus.   

Even as we entered the driveway, I fell captive to the charming campus with pleasant features, its structures congruous with their natural surroundings.   Wood-sided buildings seemed to grow from the ground almost like the immaculate, lush beds of flowers that surrounded them.  In a prominent central location a magnificent cathedral-like church of stone rose like an outcropping from earth to oversee the rest.

Towering trees and perfectly manicured, colorful landscaping drew my attention on every side.  I felt out-of-place, like an initiate, but simultaneously comfortable, as if I belonged with the encompassing beauty.  I could hardly take in the magnificence.  While enchanted by sensory overload I was also aware of another stirring, something yet to be discovered.

We parked beside a cemetery like none I’d ever seen, where thick granite crosses stood almost as tall as people.  Each plot, the size of a twin bed mattress, was outlined neatly in brick. At each grave’s head, blazing orange and yellow flowers grew beside a red glass cylinder holding a candle (representing eternal light).

My fate was sealed when we entered the cathedral-like church. Meticulous, ornate iconography covered several massive overhead domes as well as the front of the nave.  The artistry aroused and inspired some deep, forgotten inner place, or perhaps one I’d never known.  Stone pillars supported balconies above, as if in remembrance of architecture from ancient Greece - something that might last forever.  Something almost eternal.  Standing in the midst of grandeur, awe literally overtook me.

Our all-day, eight-hour visit was full to the brim.  While walking the campus, we discovered a winding dirt path through a forest primeval that led to a contemplative pond.  We also explored a children’s garden where a cobblestone path led to featured stopping points for the young and young-at-heart: a tiny church on a hill, a miniature Noah’s Ark parked in a bed of rocks, a burbling stream and waterfall.

Lunch was served outdoors. Picnic tables spread with blue-checkered tablecloths stood scattered beneath a thick, leafy canopy of trees to provide ample shade.  Smiling volunteers offered each visitor a square clamshell box full of food, a drink and a dessert.  I was expecting something like cold sandwiches and chips, but our boxes held herbed chicken breasts with mashed potatoes and gravy, green beans, rolls, and several bites of what appeared to be Romanian sausage (an ethnic favorite).

At appointed times the semantron (a wooden plank struck in staccato fashion with a wooden mallet) and pealing bells from a tower announced gatherings in a large outdoor pavilion with more beautiful iconography, although not as extensive as in the church. We attended 2 of the 4 services: holy liturgy (traditional liturgical service) and unction (prayer, healing, and anointing).  They were long, challenging, and deeply soul-filling.  We were part of a congregate group of approximately 500 people, 30 priests, and 2 bishops.

When we drove out the driveway and turned back onto the quiet country road, I knew I’d been changed for the better in a lasting way.  I woke up today with a sense of leftover awe and appreciation for the blessing of historical tradition, and this evening still notice a difference in perspective.  The depth of the experience spoke to a part of me that has grown weary with superficial change for the sake of change, and a cultural outlook that believes reverence must be repeatedly altered to be relevant.  The lifestyle I experienced yesterday has been practiced since the early centuries of dated time, and represented what we all crave: security in timeless beauty and divine love come to earth that is greater than anything we can imagine or expect.

I am profoundly grateful.

(Pictures have not been included out of respect for the privacy code of the monastery.)