Hermitage of the Holy Cross

Several weeks ago, as you know, Hubby and I visited the the Hermitage of the Holy Cross in West Virginia. It was my first time to any monastery and Hubby's second to this monastery. Hubby spoke often since his first visit of wanting to return there for another visit and was overjoyed he was getting to go back. For the life of me I could not understand why he wanted to go back to a monastery. Now I do, but it has taken me time to digest everything I have experienced there and, even through this horrible round of sickness, Holy Cross Monastery has been a quiet place of comfort in my heart and soul.

I saw the monastery itself early on Sunday morning of our visit. Several buildings were here and there, and the Church proper and common hall were connected by decks, complete with steps. The first thing that hit me was the absence of any ramps, which made my heart take a few thunderous thuds inside my chest. My chair, with me in it, weighs about 500 pounds and it was going to have to be carried. Brother Mark came from the common hall and directed me, Hubby, and several of our friends to the Church and, with his help, they carried me onto the porch.

As I was lifted (it felt very high) into the air, I glanced up and there was an icon of Christ. "Oh Lord, Jesus Christ, Son of God, have mercy on me, a sinner," I prayed. Then I was on the porch and moving forward. Brother Mark crossed himself and said, "Glory be to God." It wasn't a harsh statement as, I realize, I was half expecting, but one of true thanks giving and happiness we had arrived, safely to the Church. I felt humbled. And quite thankful.

Service was Orthodox, which is one of the most wonderful things about Orthodoxy: No matter where you go to an Orthodox service, you will know the service, even if it wasn't in English. It was familiar and loving, warm to my very soul. Holy Cross gives service in English, and, I later discovered, it is the largest English speaking Orthodox monastery in the world.

After service I was expecting to leave, but the friends and another gentleman I was never to know his name, helped carry me up more steps to wait for all of us to be called to breakfast. It was there that our dearest friends introduced us by our Christian names of Mary and Moses. From that point on I was called Mary and Hubby was Moses. It was the most wonderful, and eventually quite normal part of the entire experience.

At breakfast the women were off to the side at a couple of small tables. We ate in silence while a brother read. I am not sure, exactly, how each of us conveyed our needs at the table, but it was done. Jokingly I told another friend it was a mixture of telepathy and mime, but now I am almost convinced it was telepathy. Breakfast consisted of eggs, biscuits, and hash browns and coffee (the best coffee I have ever had!) As I said, we ate in silence, and, much more amazingly, we ate in peace. It was the first meal I had relaxed at in many months.

After the wonderful breakfast, we all sat and talked with Father Seraphim. He is a convert to the faith, just as we were, and he is such a kind and well-spoken, soft spoken gentleman you are either going to fear him immediately, or you are going to adore him. We adored him, and still do. We did talk of spiritual matters, and we learned some very interesting things, but it was almost an aside. There was laughter and a wonderful sense of stillness, and peace on the large deck as we passed the afternoon. Some of us strayed to visit the goats and kittens and some of us stayed to continue talking with Father Seraphim.

There was a point when a helper came and brought out coffee and cookies for an afternoon snack. It was wonderful and calming. I had not expected to be having afternoon coffee at the monastery, and it was wonderful.

Finally the time came for me to be carried down two sets of steps to be leaving to the small store the monastery has. It went smoothly on the first set, but the second set one of the friends lost his grip and I almost tipped, but the most wonderful thing happened. I didn't panic or spazz or feel the least bit threatened or in danger. I even helped right me and the chair and then I stood for a moment while the chair was righted and we proceeded on.

At the store I could not enter, but I was not left outside alone. I was able to speak with Brother Mark for a considerable length of time. He is a novice, not a full monk yet, and he has such a wonderful spirit about him. He has an easy laugh and quiet manner about him. He has become very dear to me and Moses and we pray for him, and for all of those there at Holy Cross every day.

You want to know the strangest thing about the day at the monastery? The monks, everyone who passed by and met me, thanked me for coming and giving them such a blessing. It wasn't false, faked, or mere politeness and something they should say to someone in a wheelchair, but truly genuine. Even the Mother there thanked me for coming and being with them. Being in a wheelchair, I am quite used to the politeness that comes from most people, as well as the very much unwanted pity, but these greetings and departings were genuine. They were real, and they were quite humbling to my fighting spirit. Why? Because there was nothing to fight there. I was accepted happily and lovingly which made it so very easy to let the cares of the world fall from my shoulders, which rarely ever happens with me. Because of going there, being able to rest my soul, body, and mind there for a time has helped me fight this last battle of illness, and still is, while preparing for the celebration of Christ's birth upon earth.