Do you still remember that time when we still received packages at the Post Office and letters? When there were those pencils we used to moisten on our lips and were eternally naturally "lipsticked"? Well, back then, I received a package of books, and next to it, a short letter with the scent of Athos. They were the books of Father Dionysius of Colciu, Saint Dionysius of today. The day turned into a feast for us. I kissed the letter and the books as if I'd lost my mind! I simply devoured all three volumes. I started highlighting (yeeees, I'm one of those who highlight certain ideas and fill books with colors and signs!). I had already taken school-like notes about the Fathers' routine: meal times, number of meals, night prayer hours, number of prostrations, bows, and so on. In a word, I already saw myself as an eagle like them ‒ I, a poor frozen chick. In this state, this pitiful state, the letter received from Athos found me.
After a few years, when I had already become next level and had a phone ‒ you know that Zapp phone, big and heavy like a brick? Those of you who are like me, from the "old league," perfectly understand what I'm saying ‒ well, I no longer received a letter from Athos, but a message! And it went something like this: "Sister Jenica, if it is also the will of the Mother of God, next month we will meet in person." Lord! What emotions overwhelmed me! How many thoughts, how many questions, how many struggles! Is it appropriate for an Athonite to sleep in our house? What will I put on the table for him? Should I cook, or should I ask my husband? Maybe he doesn't eat from just anyone's hand... And all sorts of thoughts in this category.
Days passed and the moment arrived. I put on my black "Sihăstria dress," as my husband jokes, hid my mass of hair under an elastic band, and set off to wait for the Father. GPS was quite far from us back then.
We met and all came home, extremely joyful. My family was happy, laughing ‒ in a word, behaving normally. Me, nothing! All turmoil. At one point, the Father says to me, in a gentle tone:
- Jenica, come here. Sit next to me, let's talk a little...
Ha-ha-ha! Do you think he congratulated me? Nooooo! He scolded me, with a mixture of gentleness and harshness I had never encountered before. A scolding that brings rest, because suddenly peace embraced me. A tranquility that flooded me, literally and figuratively. He looked deep into my eyes and told me, extremely simply:
- Jenica, what are these things in your mind? What battle of thoughts are you waging? Look, I too have a mother, a sister, a brother, but I left everything for Christ. So, I am a human being like you. I don't fly, I don't feed on water and manna, I am no different from other people. So put your hand in mine and feel that I am flesh and dust like you, so please, just be yourself!
Oh, the shame I felt, I can't even tell you... Shame of myself, of what I claimed to know. Of everything I had read and understood, of course, according to my own mind. That sickly and extremely painful piety. That feeling that urges you to make dozens of prostrations and crosses in front of icons, without even considering that there's someone behind you waiting to express their concern. That feeling that the confessor's time "is owed to you," and you stay for confession for hours, turning the mystery (The Mystery!) into a session of checking off everything under the sun, without even thinking that he is also a human being like you. And maybe he has a sick child at home, he's hungry, or simply something hurts him, but he listens to you patiently. Or maybe a wife waiting for him to exchange a few words. That piety that makes you swallow a camel but strain at a gnat.
Ah, I remembered something funny that happened much later, but is worth telling. I was with my husband at Liturgy, somewhere at a monastery in northern Moldova. My husband and Geronda Damaschin Grigoriatul (he was with us on a visit to Dragomirna) were somewhere behind me, and I was crouched down, face to the ground. After the service, in the car, Father Damaschin says to me:
- Țenica, why are we standing hunched over like a beetle during the service? This is not right. That posture is only for home, when only Christ sees you. Here we stand straight, but we bow our hearts in prayer. The body is empty, and without a bowed heart, it's worth nothing.
Beautiful, isn't it? So much truth... Hmm... This is what I am, or perhaps I was and I've woken up. I don't know yet. Perhaps someday, through your prayers, everyone's prayers, I will find out.
And that's how my first encounter with Athos was. Lord, how ashamed I am of myself even now!
Jenica Gavrilă