There is something about coming to Greece that feels like
home to me. The three main draws are; the warm loving people, the grandparents
(which essentially define Greek hospitality), and of course the church –
whether I attend or not, I always feel at home surrounded by the old Byzantine.
My dad and I traveled together from Morocco, to Malta, to
Thessaloniki Greece. We unite on our love and yearning for understanding of
spirituality and the Orthodox Church, so we both arrived in a state of
excitement and homeliness.
To understand the preface to my second visit in Greece this
year, we’ll travel back to the 1980s with our mustaches and mullets and take a
peak into the life of my dad. Back in the 1980s, when, my dad was studying at
Hellenic College, he became friends with his neighbor in the dormitory. The
friend’s name was Billy Bakos. They were fast friends, and partners in crime
for life. Billy served as my dad’s best man at my parents’ wedding, which, in
Greek Orthodox tradition, makes him an honorary member of the family and grants
the Greek title of Koumbaro between
he and my family. It’s an important title for Greeks, like the importance of
godparents in some cultures. Since that wedding, Mr. Bakos traveled to a place
called The Holy Mountain, also called Agio
Oros in Greek. The Holy Mountain is
an island peninsula in the region of Helkidiki, an hour and a half outside of
the northern capital city of Thessaloniki in Greece. The island is home to 22
different Orthodox Christian monasteries where thousands of monks live, and
where pilgrims come from all over the world. I have never been since women are
not allowed on The Mountain for a few different reasons, which I understand and
appreciate. I want my own island anyway. When Billy Bakos traveled to the Holy
Mountain for the second time in his life, he moved there and became a novice
for three or four years before being tonctured (blessed as) a monk. From then on, we would all reverently call
him Father Iakovos - he is even featured on a 60 Minutes documentary discussing
the Holy Mountain, if you are interested in learning more.
http://www.cbsnews.com/news/mt-athos-a-visit-to-the-holy-mountain/
Fast forward: Father Iakovos has been a monk at the
monastery of Simonopetra, on the Holy Mountain, since before I was born. Over
the years he maintained a connection with my family and during the last couple
of years the Greek Orthodox Metropolis of Boston had the blessing of hosting
Fr. Iakovos for a whole year in an effort to start a monastery in New England. A
whole community of children, and families came together loving him and
welcoming him, and now I am one of thousands of his spiritual children in
America. He really has touched so many lives, and I feel blessed to have any
relationship to him. Since he left to return to the Holy Mountain, I have
missed him a great deal, and have always found his presence to be grounding for
me.
The monks of the Holy Mountain are under the obedience of
their spiritual leader called the Abbot, or Yeronda
in Greek – just the same as priests are under the obedience of their bishop.
Monks, and nuns as well, must have the permission of the Abbot to travel - or
to move somewhere else - and they may be denied permission according to where
the Abbot sees their services needed. It was by the Grace of God that the Abbot
at Simonopetra needed to send a priest to their church in Thessaloniki, and it
just so happened that Fr. Iakovos was the man that he sent.
Now to the present: Several people greeted my dad and I when
we arrived in Thessaloniki – Niko & Tina (a couple whom I met in 2006),
Maria and Dimitri (friends of Father Iakovos), and, of course, our beloved
Father Iakovos. They all took us out to dinner the way that Greek family
members welcome their out-of-town relatives – a trapezi.
 |
| The three musketeers! Fr. Iakovos, my dad, and Niko (left to right) |
The following couple of days Fr. Iakovos and Niko and Tina
traveled with us to revisit the convent of Orymilia where I created strong
connections during my first visit to Greece in 2006 The nuns made for us a
lunch that was finer than any restaurant, and the heartfelt warmth and welcomnig
made me feel right at home. My old friend, Sister Prosdoki, was able to visit
with me for a brief period, holding my hand and catching up with one another.
Just like the first time, I wished that our visit had lasted forever!
I also had the distinct honor of meeting His Eminence
Metropolitan Barnabas of Neapoli and Stavropolio. My dad is friendly with Metropolitan
Barnabas, and so we were able to have two short visits with him while we were
in Greece. During the first visit, I couldn’t understand the conversation between
my dad, Father Iakovos, and His Eminence Barnabas, because it was all in Greek.
But, I felt all of the emotions in the room. I was so moved by the warmth, the
way that His Eminence was teaching through his example, and the amount of love
in the room, that I was moved to tears during most of the visit. Rather than made to feel embarrassed by my tears, my expression of emotion was communication enough for Hi Eminence and we instantly connected
without words. Father Iakovos simply told His Eminence that I was
moved by the loving kindness of his nature. During our second visit I was far
better composed and was able to communicate my feelings about love and God with
the help of some translation. When my dad and I made our final goodbye before
flying to Turkey, Metropolitan Barnabas hugged and kissed me, and sent me tons
of blessings.
Its an amazing thing, meeting people like Sister Prosdoki,
Father Iakovos, Metropolitan Barnabas, or my friend Maria who I visited later
in the week. Kind people simply emanate warmth. It can’t be described as
anything other than love, goodness, the Holy Spirit. I can feel the spirit full
in them, it overflows, and it washes over me so that I feel filled as well.
 |
| His Eminence Barnabas and me |
After some guy-time with Father Iakovos, and my dad, the men
headed off to the Holy Mountain and I was left alone in Thessaloniki for four
days. I absolutely loved it! I had the fantastic opportunity to spend time with
my buddy Maria who I met when I studied abroad in Spain two years ago, and I
also became better acquainted with some Greek American boys who came from
Hellenic College in Boston to study abroad in Thessaloniki.
Greek hospitality truly is a bottomless pit of abundance,
and in that way it emulates the spirit of love.
I cannot even count the hours on hours of time spent sitting
around with my friends, and their friends, drinking tsiporo (Greek moonshine),
and laughing together. I learned a lot of Greek, and communication was never a
problem, even with Maria’s friends who didn’t speak English. Every time I went
out with Maria, or the Greek Americans from the University, everyone insisted
on paying for me. Being the out-of-towner, Greek hospitality designates that my
local friends have a responsibility to show me a good time, make me happy, and
not let me spend a cent. Of course, I don’t take advantage of that by any means,
but the Greeks are just the gift that keeps on giving.
I even had the honor of going outside of Thessaloniki to
visit Maria’s grandparents in their village, and see the local dance group perform
original Greek dances from the region. Yiayia even played along with me when I
asked her to read my fortune in my cup after drinking Greek coffee. She and I
agreed that we don’t take fortune telling from coffee cups too seriously, but
it was interesting to learn from her. I felt like I was welcomed like a long
lost relative. I could have lived there and hiked the nearby mountains for days
if I had more time. If there is anything Greek, it’s impossible for me to feel
out of place.
My time in Greece was perfectly timed, and I didn’t spend
more than a half of a day doing anything touristic. I enjoyed parea (companionship) with friends, tons
of food, heart-to-hearts, and beautiful people. There is nothing better than
going where your people are. My people are definitely Greek. There have been a
few other times on my journey where I have felt ‘among my people’ like in
Munich, and all over Ireland. (Coincidentally, I am a small part German, and
Irish.)
But, so far in my journey, no one does it quite likes the
Greeks do. Yasas!
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