A Lost Soul Called Home at Mt. Savior Monastery
By Liam M.
“Well… until Monday” my friend Josh K. said as he extended his hand towards mine. I shook it with a smile, as we turned onto the steep uphill road to Mt. Savior Monastery near Elmira, N.Y.
We were on a retreat with several other Family Foundation School students and had agreed to be silent for the majority of the weekend so as not to dilute the experience with frivolous chatter.
After getting settled into our tiny private rooms, it was time to eat. We entered the long, sunlit eating hall, and were ushered to either side of a large semi-circular table. In the center, was the abbot, or head monk. He was very old, though he had a youthful look about him as he observed all of us. A monk came out of the kitchen and sat down next to me. He did not acknowledge me, but rather focused on his meal.
All was silent except for the clanking of plates being passed around, and a reading by another monk at a podium at the far end of the eating hall, amplified by a speaker. I could not help but watch the monk next to me. His hands were small but thick, his gaze gentle.
The first service to capture me was Vespers, one of the seven times set aside daily for prayer. I was at first taken aback by the beauty of the monks’ singing voices. When the monk who I had eaten next to began reading Scripture in his slow baritone voice, I was focused on nothing else, hearing it with all my being. The words “My heart is numb inside me” grabbed me.
For years I wished to be able to spill my heart out and look at its contents from an intellectual point of view, since that has always been my only means of understanding things. I realized that spiritually I was dead, but more importantly, that I could change that. For the first time in my life, I threw away my logic-based doubts, and decided to ask “whoever is up there” for help.
After the service I walked downstairs to the crypt below the chapel which housed a candlelit statue of Mother Mary. I felt suddenly compelled to pray for my parents. I sat in a chair in a dark back corner and felt the pain that I had laid upon my mother and father. In that moment, for the first time, I felt I was exactly where I was meant to be, and that this was dictated by a non-human, omnipresent force. For the rest of my trip, I called that universal force God.
As I left the chapel, my mind was overwhelmed, busy trying to discount the experience I had. I wanted something to do that would take my mind off everything, something fun and exciting. I quickly realized this as a sad attempt by my ego to distract me.
I began my Saturday with a 4:45 a.m. service underneath the chapel, but by noon I was as immersed in my confusion as a caveman would be after being dropped off in Times Square. I decided to try and clear my mind by taking a walk with my friend Dave M. We began walking up a steep hill in silence. I was getting frustrated at my mind’s refusal to calm down, but at the top of that hill I finally found peace.
Up there, overlooking the monastery’s vast sheep fields, I lay down and a huge wave of understanding swept over me. It shut down my troubled mind and slammed me into the moment. I whispered to myself I am right here, right now and at once I understood.
I understood that this peace I had found had nothing to do with my location. It had been within me for a long time, waiting for me to acknowledge it. I realize now that this state of complete serenity and wellness is waiting for me and for anyone, if we are willing to drop our egos and live in the moment, in the truth.
On Sunday, after a long conversation about our purpose in life with Jan Cheripko, I decided to take some time alone. I hopped a fence into the woods, and began walking.
Armed only with pencil and paper, I trudged my way through the long, muddy grass and came upon a tiny overgrown shack. I bent under the thorny branches of the plants surrounding it and slid inside through the small door. I realized what an opportunity it presented for me.
I took a box of matches off the tiny windowsill to light a candle, which I sat with on the floor and held for hours. I prayed to God that I might finally forgive myself for all I had done. At that moment I realized I felt no pain other than what I was putting on myself.
In the chapel I left my pessimistic views of what I considered purposeless life. On the hill overlooking the pastures, I left all the worldly distractions that kept me from happiness. In the shack in the woods, I left all my old hurts, which I previously used to punish myself.
When I got back to the school, I had to struggle to keep my faith in God and my inner peace from being overtaken by my surroundings. One thing I held onto was gratitude; seeing everything that came my way as a gift. Putting action behind what I know is right and true also helped. My experience taught me a spiritual principle that the monks utilize to the fullest every day: that faith without works is dead.
