A Pilgrimage to Montenegro Bright Week 2007

Day 1   Monday 9^th April 2007

An email arrived advertising what seemed to be a marvellous trip to Montenegro with the Fellowship of St. Basil of Ostrog, Nikšić, with wonderful-looking days-out to monasteries, the seaside, up in the mountains and so on. I deleted it. Another arrived. Same information! I deleted that one also. Two weeks went past and the telephone rang. It was Desimir wanting to know why I hadn’t sent off my cheque yet. “Because I’m not coming,” I told him. Desimir rehearsed all the wonders I would miss and again I told him I wasn’t coming. Two days passed and Desimir phoned again. He told me that I had to make up my mind fast as the tickets were going to be booked: how did I want to get there? Two more days went past and I relented: I sent off my cheque. I thank God I did!

So I found myself surrounded by young people sitting on a pavement café in Dubrovnik airport (Croatia) drinking a bitter lemon fizzy in the hot sunshine wondering what would happen next.  What happened next was that a very tall young man called Vladimir (Vlado the Tall) whisked us off in a coach to Trebinje in Bosnia. The route took us through breathtakingly beautiful scenery, up into higher mountains and then into the city itself. Here we piled into the Cathedral of the Transfiguration and gave brief thanks for a safe journey by singing the Paschal Troparion. Here we met Fr. Boris who, wearing an elegant grey rasson, looked delighted to meet us all. Back on the bus and now up to a beautiful little church and centre on a hill overlooking the city. This is the Temple of the Annunciation, a copy of one in Kosovo. It has a beautiful screen, light coloured wood, highly polished with simple, Byzantine style icons (only the lower range) and above it the dragons holding up a Calvary, the templon richly carved with intertwining vines and the grapes hanging from them. The icons of The Saviour and the Mother of God have cherubim written into the borders of the icon. Stunningly beautiful. The floor is covered with coloured marble. The whole interior is frescoed in the traditional manner and a large polyeleios and chandelier lights the interior. The Holy Table was clothed in a rich blue cover decorated in gold with crosses and vines. The heady perfume of Madonna lilies filled the air and mixed with the scent of incense. This is a new church, containing the body of a Bosnian poet. From here we walked to a parish house and had the first of many cups of tea, shlivovica, slices of cake and other generous hospitality. Fr. Boris welcomed us warmly, speaking to us of the problems the Serbian Church now faces (there is a tiny but powerful breakaway group who is calling itself the Church of Montenegro).

The sun began to set, lighting up the Crosses on the five domes of the Temple. The Archangel Gabriel flew down to the Theotokos over the door of the Temple: my heart leapt for sheer joy. Two full days of Pascha were being completed and the Archangel was speaking anew. We crossed the large pavement to the sound of Church bells; Beccy and Anca were also singing beautifully below a parapet, the sun lowered itself into the mountains. “Come with me” said Fr. Boris. I did and travelled with him through the mountains, through the Passport Control and into Montenegro. Black Mountains indeed! From all about they frowned on us and soon the light was gone.

Below us lights of a city came into view. A second Vladimir (Vlado the Great) spoke up “Nikšić” he said pointing into the darkness. Shortly we were passing the Turkish fortification and down into the city itself. It is a reasonably sized place of about 60,000 tall, healthy looking and good-looking inhabitants, industrialised, a long history, beautiful streets, views and buildings. It has some nice squares and statues. Over all of it the White Cathedral looks down benevolently through its surrounding pinewoods.

I was taken to “Pasha” (Pascha) the Church Restaurant. Standing, for a second, in the road I took in the scene. It was a dark road with several windows looking out on to it. One window drew my attention. In it was a large icon of St. Basil of Ostrog (more of him another time) lit by a hanging lamp. The warm light radiated into the dark street and I was drawn towards the welcoming door. (More about Pasha another time – it itself is wonderful!) I was met by a wall of delighted young faces all saying Khristos voskrese! and Voistinu voskrese! and herding me to a table laid for thirty.  Soon I had one glass full of beer, another glass of shlivovica, a glass of fizzy, and everyone was proffering me food from every direction. Fr. Slobodan  (which means “Freedom”) came and sat down.  He took up a red egg as did I and we played the usual Pascal Egg Conkers. His cracked, and they all assured me that I had to eat it. I played Egg Conkers with someone else. Mine cracked and this time I had to eat it. This seemed to happen throughout the week – whosever egg cracked I ended up eating it … with predictable results. Before long the others arrived and the party began. We feasted on various meats, cheeses, and cabbage salads, there were lots of breads (including ones I could eat) and not long afterwards the room was heaving with people making new friends. Fr. Slobodan moved to a barstool next to a high-topped table and he and several others began to sing.  They sang a range of songs; patriotic, religious, love ballads and comical. Sometimes they sang alone frequently everyone joined in.  Behind me an icon of the Saviour looked down. The little lamp before Him burned brightly. Perhaps it was only shlivovica but my heart felt warm and I thanked Him for the persistence of Desimir.

Shortly thereafter we were taken to our rooms, clean, tidy, simple and nearby: perfect. As I closed my eyes our own parish home appeared before me with the Paschal Candle shining out in the darkness of the temple.  “Come receive the Light!” and light spread throughout the nave, then into the passage, then into the garden and now I had found it here too.  Glory to God!

Day 2

Tuesday 10^th April 2007

After a roasting hot night it was a pleasure to get up and have a cool shower and consider the day to come. I was to take my vestments and concelebrate the Divine Liturgy: that was all I knew! At 8am I was with all the others and in a coach setting off – rather late! After some time we arrived at the monastery. It is a monastery for women. It is not large and for a while had been turned into an hotel but is now lived in by a number of nuns, many of whom are novices.

We were hurried across a large grassy courtyard and into the temple.  This is made of blocks of stone that have been plastered on the inside. It is a white, cool, introspective place.  Signs of Pascha were everywhere: the chandeliers had little string bags hanging from them, in each bag was an egg decorated for Easter, often with a long tassel hanging down from it. This had a really pretty effect. Above the main screen icons (a very simple white, wooden screen with few icons) were semicircles of red and white flowers, and pots of the same before them. Very pretty. A choir of nuns was singing as we entered: the Liturgy was well advanced. I was hustled into the Altar and hurriedly dressed. The Liturgy was a beautiful experience. The other two priests were Fr. S., a monk nearby and Fr. Vasilios who is a married priest living in the area. During Communion red eggs were distributed. Fr. Vasilios was very moved during the Communion and said later that he had been overwhelmed by our unity in Christ “We are all one! I feel it in my heart!” he said with tears.

The Monastery is named after St. Luke the Apostle. In the centre of the temple is a reliquary containing a relic of St. Luke. Some say that it is a relic of St. Luke Hosios  (d. 953) but whichever saint it is there is a rich perfume arising from this relic.

The monastery had put on breakfast for us of honey, cakes, shlivovica and tea in a lovely stone-lined reception room. Some of the stones had been painted with icons. Immediately we had finished this (and several red eggs) we were taken up stairs to a refectory to have a huge and delicious lunch of roasted fish, spinach pies, dolmades, salads and more shlivovica and red eggs. It was lovely to look over the assembled company from all their different countries and think of Fr. Vasilios’ statement: “We are all one! I feel it in my heart!” Later one of the participants said, “ I am Orthodox first and American after.”  No wonder repressive states mark us out for dreadful treatment.

Wiping our mouths we visited the monastery properly. There is a beautiful little chapel, fully frescoed, and indoors in which was some embroidery that was being prepared for vestments that would dress a saint. This was magnificent work of astonishing detail. In one cuff was the icon of the nativity of the Theotokos and on the other the Dormition. From this we went to a workshop where the nuns make religious items like incense burners from pottery. Again beautiful, simple, elegant designs… they would not accept payment (but there are ways round this!). After a final photograph with Mother Superior we departed for the Cathedral and museum at Nikšić.

The Cathedral is also pleasingly plain and simple. It is elegant and handsome, built by St. Nicholas Czar and Passion Bearer it is also very large for an Orthodox temple. Built of white stone it has a marble screen and wooden icon desks and throne. Thankfully there are no chairs and pews that so often disfigure the inside of temples and prevent their proper use. Here too we were able to venerate relics of St. Basil and the Holy Cross.  At the back was a small shop settling items useful for religion: prosphora seals, prayer ropes and icons for example. Some of these were second-hand. The man in charge of the shop gave me a beautiful little seal that I have used for our liturgy in Lincoln, in this way binding us to them there. I have been into church shops in England that contain beautiful quality items identical to those one finds at National Trust houses. In one such place I was invited to spend over a hundred pounds on a teapot. It is usual to find quantities of fudge and expensive biscuits but hardly a Bible or prayer book, barely an icon, rosary or a neck cross or other book about the faith. Such shops should consider carefully what this tells the visitor about the overall message being preached.  This little shop, with its generous keeper, its useful and simple wares and the quantities of Bibles, prayer books and other books of the faith, spoke about the love of God and the simplicity of the Gospel.  There was a map at the back of the temple dividing the city into parochial areas each with its own priests. They have the areas but only the one building so everyone comes together on Sunday in the one place. I wish I could have been there.

From here to the museum and then a much-needed rest followed by a walk round the lake where it was suggested, off the cuff, that I might like to do a radio broadcast.  Distracted by the beauty of the scenery and those who were already swimming in the icy waters of the lake I said, “Ok, if it will be useful” and forgot all about it (more of this later.)

That evening out hosts put on a party at Pasha, the Church restaurant. It was a lovely party – dancing (various traditional), singing, plenty of talking and shining eyes and smiling faces all about. As happened the previous evening, the lamp before the icon of the Saviour burned brightly, dividing as it spread out and resting on those within the room, beyond the room and in the street. Looking up from my conversation with Micha, I saw the truth of what Fr. Vasilios had said: “We are all one! I feel it in my heart!” Glory to God!

Day 3

Wednesday 11^th April 2007

The day began with a healthy breakfast in Pasha the restaurant. There appeared to be a delay so before long there were lines of youngsters doing various types of English country dancing and a few Scottish dances (to the slight amazement of the locals!) the time passed quickly and shortly we were in a coach driving through the mountains. Driving through the mountains is not for the faint hearted in Montenegro! The roads have constant switchbacks and huge cliffs so that when one constantly teeters on the edge of the road in a fast moving coach one has some fairly spectacular views. After an impressive drive Alex pointed into the distance. There, three quarters up an impressive mountain ridge, hardly visible to the eye was a white building, clearly inside an enormous cave. “Ostrog” he said.

The driver shifted gear downwards and the coach billowed out blue smoke as we laboured up the winding road passing nothing on the way except the odd isolated farmhouse with its obligatory chickens. After half an hour the coach pulled into a car park and we all dismounted.

Ahead of us was an avenue of trees with a wide gravel road between them. This ended in a church with a spire and belfry. Montenegrins tend to be giants, but outside this church was a deacon who outdid them all, towering over everyone. Gradually we began to make our way up the mountain. In my case a car soon picked me up and took me the rest of the way (Fr. George ascended by donkey some twenty years ago!) to a wide platform which ran before the main (and new) monastic building. This is sumptuously faced with large icons of the Saviour and the Theotokos and from here the massive cliff rises straight upwards from behind the building. Some spare acacia trees break up the terrace: a contrast to the heavily wooded hillside that everyone else was still climbing. Finally we were all together again and able to walk towards a narrow archway. This led onto a staircase that brought us to a very low door at the end of a narrow balcony. We needed to wait. After some time a monk with a key arrived and we were ushered in. we entered a cave that has been walled in. Along the left hand side is an iconostasis made from beaten brass (or something similar) with icons set into it. At the far end of the cave are more icons frescoed onto the plastered cave wall. Below these is a shelf carved into the cave. On this shelf rests a simple wooden coffin, which when opened (as it was immediately) reveals the relics of St. Basil who is dressed in the vestments of a Bishop, his face veiled, but his hands clearly showing no signs of incorruption. After an exemplary life as a monk then as a Bishop, St. Basil died in 1671 after which pilgrims began to flood to his tomb, drawn by his record of healing the sick of all types of disease. This continues to the present. From here we ascended to a higher cave, also now a chapel. This is the Chapel of the Holy Cross. There were further relics in here and a number of artefacts that are kept on shelves lying about. One of these is a Nazi bomb that came into this church but did no damage. Outside this cave church is a wider balcony leading to a grapevine. This grapevine is notable for several reasons: firstly it grows very high up. There are grapes elsewhere on earth that grow at altitude but in Montenegro the grapes grow only at lower altitudes. This one grows not only at altitude but the grapes have healing properties and are handed out individually to women who have no children and to those who have cancer. How interesting it is to think of all the ways God finds of bestowing His blessings!

From these heights we descended to a beautiful new church dedicated (in 2004) to St. Stanko and modern martyrs and the 27 war heroes from 1943. St. Stanko was a fifteen-year-old shepherd who tended the monastery’s sheep in the valley below. The Turks captured him and tried to force him to become a Muslim and to betray the monastery. He refused. They cut his hands and the lower part of his arms off. Still refusing they decapitated him and left him dead in the fields. His body was gathered up and is in one of the villages nearby but his hands eventually came to the Monastery he both loved and protected. To quote from Metropolitan Amfilohije’s sermon at the consecration: “This church today has grown into a beautiful shrine dedicated to the Holy New Martyr Stanko of Ostrog. Today his little hands have been given a body. His hands today caress, bless and bear witness from this rock and from this church how glorious it is to be a witness to the Living God.” This is a very moving place. St. Stanko’s little hands rest on a red cushion on the south side of the temple. They are very small. One can all too painfully imagine the last time that he stretched them out in witness to God and offered both them and his head to the Lord.

We were then treated to an enormous lunch in the refectory of the lower monastery and showered with gifts: books, icons, holy water, holy oil, pamphlets and so on. In England we have much to learn about hospitality.

Leaving Ostrog behind (with a considerable lump in the throat) we journeyed on to Ždrebaonik Convent. As with so many other churches and monasteries there are huge signs of development going on. There are lots of young nuns (as in Ostrog there were lots of young monks) and plenty of building going on. On entering the church in the centre of the monastery one finds another open coffin carved with grape vines: in this simple shrine lies Saint Arseniy, second Bishop of Serbia and with him partial relics of St.s Theckla, Fevronia, Seraphim of Sarov and Nicholas of Myra, Matrona of Moscow, Alexander, George the Great Martyr, and many other saints.  Greeting each other with cries of “Christ is risen” we venerated the relics and moved into the cloister to have red eggs, cakes, tea, sweets and tempt ourselves in the icon/ book shop.  All too quickly we were back in the coach and heading to another monastery dedicated to St. Demetrius of Thessalonica. Here we met Fr. Luke from Syria (via years in Athos and Thessaloniki) who with his brother (currently studying the Holocaust in Jerusalem) has opened the monastery again. He has a bright glowing face, bushy beard and flashing eyes. “Serve Vespers!” he said as he rang the monastery bells - but no service books so we prayed together at the tops of our voices singing Psalms and hymns and troparia until we were all far too joyful and then went out onto a platform that overlooks the valley and ate and drank together (coke and crisps). Wonderfully we all then trooped back into the church and prayed all over again – a beautiful experience; the bells were rung and Fr. Luke said to me “This has been a great blessing to me.” I could only echo his feelings; the whole day had been perfect, peaceful and unashamed full of the joy of Pascha – our prayers had been answered. Eating at Pasha that evening with the others gathered around, music playing, singing, eating joyfully, swapping email addresses with the bells still ringing in my ears – the hands of St. Stanko still offering himself, St. Basil watching over the city of Nikšic, the restaurant and all Montenegro, the saints of Ždrebaonik praying for us – the realisation of a very great blessing sunk even deeper into my heart. One day, unless the Lord comes quickly and with His blessing, there will be blessings like this for us in dark and remote England. Glory to God!

Day 4

Thursday 12^th April 2007

The sun was creeping out from below the horizon as I was creeping from my bed. It was 5am when I was showering and wondering what God had in store for us that day. By 5.45am we were standing before our hostel and remained there until anything happened… but what an anything!

We drove in the coach towards Lake Skada in the southwest of the country. This is an enormous and magnificent lake surrounded by vertiginous cliffs and sickening hairpin bends. A point came when the bus could go no further and we stopped to have breakfast. The views were magnificent. We were to walk down to the lake. At this point I realised that I could not do this and asked God for help. It came in the form of an Albanian Muslim driving an ice cream / beer van who carried Vlado and me down to a village by the side of the lake. The sounds of goats bleating, small mammals rustling in the hedgerows, chickens going about their business, the smell of hot dust and thousands of wild flowers (you suddenly realise how much our “civilization” has destroyed in Britain) and the sight of a small and pretty mosque took me immediately to the town in Afghanistan where I grew up. Full of nostalgia I walked through the heat, down the dusty road and came in view of a nun, her mother, sister, brother-in-law and a car. The first was saying goodbye to the others who were very upset to be going. “It is very hard,” said the man but the nun was impassive and as soon as she had put them in the car she turned her attention to her next guest (me).

We followed her to a narrow beach on which was pulled up a narrow wooden boat with a small outboard motor. We climbed in and soon were heading across the waters. Blueness slid below and blueness domed above, while ripples spread out in each direction and shortly we came to an island: Breška Monastery. Rounding the corner of this small low island you see two temples. The first is ancient and dilapidated; the second appears new but is in fact both older and restored. The nun steered towards a small beach – two metres wide and drove the boat onto it. We alighted and climbed up new steps onto the island and entered the first temple. The Annunciation: once tiny it is now small, having had two aisles and a narthex added. Internally it is beautifully (and simply) restored with a marble screen. This was so low that if I were to serve there I would be constantly bending low to get through the doors – perhaps this is intentional. From here to the second temple: St. George. This was built by the son of St. Lazar (Stefan Visoki) and later used by his wife when she became a nun. His wife (Jelena) built the Annunciation Church.  The remains of the original convent lies to the north of the second temple. Until very recently St. George’s was used as a shelter for sheep with the result that it was full of their waste. It has now been cleared but an enormous amount of work needs to be done before it can be used as a church again.  Above both temples is an attractive house, well but simply furnished and with fish hanging in the windows to dry. This is the monastic house lived in by four nuns. Straightaway red eggs, coffee, pomegranite juice, cakes and other sweetmeats were brought to the shady verandah and we sat and ate. Above me was a nest being made by swallows: beakful by beakful they were constructing the nest – likewise God builds his Kingdom. The others arrived and soon a happy party of feasters filled the narrow lawn before the house. All too soon it was time to depart.

Now we climbed aboard an astonishing craft.  Monk Nicholai had brought the others in his monastery’s boat. It is made of sheet iron, painted green and welded together at some local welders. A canopy covers the boat – there is no keel. A metal chair is welded onto the back of the boat and on this sat the monk, his thoughtful eyes piercing the horizon. The boat slipped, wobbled and slewed over the waves and stillness from those aboard was encouraged otherwise, like Pharoah and his chariots, a watery end beckoned. After some time another smaller and lower island came into view. This one had an impressive tower, a temple could be seen and a small gatehouse: Moračnik Monastery. This is dedicated to the Theotokos (Icon of the three hands) and had a tiny temple – sufficient for the two monks who live there but rather small when we entered to pray and venerate the icons (carved from marble). There was only one at home – the Abbot was in Jerusalem studying the Holocaust. Inside was very sparsely furnished and we were again treated to drinks and red eggs. The whole island is covered with the most stunning flowers and a donkey watched us in that way that donkeys do.  What the donkey saw was this: several people were saving fish that had become caught in the rocky shore as the water level dropped, other picked wild flowers, some sat and talked and several skimmed stones across what was now a glassy lake. Vlado rang the monastry bells that were set up on a sort of gibbet. A certain priest walked amonst it all, warmed by the sun and by the strong sense of love that filled the whole air and looked across the lake to Albania.

The boat drew out of its harbour and started off again across the lake. Another island: Starvceva Gorica (Elders’ Hill). This one was quite different again. Large slabs of stone lifted out from the lake and on these another house and a temple. It is a bigger island and rises far higher than the others.  After much knocking at the gate Fr. Gregorie came to the door and ushered us in. Could a place be more isolated? Possibly, but here was a man perfectly fitted for his monastic – and very alone – home with his cat Despina. He appears to have built the entire monastery himself working from the ruins of what was there to begin with and hauling the stone and other things manually from other parts of the island or by boat over the lake. He has succeeded wonderfully over the fourteen years he has lived there. Everywhere there are little piles or rows of stones of different colours: a pile of white here and red there, dusty green and brown … Fr. Gregorie is a maker of mosaics, a carver of wood (beautiful Crosses) and a maker of Rakia. This is the local liquor – a sort of firewater that begins by removing the surface of one’s lips, burns the mouth, attacks the throat and continues by giving one a wonderful warm glow in the centre of the body. 75% proof … very nearly explosive. This certainly makes his very rare guests feel better but importantly he also has a wonderful knowledge of herbs and their medicinal uses. The inside of the monastery has large quantities of jars filled with dried medicinal herbs.

Back in the coach and heading for home we were offered the chance of another monastery … ”Yes please!” This though after lunch at 6pm in Podgorica at another restaurant belonging to the Church – wonderful place where we met several delightful people.  This monastery was St. Simeon’s monastery at Dajbabe. St. Simeon was approached by a shepherd boy who had found a Cross-shaped cave in a cliff. St. Simeon (a priest) dug it out and lived in it painting the inside with frescoes of a freshness and immediacy that was very powerful. St. Simeon was not a trained icongrapher (and it showed!) but his enthusiasm made up for this. One enters the cave through a low door, bowing deeply to enter, the cave is narrow and low and long and slopes upwards. After twenty paces the cave divides with sections (the arms of the Cross) going off right and left (again bending very low). Continuing ahead one comes to a chapel: to the right is the Saint in his shrine dressed in white priests’ vestments and ahead is a simple iconostasis. It is not possible to put into words the power of this simple cave and the totally inspiring presence of St. Simeon.  St. Justin Popovic was a disciple of this saint.

From here we continued to Nikšic where we had a delicious traditional dinner at Postun Restaurant.

It had been a very long day.  With aching legs and a very tired body I took to my bed nearly twenty hours after I arose. But what a day! Lake Skada had shown us the presence of God with the brightness of the light, the beauty of the skies and waters, the loveliness of the spring flowers, the diligence of the swallows and the immense views, of His loving presence with the nuns and monks in the lonely places on earth. Podgorica had shown us this same Presence in the middle of a city amongst strangers. St. Simeon had greeted us from the depth of the earth showing us the simplicity of his love for God (and God’s love) in his iconography and finally in the beautiful Postern restaurant we saw His love in the passing on of a people’s tradition. It has been a day of kindness, hospitality, simplicity and joy. Glory to God!

Day 5

Friday 13^th April 2007

The day began crisp, cold and early. Standing outside our hostel we eventually gave up waiting and walked to the Cathedral. The town looked fresh and had that tousled look of early morning. The bus was there and in we climbed.

We were going to Cetinje a small but beautiful city of about 15000 souls. Here one can see the Black Mountain from which Montenegro gets its name. We were travelling south and downhill and as we did so the weather gradually warmed and the sun shone hotter. Arriving we stopped outside the famous monastery and entered through its imposing door into the courtyard. The monastery is made of dark faced stone with many steps leading from a lower platform to an upper one. This then becomes an arcade against the monastic building that, in turn, rests against a cliff.  This all looks most grand in a very Spartan way.  Soon the Abbot Fr. Luka turned up. He is a small man (surprising in that land of giants!) but what he lacks in height he more than makes up for in personality, warmth, love, vivaciousness, humour, intelligence, impeccable English and beard. The second surprise was that he knew an amazing amount about the Orthodox saints of Britain and chatted about the great ones like St. Bede, St. Columba and others treating them as honoured friends as we do. But first we were ushered into the main shrine room. Here is enshrined St. Peter of Cetinje whose incorrupt presence fills what is otherwise a very ordinary room. He had been a Bishop-Ruler at the time when Bishops ruled the country. Whilst this often leads to some really nasty character traits coming to the fore in lesser me, he seems to have elevated himself above self interest and also to have dedicated himself to stopping the blood feuds that were stripping the country of its young men. With him were other relics of St. John the Baptist and a sizable piece of the Holy Cross. I received gifts of icons and oil from the various shines: some of these we have already used in church.

Spiritually refreshed we repaired to the saloon to be refreshed with Rakia, sweets, bread, more Rakia and coffee with more Rakia. Then Fr. Luka and I went for a walk. We paused by a table selling flags: the Montenegrin flag is a beauty. Here Fr. Luka quoted from a local poet who said “I am older than my country and will probably outlive it.” We continued along and passed by the radio station, then into it.  Now you may remember that earlier in the week, overlooking a beautiful lake and the mountains, I had agreed to give a talk on the radio. I had then promptly forgotten all about it and it was therefore with some astonishment and full of Rakia that I found myself addressing the nation on live radio. One can only hope that no one was listening. I have heard the opening words (when I couldn’t remember the reply to “Christ is risen!”) but cannot bring myself to listen to the rest.

Fr. Luka kindly invited the whole parish to come and visit and make pilgrimage in the future so I think we will do that before too long.  Sadly the day was advancing towards lunch and we had to take our leave of the Abbot and go to the Junior Seminary = Church School (Bogoslovija) to eat.  Everyone else sat in four joyful rows with piles of food; plenty for all. I sat by myself on a raised dias, with two very kind lads serving me and, at the slightest thought in my mind, running off to bring more rakia. It is an occupational hazard with being an Orthodox priest: you get to sit on the end table, under the icon of Christ, away from all the fun. Chad kept telling me that I should shut up and get on with it. At that table I decided to shut up and get on with it. It was rather nice actually; I looked over the happy fellowship, I blessed the food and the fragments that remained. I sat quietly and ate as much as I needed, I felt rested and could see and pray for all my brothers and sisters without pushing myself amongst them or chatting about nothing. From time to time someone needed to talk to me and along they came. “OK Chad” I said quitely, in a way that I knew he would hear, “tradition wins because it works.”

After lunch Fr. Bogdan astonished us all by being really rather good at basket ball. An abiding memory is of Fr. B. leaping about scoring baskets, rasson (= cassock / interi) flapping wildly and his long hair streaming - the Junior Seminarians left well behind.

From the ridiculous to the sublime: we visited an icon of the Mother of God (tragically now in a museum) by repute painted by Apostle and Evangelist Luke. Here we prayed, sang and venerated and made a temple of the museum

Down to the sea to Budva to meet Fr. Boris and pray in the church of the Holy Trinity. This is a gorgeous temple. In 1979 there was a terrible earthquake in Budva. Much of the town was flattened. The temple pretty well disappeared. It has been lovingly rebuilt and restored and is now stunning. It is only little. Fr. Boris took us to a small ampitheatre where the church puts on religious plays on summer evenings to edify and convert the tourists from other parts of Montenegro and from here ot the Church rooms for cakes, rakia, coffee and chilled water. The others then went to the sea to swim. (Should you have some spare cash this would be a lovely place for a seaside holiday). Fr. Boris entertained me to more cakes, rakia and coffee and then we went on a tour of the town starting with the beautiful little archeological museum. The curatress showed me round pointing out her favourite pieces and what excited her about each piece.

The sun began to look towards the horizon and as it did so we squeezed ourselves into Fr. Boris’ car with his little son and headed for Podmane monastery. It is quite beautiful despite having been destroyed in the same earthquake. It overlooks the town, nestles in the hills, was full of pilgrims and has an Abbot (Fr. Benedict: he is alone there) with the kindest face I have ever seen in any person and swallows. Fr. Benedict warmly welcomed everyone who was there individually: as he did so their faces glowed with light and I felt my heart burn within me (Emmaus!) Lots of people chatting, drinking coffee (with guess what?) and sheer joy all about. The little son of Fr. Boris happened upon the monastery bell rope and delighted everyone by beginning to ring the bell wildly. A number of children wanted a go and soon the Abbot was showing them all how. We slipped below the earth into a tiny chapel.  It glows red with worn-off frescos and has screen icons only of the Saviour and Mother of God. A lovely intimate place to meet with Christ-God.

Finally to the Bus and to Nikšić and foraging for supper in the dark (we hadn’t been told earlier that we needed to find this).  We found a shop that was still open and chose a sort of sausage roll. To find out what sort of meat was in it we amused ouselves, the shopkeeper and passers by by miming different sorts of animals. Turned out to be beef. Everyone else repaired to the Restaurant to drink, sing and make merry until half-two in the morning.

A certain priest took to his bedroom and thought through the day.  Each morning we pray for a day “all perfect, peaceful and unashamed…” and this is what he had been given. Love is not like butter: the further you spread butter the thinner it gets and you relish it less and less. Love does the opposite: the further you spread your love the thicker and creamier it becomes and the more you enjoy loving and being loved. He thought of the little boy wildly ringing the bell and the joy it produced, of the swallows, the saint in his shrine now praying for us before Christ, the abundant hospitality of each of those we had met, their love, care, humility, kindness, joyfulness and the life affimingness of Christianity. He thought of the disciples of Christ rejoicing in each others presence, he thought about Lincolnshire and the remains of our Monasteries and holy places of Lincolnshire, murdered and lying below the grassy fields of our county and felt a bright sadness as he gave thanks and then slept.

Days 6 and 7

Saturday 14th and Sunday 15th April 2007

We had been asked to arrive at the Cathedral at 7.30am and at that time a small number of us were standing outside this beautiful place. No coach and very few others were there. The previous night there had been a party and now there were heavy eyes and sore heads to comfort. Entering the Cathedral we saw a priest bumbling about making preparations for the Divine Liturgy. He prepared the Altar and went to his place before the doors to offer the kairon prayers. All else was quiet and it was strengthening for me to see this man almost alone in the temple doing all those things that all clergy do before a Liturgy. I wandered to the west of the Cathedral and studied a map. It shows Niksic divided into pastoral areas. Each area has its own priest. The Cathedral caters for the whole of this small city but each priest pastors a section of it. What a good idea. This prevents two (three or even seven!) priests turning up at the same house on the same day. It also means that no priests are left looking after a dormitory area of the city – abandoned during the day when everyone goes to work.

Leaving the temple by the west door I saw that a few more had turned up. We were due to Liturgise together in Piva that morning. Surely we would now be late. There are many stairs leading down the hill. Taking them I entered the cemetery where we had seen a funeral taking place a couple of days previously. Near the entrance the graves were largely Communist ones with proud faces staring out of black marble; freedom fighters and heroes of the people with their images engraved below the Communist star. With huge moustaches and flowing, heroic, locks of hair even now in death they urged one to action. I compared them with our own heroes that we find in the icons and the open tombs in our temples. Our icons urge us on to repent and by repenting find the Kingdom of God and in that way to lead others into it: more surely this leads to many social benefits.

A coach arrived and so did a few more stragglers. It looked as if we would certainly be late for the Liturgy now but then Aris and Emmanuella turned up in their car and the three of us and Alex set off for Piva Monastery. We went like the wind through the countryside, through the mountains, up winding passes and about an hour later we saw the monastery for the first time.

What one sees is this: In front of a huge mountain a smaller mountain on top of which is a stone church with a very steep roof. This is surrounded by a short wall except at the eastern side which has the monastery buildings which are simple and beautiful and clearly built to put up with snow. All about are mountain pastures, full of the wild flowers that we kill so enthusiastically in England and others that grow so well up mountains.

We turned into the car park and hurried to the church. Fr. Nicephorus made me the Protos and in minutes the Liturgy was proceeding and we entered the worship of the Angels (the proskimide having been served already). It was a beautiful Liturgy, the prayers, incense, candle smoke all wafted upwards and mingled themselves with the sweet smelling odour of the saints who covered the walls and ceiling of this magnificent temple. A young man sang the responses and then our own singers added their voices to the heavenly choir, Mladin served. As so often time stood still and became meaningless as we all entered eternity. When the Liturgy came to an end we were able to stumble into the sunshine and warm and pure air, listening to the sound of bees as they gathered the nectar from hundreds of wild flowers.

The monastery was originally built much further down the valley in the latter part of the 16th century. Mehmet Pasa Sakolou, a Serb who had been taken to Turkey to train as a soldier and forcibly converted to Islam as a boy, had provided both permission and money for the building. For this reason he appears in one of the icons. This saved the monastery when Turkish army wished to destroy it. They simply defaced some of the icons. In the 18th century the then abbot, Arseni, began having visions that the monastery would remove itself up the hill because of a great flood of water. He saw it flying through the air. This absurd vision came true after 1970 when the whole monastery was moved 3 kilometres up the hill to make way for a massive hydroelectricity dam! Particularly amazing was that the frescos were removed in thousands of sections and replaced just as they had been before once the building had settled in its new home. It is a truly historic building, of great importance in Orthodox worship as many features of a temple that we now take for granted were first introduced in Piva. A fascinating tour of the monastery treasury then took place. It always depresses me when I hear of a church selling its treasures or (worse) sending them to some museum. A Temple is the natural residing place for a parish’s treasures. It is their offering to God and so often describes the history and witness of that place. Selling to give the money to the poor is very honourable (St. John Chrysostom [Agios Iannis Chrysostomos] and St. John the Merciful [Eleymon] would certainly approve of that) but recently I heard of a church that sold its only beautiful things to provide themselves with a temple with modern heating and upholstered chairs! The monastery treasury was a place that defined the nature of this place in history. Shortly later we were to find more evidence of the hospitality and love of its current inhabitants when we were treated to a most delicious meal. Fr. Nicephorus, like so many of his compatriots, is a huge man and clearly a man of great intelligence and high culture but he wears this lightly and with great humour. Despite the fact that his peace had been totally shattered and we had arrived horribly late he was full of generosity, interesting stories and insights, completely welcoming and wonderfully self-effacing. He even gave me his last jar of honey. It is no small task that he has been given but he constantly lamented his own worldliness and suggested that he had been sent there by the Bishop to get him out of the way! Having lunched we sat on the grassy hillside and many of us made daisy chains, those with hair decorated their hair with daisies and he who was without lounged against a pear tree and smiled inwardly.

Eventually the time came to return to the car and coach. Honey was bought at a kiosk from a boy who was suddenly overwhelmed by customers and in a cloud of dust we departed. Aris, Emma, Alex and I wanted to see the lake. See it we did from very high up having missed the turn the others had taken. From our heights we looked down upon a flooded world. No wonder no one had understood Abbot

Arseni. Large birds of prey circled over the lake, sheer cliffs rose from it, trees clung by their nails higher up and we drove on.

That evening we ate for the last time in Pasha. A feeling of sadness was beginning to descend on us as we began to admit that the time for goodbyes was coming. The first to go was Desimir who was taking a train to Serbia that evening. Thanks to him I was there at all and it was with great sadness that we saw him off giving the customary farewell of a “firework” (don’t ask!) and singing Kyrie eleison as we all embraced and he left. From here we went to the Spiritual Centre (i.e. Church Bookshop and supplies for the home altar) in the town. Fr. Slobodan had been storing up a talk about the importance of the Divine Liturgy and love and freedom since our first night and now it was at last his opportunity to give it. Well he made a start! Then Fr. Boris added a few words that took up the remainder of the time. Between them, however, it was an inspiring and fitting end to our Pilgrimage. This was topped off by a very generous gift of a book about St. Basil of Ostrog in English.

We made our way back to Pasha Restaurant. Sitting outside in the dark we were serenaded by a gusler player. A gusler is an instrument a little like a lute but played with a bow like a violin. The sound is rather extraordinary and mixed with the singing of the man himself brought to the surface all sorts of emotions one didn’t know one had.

So our Pilgrimage came to its conclusion. Early on Sunday morning we were collected and Vladimir accompanied us to the border where, unfortunately, the

Romanians were unable to continue as they only had a one-entry visa (they made it home the next day). This upset us all terribly and there was also some question as to whether we would make it to the airport on time. We did. Just.

Flying home the images of the last day and the last week revolved in my head. No wonder it had been called Bright Week! Indelible images gilded with light: of the Divine Liturgies we had served together (and as I looked at the passing towns below the plane I saw the Liturgies being served), the red egg conkers we had played, the loving, beautiful, kind and generous hosts we had met, of the dancing, singing, and the food, the music, the bells of the temples, the swimming, of the radio station, of the wonderful temples and monasteries, the prayers, the shrines, the mountains and trees, the birds and lizards, the new saints never to be forgotten and eagerly to be studied, of the presence of the Saviour in all that we did and saw and heard. His Divine presence was not hidden but clear for all to see. These were the fruits of the Resurrection and of Pentecost, this is what the Lord meant when he said “I have come so you may have life and have it in abundance.”

My heart was full of pity for those who do not know Him.

Alleluia, alleluia, alleluia. Glory to You O God!

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