Monks have been known throughout history for demonstrating abilities beyond the reach of most people. Christian monks are no exception. Here is an account from a message board of the abilities of some Orthodox monks in the U.S. As a former Orthodox Christian, this account doesn’t surprise me at all. My response follows afterward.
“I had been invited to teach a series of workshops in Anchorage and the following weekend I taught a workshop on Kodiak Island. After the final workshop on the island, I had a few days off. My organizer gave me a few options, and I chose the boat ride to a small island inhabited by Russian Orthodox monks where an Orthodox saint had lived. I was told that visitors more often than not, had to turn back due to rough seas. In fact, I was told the prelates of the Church in charge of the monastery had never been able to see it, as every time they went for a visit, high seas forced them back.
This was a source of immense humor among the native peoples.
We took a small airplane ride to a nearby island and landed on a spit of land that ended abruptly into turbulent and frigid waters. We were greeted by a local fisherman’s wife driving a pickup truck, and I hopped in the back of the Ford. My organizer got in the front.
It was summer, but there was a light snowfall as we headed for her house by the sea. I remember feeling quite cold and wondering how in the hell people survived here in the winter. We pulled up to a small house surrounded by cedar trees and went inside. Sitting by a large wooden table we sipped tea. Now anyone who has been to northern Alaska knows that time is a strange bird in these parts. We just sat and sat, talking a little here and there, waiting it seemed for some opportune time to leave. Finally, our host announced that it was time to go, and we piled back into the Ford pickup, and headed for the dock where her husband was waiting with a fishing trawler.
We took off across an amazingly placid sea. Our host sat next to a boom, knitting, and commented how unusual it was to have such a calm passing. I sat looking out at the rich unbelievably beautiful landscape of the neighboring islands as our boat chugged along at a fairly crisp pace. Seals followed us part way.
Passing an outcropping of boulders, we came into a small natural harbor. The water was too shallow for the trawler, so we got into a dinghy and headed to shore. The scene was like something out of the Middle Ages. A group of men were on the beach burning brush, the air thick with billows of white smoke which swirled in eddies against a stark blue sky. The monks wore long beards, typical of Russian and Greek Orthodox clerics, and they were wearing long grey robes with thin ropes tied about the waist. Each one of them also wore a crucifix.
Stepping out of the boat onto the sand, we were greeted by someone who appeared to be in his early thirties and had the air of authority about him. Our host explained that I had come from Washington State to visit. The Abbott smiled approvingly and proceeded to take us on a tour of the small monastery, which consisted of perhaps a dozen men or so. As we headed up a path into the shade of cedars, he noted that the monastery did not often get to host pilgrims.
He took us to several spots including the small hut where the saint lived. I recall the air being musty from the old manuscripts and pictures of icons that had been in the saint’s possession. But there was also an unmistakable sense of serenity. The Abbott also took us to a sacred spring reputed to have healing powers. Finally he took us to the small chapel where the saint had been previously buried. His body had since been removed, but the site was still considered holy.
The Abbott caught me staring at a corner of the chapel. He asked me what I was seeing, and I said I was seeing a column of white light coming out of the floor and going up through the roof. The Abbott seemed to smile a bit and said that the saint had been buried in that corner of the church. Then he said something in a somewhat dreamy voice as if he were part way into another world, I remember his words because they sounded so odd to me at the time, “would that we were all so sensitive.”
Seeming to rouse himself from his reveries, the Abbott said, “There is one more thing I would like to show you.”
He guided us back down the hill to a very small chapel that had obviously just recently been built. It was quite unusual in that it was perhaps nine feet square and some twenty feet tall. The inside of the building glowed from the gold pigments of recently painted icons. They depicted the life of Saints along with other prominent figures of the Russian Orthodox Church. In the back of the chapel there was a very small altar with a Bible in Russian.
The Abbott pointed out the various icons and their meanings and then said that the tour had come to an end. He motioned us out of the chapel and closed the door behind us. I remember suddenly having a question about mysticism I thought the Abbott might be able to clarify. I knocked at the door, but there was no answer. I knocked again, still no sign of anyone inside.
Gingerly I opened the door to find the chapel completely empty. For a moment I stood in shock. Then my ever-skeptical mind came in, and I began to search for trap doors or other entrances. I even picked up the small frayed rug on the floor to see if there was a secret exit. Nothing.
Still in a kind of shock, I wandered out the door and on to the beach where our party was waiting. There, clearly in view was the Abbott. He was talking to my host, and as I stepped up he nodded his head with a distinct twinkle in his eyes. We boarded the dinghy and headed back to trawler. The sun was low in sky, and I stood on the deck looking over the stern as we headed back into the sea. I was very quiet.
As I write these words I am caught up in the feelings of awe and wonder I felt then. I had known the siddhis existed, had studied the physics of them, and had made it a hobby of mine to collect stories and documentations. But here on a small island off Kodiak, a humble contemplative had shown me the mystery of yogic powers firsthand.
Halfway through the ride back, the fisherman’s wife turned from her knitting and said, “You know, they do things like that all the time!”
“Things like what, I asked?”
“Oh, you know, teleporting, bi-locating… things like that.”
“Really,” I said.
“Yes,” she replied, not taking her eyes off her knitting. “That island is a remote place. There is no mail service. We see them sometimes in town picking up their mail and buying things. And…” she said in a most conspiratorial tone, “they don’t have any way of getting there!”"
My response:
Orthodox monks often bury their reposed brothers to see if their bodies remain ‘uncorrupted’, that is, not rotted away. The remains of monks are not embalmed. Uncorrupted relics are a sign of a monk having reached Theoria (Divinization). In other words, that monk has become as Christ-like as is possible for a incarnated person to become. It’s not a stand alone sign of sainthood, but it’s a biggie. It indicates that the saint has spiritualized his/her body. These kinds of relics often give off a pleasant, sweet smell and miraculous powers are often attributed to them.
An example of this is St John Maximovitch of San Francisco. He reposed in 1966 and his relics were examined in 1994. The following links are not for the squeamish:
St John in 1966:
http://www.orthodoxphotos.com/cgi-bin/photo.pl?path=Holy_Relics/St._John_Maximovitch&file=1.jpg
St John in 1994:
http://www.orthodoxphotos.com/cgi-bin/photo.pl?path=Holy_Relics/St._John_Maximovitch&file=6.jpg
The Orthodox (Greek, Russian, et al.) have a large monastic community on Mt. Athos in Greece that has existed since the time of the Roman Emporer Justinian.
They practice a form of meditation by repetition of the Jesus Prayer (‘Lord Jesus Christ have mercy on me a sinner’). This is part of what is known as Hesychasm. This has produced some startling results. The following is an except of a text written in the fourteenth century by Callistus, Patriarch of Constantinople (aka Byzantium/New Rome/Instanbul) and his co-author and fellow monk Ignatius of Xantholoulos:
“Thus, light springs forth for them, as from the sun’s disc, and enables them spiritually to reason, judge, see, foresee and the like. In general, through Him all showing and revelation of unknown mysteries shines forth for them; and they become filled with supernatural and Divine power in the Holy Spirit. This supernatural power renders their flesh lighter or rather finer and makes them soar on high like a meteor. By this power of light in the Holy Spirit some of the holy fathers, while still in their bodies, traversed wide rivers and deep seas dry-footed, as though immaterial and incorporeal. They covered in a moment great distances, requiring many days of travel and performed many other marvellous deeds in heaven, on earth, in the sun, on the seas, in deserts, in cities, in every place and country, in beasts, in reptiles and generally in every creature and every element–and they were glorified. When they stood at prayer, their holy and precious bodies were lifted off the ground as though on wings; after death they remained uncorrupted and performed signs and miracles…”
Taken from: Callistus, Ignatius. Directions to Hesychasts, #95. Writings from the Philokalia on Prayer of the Heart. Trans. E. Kadloubovshy and G.E.H. Palmer. London, Boston: Faber and Faber 1992
