He was born as Alexandros Vapheides near Piraeus in Greece in October 1934, meaning he was about 11 ½ years older than me.
Until I read obituaries today I did not know that name.
To me he was always Geronda, Greek for Elder.
His monastic name was Archimandrite Aimilianos.
I met him 1981, during my first (of three) trips to Mount Athos, the peninsula in Northern Greece which has been a monastic republic — and officially off-limits to females — for more than a thousand years.
On that first trip, I started my visit there, but had no direct contact with him. I spoke with some of the other monks, and then journeyed to other monastic establishments around the peninsula.
When I returned to the monastery of which he was the abbot, Simonapetra, he noticed my return and had one of his monks come and get me to talk with me.
And thus began one of the most significant relationships in my life. I asked him, and he agreed, for him to be my spiritual father, which in Orthodox Christianity is an incredibly important relationship
I was surprised — and honored — at his agreement. He was already one of the most important figures worldwide among the more than ¼ billion Orthodox Christians.
My wife sent me several emails with information about his passing, which was exactly 2 weeks before my birthday.
In this post I will provide links which will let you read more about him.
Although I last saw him in 1989, and left the Orthodox Church several years later, from what I know of him he never removed me either from his heart or his prayers.
Please let me share with you about my Geronda, who is still very much a part of my life even 3 decades since I last saw him.
If you just want to read about him and his passing you can do so here, or here, or here (and I thank my wife, Leaves on the Current, who is still a devout Orthodox Christian, for these links.
I never saw Geronda as young as he is in the photo I have used to illustrate this diary. You will, when you see him in the monastery chapel in one of the articles I have linked to, very much as I knew him. He was already somewhat gray when I first encountered him in 1981. But his eyes were always alive, and somehow had a deep capability to see through a person, and his words — which I heard only as they were translated for me, as I do not speak Greek and he did not speak English — could cut to the heart of any issue, but could also inspire beyond belief. Beside Simonapetra, he was the also the elder/spiritual father to a vibrant convent at Ormylia (whose official name ia The Holy Cenobium of the Annunciation of the Mother of God. It is also much more than a convent — it is a retreat and healing center as well — you can read a bit about that here). On my one visit there, at his direction to catch up with him and have more time to talk, one of the nuns who had helped found the institution, told me that the abbess, with whom she had grown up (along with I believe two of the other nuns) had been in a youth group that as a abbot of a monastery at Meteora and diocesan preacher Father Aimilianos had guided. One evening after listening to him, as the young women gathered together afterward, they all came to realize that their hearts were on fire, and that they wanted to go and live together as nuns.
The abbess? One of her nuns was her mother. Among the monks at Simonapetra were her brother (whom I came to know well) and her father.
But besides that conversation, over dinner, with the nun who also translated for me on that trip, was being in their chapel and seeing a tame deer come in and join them as they performed their worship. It was perfectly at home, as were the sisters with its presence.
At different times on my trips to Simona Petra, Geronda would do things like tell me to go visit a lot of the other monasteries, even telling me specific monks for whom to ask (not always the leaders). He wanted me to experience the spiritual — and human — riches of Agion Ouros (Greek for Holy Mountain — and there is at the tip of the peninsula a rock mountain that rises some 7,000 feet directly from the waters below).
I need to explain some background. First, I had known about Mount Athos since first reading about it when I was about 9 and my grandfather gave me a book I still have somewhere in my basement, which was basically a man who traveled around the world and wrote about it.
I also, despite being raised Jewish, was drawn to monasticism. When I was 12 I wanted to be a Benedictine monk, I just didn’t want to be Catholic. I actually later got a chance to experience that — that is, when I first became an Episcopalian, the man who is now my father-in-law had suggested I spend some time at a monastery of which he was a lay affiliate. It is called St. Gregory’s Abbey, in Three Rivers Michigan, and it is both Benedictine and Episcopalian. I spent 5+ weeks in the summer of 1974 there, exploring whether or not I had a religious vocation. At that point I was certainly not ready to make that commitment.
When I became Orthodox, I had occasion to spend time around monastics, both male and female, visiting and staying at several, and being a financial supporter of a small convent whose founding abbess was like me a former Episcopalian.
In 1983, I took my second trip to Athos. I needed to lay an issue before Geronda. I was again wrestling with a possible religious vocation. I wondered if should come to Athos, either to stay, or at least learn how to be monk and then return to the US. I had already been in a relationship with Leaves for almost a decade,although often we live far apart, with her either in Cambridge MA or Oxford England getting her higher education. We had at that point had one trip together to St. Gregory’s, or I should clarify, she was there with her family, I came out, she stayed several more days and we drove back together to Pennsylvania.
I lay my issue before Geronda, and waited for his response. He put his head down for several minutes, deep in meditation and prayer, then lifted his head, looked at me and said the following words:
“You could make a very good monk. But your entire life has been a preparation for marriage. Go back to America and marry xxxxxx (Leave’s actual name). And remember, you have a sensitive soul, but she has a more sensitive soul. Defer to her.”
It was about a year and a half before we married, in the Orthodox Church we both attended in the Maryland suburbs of DC. In the intervening years I have not always lived up to the charge Geronda laid upon me, to “defer to her.” I am still working on it.
Geronda never met my wife. I had talked very little about her. But somehow he could know her by reading my heart.
I have over the years gotten to know others who were spiritual children of Geronda. Some like me have left the Orthodox Church, but somehow our lives continued to be shaped by our having been under his direction and somehow remaining under his spiritual care, even if we did not always recognize it.
I knew he had surrendered the leadership of Simonapetra because of his health, and retired to Ormylia some years ago. Recently my wife bought me a book of some of his writings which I been slowly working through, pondering his words.
I think much of the orientation towards service I have had has been shaped by Aimilianos. He was in some ways a visionary, and often inspired others, as you can read when you read about his life.
He had a remarkable ability to nurture people, although sometimes some of the monks did not understand his decisions.
I remember an occasion when he invited me in as the monks were meeting. I was on my second and third visits considered very much a member of the community — I worked with the monks (usually in trapeza — the dining hall) during my extended stays, and got permission to talk with many of the monks. A disagreement started over one of his decisions, and it became heated and Geronda was clearly upset. At one point for some reason he looked at me, why I did not know, so I used the occasion to raise my hand to indicate I wanted to speak. He nodded in my direction, giving me permission to speak as a member — on however transient a basis — of the community. I said these words.
“Listening reminds me of being back home in America. At work the bosses complain about the workers, and the workers complain about the bosses. In the church the priests complain about the bishop, who complains about them, and both complain about the people, who are just as unhappy with them. If I ever had any doubt before, I do not now. Monks are not angels, merely men.”
I was speaking one phrase at a time as a monk from France, who had in his younger days been one of those who along with Daniel Bendit-Cohn organized the student strike/riot in Paris in 1968, translated into Greek.
Some of the monks spoke English, so as I finished I heard a sound start, and when the translator finished with the last sentence, the place erupted into raucous laughter and the tension was broken.
Geronda smiled at me, and returned to the teaching he wanted to do.
Did he know what I would say, or even that I would ask to speak? I do not know, only that had he not looked at me I would not have volunteered. As is the case when I rise to speak at Quaker Meeting, I only knew part of what I was going to say when I started to speak. That last sentence? I had not even thought about it. It just came out.
Somehow I think Geronda knew I would say that, more importantly, as one who was considered part of the community but not fully of it, would be able to speak in a way that could help heal, precisely because of my almost unique role (there were two other lay people present, a father and the son he had brought with him to be baptized on Athos at Simonapetra, which had happened the day before).
When I got the emails today from Leaves on the Current, I stopped to remember Geronda. I have a photograph of him he gave me. I have a modern hand-carved icon he took off the wall to give to me to take home to America.
Was he saddened that I left the Orthodox Church? Perhaps. But perhaps he also saw that I had a different path to walk.
He is permanently a part of me, of who I am.
If asked who the people are I have encountered who have had the greatest impact upon me, I would never mention political figures I know and have admired. I would start with my wife, without whose support first I would not be alive and second I never would have become a teacher. Next would be a tie between two men who helped shape me. The late John Davison was my freshman year adviser at Haverford College in 1963. He was my godfather when I became an Episcopalian at Easter of 1974. He was chair of the music department when I finally got my degree in 1973. He was a part of my life until his death far too early in 1999, when he was four years younger than I am now.
The tie is with Geronda, with Pater Aimilianos. I spent far less time with him. I was one of many spiritual children.
In my time in the Orthodox Church I had leadership positions at parish, diocesan, and national levels, in a variety of areas. I knew many people of importance and influence, in both the Orthodox Church of America and in other Orthodox jurisdictions in the US. I admired quite a few. Some influenced me with their writing, or their preaching, or how they served, or their real humility, and sometimes all of those.
But none had as profound an effect on me as did Geronda.
People here often are kind in attributing to me a generosity of spirit that I wished I had, but that I do try to live up to. I see that generosity of spirit in my wife, I certainly saw it in John Davison, and I could not avoid it with Geronda. There was no reason for him to take me on as a spiritual child, to pray for me, to carry me in his heart as he did.
There is much more that I could tell about him, but I won’t — some memories are very private.
The words that I spoke at that meeting, about monks being not angels, but merely men? Geronda would have said that about himself.
He took on the burden of others — that is what a spiritual father does. It is a very unique role, but one that actually touches upon my role as teacher. And perhaps it is Geronda’s influence on me that explains what success I have had as a teacher.
I was blessed to have encountered him.
I am blessed to have our lives intersect.
He is always a part of me.
Thanks for letting me share.
Peace.