Chapter 15: Facing the Devil

Sunday, 31 July 1955, Kastraki, Greece

“I am happy that you chose to join me on this little jaunt, Brother John,” said Brother El.

“I go by Wesley. No one has called me John in many years.”

“Precisely why I chose to name you Brother John. Should anyone hear your name spoken, they will not relate it to the American explorers in the village. Are you doing all right?”

Wesley glanced down at the sheer cliff beside him and the narrow stairs cut into it. For a moment, he considered that he might have been better being hauled up the side of the cliff in a basket. That caused a second shudder.

“Fine. Just catching my breath,” he said as he continued to climb. It was only another seventy steep steps up the cliff face before they ducked through a low door into the entry of the monastery.

“Welcome to the Monastery of Agios Nikolaos Anapafsas,” Brother El said. Wesley caught his breath rather quickly since he had been climbing to the City of the Gods daily for the past month. But the climb was not finished. Inside, stairs continued to wind through the rock with occasional landings that opened onto candlelit rooms with paintings on nearly every surface. They paused in Brother El’s personal quarters where Wesley was handed a black robe and small hat.

“I take it my expedition clothing is inappropriate for church,” Wesley chuckled as he slipped the robe on. “Am I supposed to keep the hat on throughout the service?”

“Brother John, do you know anything of the art of spying?” Brother El asked, incongruously.

“Ah ... no.”

“I am putting you in disguise as a monk. Monks and priests always have their heads covered. We are also bearded, at least with a mustache. Thank you for keeping the beard that has grown while you were on the mountain. I assure you that your hair is short enough to pass. Aside from that, just follow me in the service. I have no role to play other than as a respondent.”

“So, I’ll know when to stand up and when to sit down?”

“I assure you that you will have no difficulty with that. There are no seats.”

Wesley followed Brother El into the katholicon, the church of the monastery as opposed to the several little chapels and shrines. The room, Wesley estimated, was about thirty feet square, elaborately painted on every surface, including the breathtaking dome above them. Enough candles were lit in the room to see by, but as Brother El had said, there were no pews to sit on. The twenty or so men in the room simply stood silently and waited. Wesley also saw one woman, dressed in black with her head covered in a heavy shawl.

A priest entered the room, assisted by an acolyte who waved a censer. Once the priest had said a blessing, one of the monks began a chant. When he finished, the gathering responded with ‘Amen’. This continued. Wesley surreptitiously looked around the room to see what kind of program or hymnal people were using, but discovered none. They simply knew the forms of worship. Finally, Wesley gave up understanding what was happening in the service and simply bowed his head in prayer and let the prayers and chants wash over him. In his peaceful and receptive mind, he felt the similarities with the symbols on the rostrum, and felt the images and icons melt into a uniform language and spirit. It was uplifting.

The service was long. While Wesley had acquired a reasonable grasp of written New Testament Greek, he missed a lot of the spoken modern language. Nonetheless, he emerged from the service refreshed. Brother El fixed them both a plate of food in the refectory and they carried their plates to the rooftop garden of the monastery. Wesley had noticed how quickly the tower had cleared after the service. They saw only one other monk in the kitchen.

“Where did everyone go?” he asked.

“Home, mostly. There are only four of us who live here. Our priest comes here from Trikala. Next week he will conduct services at Roussanou. They have a larger residency, but we attract more locals and tourists for Sunday service because we are not as high and inaccessible as the other monasteries.”

“What brought you to Greece and led you to this solitary life?” Wesley asked. Doc had told him when they first arrived that Brother El had come from America to take up the life of a monk in the Metéora. By appearances, you couldn’t tell him from any of the other monks.

“That is part of what I wanted to talk to you about, Brother John. The Lord moves in mysterious ways. So does the United States Government. I was recruited as a student of theology. I had thought of becoming a minister—I wasn’t even Orthodox at the time—but I became caught up in the study of the Word and in other ancient texts. My theology studies rapidly morphed into comparative religions. As such, when I graduated, I decided to get firsthand experience with the texts of other religions. I scheduled a journey around the world. I was fascinated with the differences between Hinduism and Buddhism, for example, so I spent a lengthy time studying in monasteries in India and Tibet.”

“It must have felt strange as a Christian to participate in pagan practices,” Wesley mused, thinking of his own work and changing values in the City of the Gods.

“Indeed, but that came later. I could have made a lifetime study of the two religions, but I wanted to survey the world. That led me from India through Pakistan and into the Middle East where I studied Islam, Judaism, and the roots of Christianity. But I found much in each of the religions—commonly held beliefs and even scriptural passages—that came from other religions as they were absorbed and swept away by the dominant faith. Which brought me to Greece.”

“When did you come here?”

“I arrived at the same time Hitler came to power in 1933. It was easy to see war was coming. Italy had already made threatening gestures toward Greece by occupying Albania. That was when life changed for me. The allies needed information. As a student, I was traveling all over Greece. I was given a contact and began filtering out information on troop movements and the attitude of the populace. The Greeks repelled the Italian invasion but were overwhelmed by the Germans a month later. By that time, I had made my way here to the Metéora, directly in the path of the march. In November of 1942, an American in the path of the Nazi Army was a dead American. I joined the local resistance.”

Wesley was rapt. Had he been just a few years older, he might have been in this war himself, but he, too, was a theology student and intended to become a minister of music. By the time he changed his major to musicology, and his intent to become a college instructor, the war was over.

“Look there,” Brother El pointed east over the low wall around the rooftop garden. “The first rock is where the Church of Agios Giorgio is located. You have passed it going into Kastraki. Just over its shoulder is the Tower of Agia, the tallest of the peaks here in Metéora. It overlooks Kalapaka from 630 meters. It was our point of resistance. From the peak to its right, we snipers picked off those who would plant a Nazi flag over our town. The Germans found out exactly what the Ottomans did. It is impossible to assault the towers. So they bombed us. On fifteen of the peaks of Metéora, there are ruined and abandoned monasteries. A friend in the resistance brought me here to the monastery. I thought it was temporary shelter, but I have been chained to this rock for twelve years. I expect it will be ten more before I am able to extract myself and return to the United States.”

“It’s a fascinating story,” Wesley mused. He scratched at his beard. Now that he was down from the mountain and had fulfilled his obligation to come to the monastery for services, he was anxious to shave.

“It has a purpose,” Brother El said. “You are a man of faith, Brother John. Your faith is being challenged at every turning. You are seeing bits of religion that predates your Christianity—even predating Moses. What I have found is that doctrine is a fleeting and temporary truth. What may be true for one community at one time does not make it true for a different time and place. Your search for a universal musical language may leave you chained to your own rock of solitude, just as mine did. It is what is here that you must trust.” Brother El put his hand on Wesley’s chest. “Now let us go down from the mountain, Moses, and see what your companions are up to.”

Wesley and the crew rested and studied for five more days before returning to the mountain.

Saturday, 6 August 1955, Northern England

Lughnasad. Rebecca and Mrs. Weed had joined the circle in time to be there for the initial invocations and immediately became The Hart and The Water Maiden. They had driven down to Keswick in Mrs. Weed’s old car and checked into a small hotel earlier in the day. Rebecca wasn’t sure but what the bus that had made her so nauseous a few weeks earlier might have been a better choice. Mrs. Weed admitted that she didn’t usually drive the auto that had been her husband’s, but assured Rebecca that she did have a license to operate it.