By Anna Nilles

On Friday we left the oasis of the monastery.  After another delicious monastic breakfast, we piled into the van for our quick expedition to Serres.  Along the winding road into town we stopped at the city's highest point (or acropolis) and soaked in the scenic view.  From that point overlooking the city we could hear the festivities below.  It was a holiday in Serres, honoring the city's independence.  We stopped at a beautiful Byzantine church, which may once have been part of a monastery complex affiliated with Prodromos.  I love the combination of bricks and stones that characterizes Byzantine architecture.  Although the brickwork, both practical and decorative, creates a beautiful façade of its own, the building may once have been covered in white plaster and painted.  Professor Gondicas explained that the radiating brick patterns above the windows and doors signified sacred light emanating from within the church.  I had never thought of this: not only does God's light enter the building through the windows, but also that a different, changed light comes out into the world from within.  It is a beautiful idea. 

From there we went to the archaeological museum of Serres, which is housed in an old caravansary, once an Ottoman textile market.  The architecture captured my attention more than the objects on display. The rows of high brick domes, connected with arches and pendentives decorated with muqarnas, make the building feel so spacious and dynamic.  We left the museum and headed for a nearby café to recommence eating.  We sipped Greek coffee and frappe, and snacked on delicious Serrean pastries called bougatsa, while Henry taught us about the place of non-Muslims in the Ottoman Empire.  It is a region and time period I knew very little about before coming here, but I'm beginning to piece it together.  All of the talks have been very informative.  I am constantly impressed by the depth and breadth of knowledge of everyone around me.  From the snack café we went directly to lunch.  Unable to decide between two neighboring restaurants we split up into two groups and chose both!  The Greek food was wonderful, as always, and we had my two favorite things: tzatziki and fried zucchini.  As fun (and delicious) as the outing to Serres was, it made me realize how difficult it must be for the sisters to leave Prodromos to visit the city.  The pace of life is entirely different and it feels worlds away, even though it's an easy 20-minute drive.

Back at the monastery we had time to rest before heading out the gates again, this time for a walk to the abandoned village.  The area surrounding the monastery is indescribably beautiful.  With the cows, and the ponies, and the sunset over the wildflowers, the striking cypress trees and the stone ruins, it really is a place that belongs in paintings and songs.  I have been taking lots of photos, but I know that once I see them on a computer screen I will be disappointed; there is no way that a camera can capture this.

That evening, Jamie gave her presentation about Byzantine chant, specifically music from the manuscripts of Prodromos.  There is so much history here at this monastery! The music manuscripts are beautiful to look at, and were nearly impossible for me to read.  Jamie helped us decipher the symbols, and explained the importance of these manuscripts in the world of Byzantine music. 

Later that night was my first chance to have a conversation with some of the sisters.  I was amazed by the warmth and openness with which they encouraged our questions, about any aspect of their lifestyle.  We talked about the Jesus prayer, and psychology, and the role of the monastery in the community, and even the personal journeys that led some of the sisters to this mountain in Greece.  I found myself unable to stop asking questions, and they kindly put up with my inquisitiveness.  Of all the things I have seen and experienced this week, I will especially remember the conversations we've had. 

By Natalie Scholl

When trying to determine what to write about I wondered how on earth was I to narrow down our first 24 hours to just a few paragraphs?  That is of course an absurd task to set oneself, so I must be content with sharing just a snippet.  In reflection of my own response to the monastery, this snippet will revolve around senses and the soul. 

We arrived at the monastery in the early evening, right at the time when the sun has started to sink beneath the hills and the first tinges of red appear against the landscape.  Walking cautiously down the stone steps, we were immediately greeted with wonderful warmth by a couple of the nuns as we passed through the gates into the courtyard.  For most of us it was our first experience, and Dawn and Jamie expressed a little envy at our virgin eyes devouring our first sight of the monastery.

The first moments through those gates were lovely.  The scent of numerous flowers- roses, gardenias, geraniums, honeysuckle and many more- softly filled the air and mouth, and the sound of Vespers over the speakers combined with the rushing water from the stone fountains and an orchestra of summer insects.  My first impression of the interior of the monastery was a compilation of smiling nuns, blossoming plants, frescoes, stone, and over all these the beautiful green slopes in the sunset. 

During the first few hours in the monastery Psalm 23 kept coming to my mind:

The Lord is my Shepherd;

I shall not want.

He makes me lie down in green pastures.

He leads me beside still waters.

He restores my soul.

He leads me in paths of righteousness

For His name's sake.

Even though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death,

I will fear no evil,

For you are with me;

Your rod and your staff,

They comfort me.

You prepare a table before me,

In the presence of mine enemies;

You anoint my head with oil;

My cup overflows.

Surely goodness and mercy shall follow me all the days of my life,

And I shall dwell in the house of the Lord forever. 

The bit of this that really was vivid to me was the line, "He restores my soul."  I realized that while entering the monastery is an incredible sensory experience, it is more than that.  It is, for me at least, the rejuvenation of the soul.  Passing through the gates is a passing into a peaceful oasis, and any worries or troubles cannot fit into these walls.  At least, that is how I felt, and feel even now as I write this.  The sense of stability contributes to such an atmosphere of tranquility.  The jagged hole left by the fire, instead of drawing my attention towards fragility and the possibility of destruction, has done the exact opposite.  It reminds me of tenacity, and strengthens the permanence of this place.  To me, a visitor, there is a continuous calm.  Even the structure of the compound, built on a rocky incline, necessitates a certain deliberation.  The rest of the world feels as if it is rushing about in a mad frenzy in comparison.  And of course the old question emerges of where exactly is it rushing? 

Similar questions arose in my mind throughout the next day, and I contemplated these as I walked into the celebration of the Saints Peter and Paul that evening.  While the service was very structured, I did not feel at all constrained, as people slowly filtered in throughout the night and everyone was free to move around- though of course the non-Orthodox among us could not enter the naos or receive communion.  The singing, prayers, rotations of the chandelier with its candlelight glinting off the gold of the implements and icons, fragrance of the incense, and unhurried movements of the nuns and the priest all combined to create a rhythm.  As the service progressed I could feel my entire body slow to match the gentle beat.  There was no need to hasten. 

Taking a rest, slowing the heartbeat of the Princeton lifestyle can be quite difficult, I've found.  While so often I find myself and others at Princeton focusing on the challenges of multi-tasking and ultimate efficiency, it is in many ways more challenging to decrease our speed and do a task thoroughly and continuously but unhurriedly.  It reminds me of Pascal and his perspective on how humanity's problems stem from man's inability to be alone with his thoughts, and so he seeks to be constantly occupied.  The monastery setting is ideal for meditation and reflection, and it is very curious to see what exactly my mind produces when all the dust settles. 

I am very grateful for the opportunity this seminar presents, not only on an academic or interpersonal level, but also internally; the opportunity to close the windows to the outside world and simply settle our minds and spirits and examine what we find there. 

And now for a Greek coffee and one of the nun's homemade loukoumaki!

by Nicholas Marinides

I arrived at Prodromos quite late, due to the need to attend a wedding back in the States. I found myself in a somewhat strange position: as a latecomer (and having only visited the monastery once before, four years ago, and then only for a short time as well) I was not able to experience the monastery life as intimately as my colleagues; but as a seasoned monastic pilgrim and as a Greek-speaker, I was able to adjust to the monastery's rhythms more easily than them. But then again, as a man and as being much more familiar with men's monasteries, the visit to a women's monastery was something relatively unfamiliar.

The differences are of course apparent in the chanting: instead of the deep full sound of an Athonite choir, "like the voice of many waters," there was the more ethereal and refined sound of women's voices. I also noticed it in the nuns' account of their reaction to last winter's fire (which I heard second-hand from some of the students, not from the nuns themselves). The event was deeply traumatic for them, and at the end of a frightening and exhausting day of fire-fighting, they gathered together to weep over the loss they had suffered. Such a catastrophe in a men's monastery would be as traumatic in its own way, but I suppose it would evoke a different kind of emotional response. Lastly, if I had been at the monastery longer I would have been able to converse more with the nuns and learn more about their monastic experience; but as a man I would have felt obliged to maintain a certain respectful distance and formality that would not be as necessary for the women in our group.

As it happened, I was able to learn something from our group conversation with Gerondissa Fevronia, where I served as translator, and by speaking with her personally about my research for a bit afterward as the group started moving back toward the library for our final talk. Here I met the refreshing simplicity of monastic wisdom, which can overcome the limits of gender. In speaking to Gerondissa, I heard the same kind of tranquil conviction and insight that I have heard in the speech of Athonite elders. And I can understand how that calm ascetical figure is a pillar of strength for the community in the difficulties of the fire and its aftermath.

by Jaqueline Sturm and Alex Petkas

This year's Prodromos Monastery newcomers made their first acquaintance with a community which seemed rather well functioning.  Even though we were quite well apprised of the catastrophe and its extent, and were aware of the implications of it for the way the community functions, to us, it seemed like a reasonably well functioning machine.  There were visitors speaking with the nuns, we were welcomed with delicious coffee and treats, worship operated normally, and there was generally no obvious sense of loss in the air.  The obvious exception was the clear evidence of destruction to our right after entering: charred bricks, melted, twisted metal, scarred trees.

The nuns here are eager to put the loss behind them and continue with normalcy, as we were told before and then learned through our conversations with them.  What felt to veterans like a gaping hole in the periphery of the complex, we experienced as an open space, a lovely view in fact, but no less striking as a feature in the panorama than the beautiful chapel at the heart of the complex.

Today was our first real personal encounter with the loss, and the tragedy.  After a session of our presentations, as we sat chatting in the library, Sister Maria shared with us her experience of the night of the fire.  She brought vividly to our minds the speed with which the catastrophe unfolded once the first signs of the fire had been detected.  We got a sense of the helplessness which the nuns must have felt that night, not only faced with an inferno which they could do nothing to extinguish but also with the fact that there were simply too few hands to do all that needed to be done in the short time which was given them: there were older and more frail nuns who had to be transported to safer ground, icons to be removed from the central church in case the fire should (heaven forbid) spread there, in addition to all of the icons in the refectory which was already ablaze at the time.  When the firefighters finally arrived forty five to sixty minutes after the fire kindled, they realized that the fire was dangerously close to jumping past the fire-wall, by way of the wooden balconies which project along the perimeter of the monastery.  Nuns had gone into the building ahead of the fire in order to hew down a section of the balcony in order to break the path which the fire was following.  This they did in the face of strong resistance on the part of the firefighters, who thought the endeavor too dangerous.  It is difficult to imagine that they would have succeeded; fortunately - they would say miraculously - the balcony section at the fire's blazing vanguard collapsed before it could spread to the next building.  If this had not happened, the complete south and east sections of the monastery might well have been lost - approaching half of the entire periphery of the complex.  The account was so vivid that Jaqueline was beset by dreams that night of flaming buildings and collapsing balconies!

Earlier in the day, we had been to the bishop of Serres' icon museum, where many icons which once resided in the Prodromou Katholikon are now housed for display.  Emily's presentation that morning gave us an excellent overview of the museum's collection (with emphasis on the Prodromou pieces), as well as an account of the way in which they were first removed from the monastery by the former metropolitan, shortly before its re-inhabitation by the nuns, then later placed in the museum by the current metropolitan, and now find it difficult to return to their original home.  After hearing of our visit, Sister Theologia asked, "Did you see our icons?"

The day for us closed with the festal vigil of Saints Peter and Paul.  This was a particularly touching event for those among the group who are not Orthodox Christians, many of whom were experiencing the Byzantine festal liturgy for the first time.  The liturgy, chiefly with its combination of chanting, incense, and light - the nuns lit and swung the majestic polyeleos, a sort of Byzantine chandelier - assaults all of the senses.  A fitting end to a varied and fulfilling day.

by Dawn LaValle 

           As I rounded the corner to walk down the now-familiar path into the monastery, at first I didn't notice that anything was different.  There was the same impressive green mountain rising up behind the same 13^th century church, the same well-tended flowers in pots lining the way, the same slick marble floor slabs that give your feet little unexpected skids.  But when I could finally safely take my eyes off of the floor long enough to look up, there it was.  Or rather, there is was no longer: instead there was an expansive view of the lush green mountain where there used to be a building bustling with nuns, pilgrims and friends. 

            I must admit there was something exhilarating about that first glimpse of destruction.  Only later did I realize that it was caused by the sense of wilderness that had been admitted into the monastery with the striking vastness of the mountain view.  And the wind.  The wind was immense.  Looking more closely, I saw that our familiar potted plants were each blown to one side of their pots under the onslaught of that wind.

            I have been taught, and have experienced for myself, that a monastery is to be a garden enclosed, and enclosure itself is essential to its nature.  Suddenly the enclosure of the Monastery of Timiou Prodromou has been broken.  Vistas that seem inappropriate for an enclave of cultural and spiritual ascent have opened up.  If a monastery is supposed to represent order in the midst of wilderness, wilderness has been reasserting itself at Menoikeion, first in the ranging, supra-human power of fire, and now with the cleansing wind.  

            But after this initial impression of violation and exposure, I recalled the founder of the monastery, Ioannikios, with his little nephew Ioannis, living in the cliffs above the present-day monastery, alone in a viciously dangerous location, open to the weather with minimal shelter.  I am led to recall that Prodromos monastery is part of that tradition too.  The cave of the founder certainly had a view no less thrilling, wild and dangerous than that newly opened up, and yet they remained and monastic life has flourished here on their mountain.  Perhaps what is essential has been maintained after all.

            The fire that hit the monastery in December of this year, during the heaviest snow storm of the season, was strangely selective.  It completely burned down the building where all of the guests used to gather, the social heart of the monastery for many visitors like us.  Then it jumped over the next building to burn down the Despotikon, the building used to receive important visitors and house some of the archives.  What was the building over which it leaped?  The small Chapel of the Annunciation.  Whereas before it was almost hidden under the enfolding layers of its neighbor buildings, now it stands in striking solitude, set against the backdrop of expansive mountain.  Mary stands alone once again as the angel announces to her that she is to conceive the Messiah, the Son of God.  In a moment of radical particularity, she says yes, and the world is changed.  So too do these women in this wild place say yes, and the world is changed.  The fire that destroyed so much was also a purifying fire.  The blowing wind serves as a vivid reminder of what is perhaps the essential purpose of a monastery--to be a receptive location for incarnation.  The decisive assent of Mary, and of the nuns of Prodromos, remains thrillingly permanent in the midst of radical change.