Today, Friday the 17th, I made a short pilgrimage to the neighboring Skete, Agia Anna—St. Anne—to venerate her relics, the left foot of the grandmother of our Lord. It was a beautiful excursion and experience. Our God has a grandmother. Amazing. And since he makes us his brothers and sisters, we are able to have her as a grandmother too.
Agia Anna Skiti is the oldest place on the mountain where monastics started living in a loosely knit community, dating from the 7th century. The first known person credited with the establishment of the ascetic communal life here is one St. Peter.
The Skete is organized the same way as Nea Skiti (and Lakkoskiti), namely, several self-governing huts that gather together for Sundays and feast days, but otherwise they follow their own rhythm of life. They have over 100 monks in I don’t know how many huts.
From Nea Skiti, the path to Agia Anna is up, more or less continuously, for about 45 minutes. Once you pass over the top of the ridge, the huts of Agia Anna are spread out before you. Here is a partial view of the huts sprinkled across the mountainside:
There are many, many more huts both above and below these, this being one of the more picturesque:
And here is an obscured close-up of their main church:
Many pilgrims come here even though it is not accessible by vehicle. Here are a few of the pilgrims mingling about when I arrived at the welcoming area:
I’m happy to report that they provide the customary hospitality:
The Skete’s popularity may be revealed by a rather unexpected sight/site I happened across:
The return trip affords beautiful views back to the Northwest, looking up the peninsula.
The red-roofed domiciles you see are the huts of Nea Skiti. Here is a close up of the hut I’m staying at, dedicated to St. John the Theologian.
You’ll notice two black dots on the roof. It’s not permitted to take pictures of monastics, but in this case, they just got in the way. They are on the roof installing additional solar panels for the electrical needs of the hut. Electricity does not run here from the mainland so whatever is needed has to be generated on site.
On the way to Agia Anna, about from where the previous two pictures were taken, I met a delightful group of five pilgrims, attired in the normal way for people traveling by foot—tennis shoes, jeans, and short-sleeved shirts. Romanians from Germany. In reply to the normal introductory question, "Where are you from?", I replied, "America." "America! You don’t look like an American!" "What do American look like?", I asked. They were stumped but remained resolute in their certainty. I get this a lot, of course, and I understand the point: in a random sample of 100,000 Americans, the probability is low that any will look like me. Nevertheless, I remain surprised that Orthodox from around the world are so shocked by my appearance.
I don’t take offense at these stereotypes, but I confess to a certain enjoyment in the iconoclastic destruction of their mistaken images. At any rate, a wonderful conversation ensued, me learning a little of Orthodox life in Germany and they learning a little of our Monastery—and maybe a little about America. As the conversation was winding down, the main spokesman for the group reached into his backpack, pulled out his business card, and handed it to me. I glanced down to read, ‘Preotul Mircea.’ I looked up at him with a broad smile and exclaimed, "Father, you don’t look like a priest! Give me your blessing." He laughed. I bowed down. He blessed me. We departed with joy.
