Forty years ago today, St. Herman was proclaimed a saint by the Orthodox Church in America. Standing this day outside the chapel built over the place of his burial on Spruce Island, we pilgrims offered praise to God for the life of this simple monk who lived in seclusion on this island some 200 years ago.
I have shared some of his life with you already. Today, I will share a bit about the miracles performed during his life. But first, let me tell you about our adventure getting to Spruce Island this morning.
Spruce Island lies about four miles to the northeast off Kodiak. The way to access this holy place, then as during St. Herman’s life, is by boat. As the sea can be unpredictable, we prayed for good weather.
Fr. John gets ready for the 4-mile boat trip to Spruce Island, where St. Herman spent much of his life and his buried.
We were to assemble at the dock for an 8 a.m. departure. Now, I am convinced that the Orthodox will need a second blast of the trumpet on the Last Day, because they simply won’t get there on the first. Today was, let us say, typically Orthodox. It’s not that we weren’t there on time — a good number at least. There were no boats. We stood around, visiting, strapping on our church-issued life jackets. (I’ve seen churches have their tables and chairs, and other equipment labeled with the church name before. Never have I seen a church with its own life jackets. But this is Alaska.)
Finally, someone with a bullhorn tells us to get ready. It’s already 8:45, with Liturgy to start on Spruce Island at 9:00. Still there are no boats. We have been told what to do and how to do it once they do get there. So, we wait some more.
At last a boat approaches, a fishing boat, owned by a parishioner. A number of women and children board this one. And we wait some more.
The "skiff's" "skipper."
‘s Finally, the bullhorn announces that a skiff will be leaving. It was suggested that clergy board this one. OK, a skiff is a small boat with a motor, sort of like the one I rode in on deep Lake Baikal in Russia. This one looked a wee bit smaller.
So, we clergy left in port went down to sea in a very, very small boat. A few others were aboard besides clergy. Someone suggested that we sing O Joyful North Star, one of the hymns about St. Herman. Off we go. As we leave port, two sights remain in my mind: the harbor seal who is unconcerned about everything and the carpenter working on a framework overlooking the water where we were passing by. He just keeps shaking his head as he looks at us as we pass.
A fog is coming in. (It was forecast that we would have 9 foot seas today.) One of our fellow sailors is actually the wife of the fisherman piloting the first boat: “Fog is coming in. He’s waiting for us outside the bay. He’ll have to tow us.”
Well, not every child was making Fr. John nervous. This tired pilgrim was taking a nap.
When we reach Andy’s boat, we board instead, leaving only Mike in the skiff, along with our luggage. I wondered aloud if this was how the Mariel boatlift began. For an hour-and-a-half we putter along, in the fog. (Andy has instruments on his trawler.) We sit on the deck, the bridge, in the galley, on the fishnets, wherever. The little kids make me especially nervous. They’ve been around boats and water all their lives: they scamper over the rigging, the nets, anywhere it seems, fearlessly.
Once in a while a swell comes our way from another boat out there, somewhere. Up we go; down we go. Up we go; down we go.
There is a whale sighting off the port bow. I missed it. It broke the monotony, though. We slowly made our way to Spruce Island. It was now 10:30. (Did I say that Liturgy was to begin at 9:00? Did I also say that the Orthodox were going to need a second blast of Gabriel’s horn on Judgment Day?)
The pilgrims approach Spruce Island, seen here in the distance from Fr. John's skiff.
Finally, we can make out a cross on an onion-dome on the shore through the mist. We see other boats nearing shore, other boats passing us, smaller boats tendering passengers from the larger ones to the shore. (There is no dock there.) Where have we been? Where have they been?
We changed boats again. I get good marks from the boaters on my ability to get in and out of boats on one try. We headed toward shore in what looked like a miniature landing craft, which, actually it was.
As we take our first few steps through the shallow water and then up the black volcanic-sand beach, friends are calling out: “You left before we did, but we’ve been on shore for thirty minutes now.” How nice!
On the trail to the chapel.
We still have to walk through the forest to the chapel over St. Herman’s burial site. Over hill, over dale, as we hit the mossy trail, and the pilgrims go marching along. The moss hanging from the lower limbs of the spruce give a surreal look to the forest, the spongy path bouncing under our feet.
We pass the graves of two priests, Fr. Gerasim Smaltz, who lived on Spruce Island from the 1920-60′s; and Fr. Peter Kreta, a young priest I had the privilege to meet almost 20 years ago at a church convention. They lie buried near St. Herman’s spring, and the hermitage in which Fr. Gerasim lived.
Finally, we can hear singing and get the distinct impression that liturgy had not begun on time, either. (In case you are wondering, the bishops and deacons, and some of the priests who were serving, had gone out earlier.)
At the pinnacle of the service and their pilgrimage, the faithful receive Holy Communion.
The whole chapel serves as the altar today. A deck extends outward in front like a large uncovered porch. Worshipers stand there and on the hill side adjacent. We join in worship as more pilgrims keep arriving.
One of the deacons is ordained a priest by Bishop Maxim. He will serve a nearby monastic community.
The sun finally comes out, just about time for the Our Father and Holy Communion. The glint of sunlight on the onion-dome atop the chapel mirrors the brightness in the hearts of the worshipers.
Following the liturgy, we travel down the trail to the spring for a drink and to gather some water to take home, winding our way back to the beach for a picnic dinner on the grounds.
A picnic dinner is served on the grounds.
After policing the beach on clean-up detail, we were tendered back to our boat and our journey to Kodiak, sans fog but with at least ten or more passengers than we had come with. We got back to Kodiak around 5:30 p.m. (17:30). I got the feeling that most of the folks had beaten us home.
I received feast day greetings from Deacon Mark today, reminding me of the holy ground I would be on and beseeching me to drink it all in. (He had made the pilgrimage last year.)
However there are times when one cannot simply take it all in at once and make sense of it. It’s going to take some time for me. The prophet Moses knew that the burning bush was strange, but he still had to be told to take off his shoes when he stood on holy ground. I think it is that way for me, too.
I feel like I did the first time I went to Mount Athos in Greece. I had longed to go there and yet when I finally found myself there, it took me time and a couple more trips to try to comprehend it all. (I still haven’t.)
I think that Spruce Island will be that way for me. It is certainly a joy to be here. And God willing, it would be a joy to return. The remainder of my sabbatical will give me time to reflect more deeply on what I have drunk today.
* * *
As for St. Herman’s miracles during his life, a number are recorded. The three that I wish to share are perhaps three of the most memorable ones: the spring, the tsunami, and the forest fire.
Sojourners drink from the very spring that was brought forth by St. Herman's prayers.
When St. Herman first went to dwell on Spruce Island there was no potable water, although the interior of the island is a small, boggy rain forest. St. Herman prayed and a spring bubbled forth from the ground that has never run dry. This is the spring from which we drank today.
This is a region that lives with the threat of tsunamis. When one threatened the small island, St. Herman set an icon of the Theotokos in the beach and announced to those with him that the waves would not pass this mark. The waves approached the icon, and then reversed back out to sea, sparing the island and its inhabitants.
Being a forest, with dense undergrowth, Spruce Island can also be susceptible to forest fires. St. Herman directed that a strip of land be dug out as a perimeter and with his hand-cross indicated that the fire would not cross it.
Now, of course, a skeptic might object to these as miracles and seek a “natural” explanation. But for believers, the natural explanation is that because St Herman was a man of deep prayer, God used him to bring people to greater faith.
Orthodox Christians quietly expect miracles as an indicator of the Holy Spirit dwelling in a certain person. But the absence of miracles does not mean that the Holy Spirit is absent. As I’ve written earlier, miracles are not requisite for proclaiming someone a saint.
I say that we quietly expect miracles. It might be better put in this way. We certainly are not surprised when miracles occur. God’s grace is miraculous and living in God’s grace is a wonder-working experience.
From Elisabeth:
Indeed!