Following the Flame, Part VI: Leaving Astoria Behind

My year as a deacon at the Cathedral of the Genuine Orthodox Church in Astoria, New York, had come to an end. Astoria, at that time, was like living in a Greek city…a “Little Greece”.
I left quietly. I did not say goodbye to many people. Only a few families knew that I was departing. There was no formal farewell, no great gathering, no certainty about what the future held. There was only sadness. Sadness about leaving some people behind, but most of all sadness that I hadn’t found what my soul needed. There was only the road ahead and the flame that continued to burn within my heart. I knew that I would be blamed for my departure… but there was no way or really a reason to explain to everyone why I was leaving. Would they understand? Most of them wouldn’t. Years later, when these bishops would go over to the Ecumenical Patriarchate, most of their flock would follow them.
I boarded a bus and traveled to my mother’s home.
When she saw me, she was concerned. I was thin—very thin in those days. My face bore the marks of exhaustion. Dark circles hung beneath my eyes. The year had been filled with hard work, responsibility, and struggle. I had given everything I had and much more, and I was tired in a way that reached beyond the body. I did everything I could there. I drove the bus for the church’s day care center and Greek school, I kept the English section of the office going, etc. etc.
I slept deeply that night.
But when I awoke the next morning, a question immediately confronted me:
“What now?”
Leaving, I hadn’t considered that part. I simply knew I couldn’t stay anymore.
I was grateful for my mother’s hospitality, but I knew I could not remain there. How long could I stay in my mother’s house? What kind of monk would I become there? What kind of deacon was I meant to be there?
I decided to go to Greece. For a few days, for a few weeks, for a little while anyway. I wanted to meet with spiritual people who could give me blessed advice. I had no detailed plan. But the desire for the monastic life devoted to Christ remained as strong as ever.
There was one obvious obstacle.
During my year as a deacon, I had never accumulated money for myself. I had lived with the mentality that my life belonged to the Church and not to personal advancement. As a result, I had no savings and no means of purchasing a ticket to Greece. I didn’t want to ask my mother for this money. I didn’t want to bring her into the plan. As a mother, she would have done what she thought was best for me. I wanted to do what God wanted, though.
Yet God, in His providence, often sends help when all human resources have been exhausted.
Someone that I had just left behind in Astoria came forward and provided the money for the journey.
To many people, it may have seemed like a simple gift. To me, it was a sign that the path had not ended. Another door had opened.
That gentleman purchased my ticket.
Soon, I would be leaving America behind and setting foot in Greece once again, carrying little more than a suitcase, uncertainty about the future, and the flame that still refused to die.