Following the Flame, Part III Letters Across the Sea

My first pilgrimage to Jerusalem lasted only a short time – several weeks, but some of its effects would remain with me for all the years.


Among the many blessings of that journey was the opportunity to meet monks and nuns from an older generation. Looking back, I realize how fortunate I was. Many of them belonged to a world that was already beginning to disappear—a world formed by simplicity, sacrifice, prayer, and an unwavering devotion to Christ.


One meeting in particular would leave a lasting impression on me.


While in Jerusalem, I met an Athonite monk who was also visiting the Holy Land. We did not know each other before that pilgrimage.


At the time, I was still very young.


The desire for monastic life had already taken hold of my heart, but desire and understanding are not the same thing. I knew where I wanted to go, but I did not know how to get there.


To a young man in his late teens, monasticism can seem like an endless ocean.


One hears stories of saints.


One reads spiritual books.


One imagines monasteries hidden in mountains and deserts.


Yet where does one begin?


How does one take the first step?


How does one know whether the longing is genuine or merely youthful enthusiasm?


I had questions and very few answers.


The Athonite monk became one of the first people who helped me navigate those waters.


When I returned to the United States after Christmas vacation, we began corresponding by letter. This was long before electronic communication made contact instantaneous. Every letter required patience. One wrote, one waited, and eventually a reply arrived.


Those letters became important to me. I still have many of them.


I was trying to understand the life toward which I felt myself being drawn.


I wanted guidance.


I wanted wisdom.


I wanted to learn from those who had already walked the road that I was only beginning to glimpse.


Looking back now, I realize that God often places people in our path for precisely such reasons.


Not everyone is meant to accompany us throughout our entire lives. That can be painful for me.


Some people appear for a season.


Some help us cross a bridge.


Some offer a word of encouragement at exactly the right moment.


And then, for reasons known only to God, our paths diverge.


Over the years, I lost touch with many people who once played important roles in my life.


This has never been easy for me.


Even now, I sometimes remember individuals who were kind to me and wonder where life carried them. I have never been particularly skilled at accepting the disappearance of friendships. Part of me always wishes to preserve every meaningful connection.


Perhaps that is because gratitude has a long memory. I haven’t encountered that gratitude much in my life. People who remember the help they received. Glory to God for all things. This is gathering material for salvation!


The Athonite monk helped me at a time when I was searching for direction.


He may never have realized how much his kindness meant to a young man trying to understand God’s will.


Yet decades later, I still remember.


And perhaps that itself is a lesson.


We rarely know how deeply a simple act of kindness may influence another person’s life.


The words we speak today may be forgotten by us tomorrow.


But they may remain in someone else’s heart for years.


As for me, the flame continued to burn.


And the road ahead was beginning to take shape.