“Peace without struggle isn’t peace. A pilgrimage without struggle is just a vacation.”
We left Simonopetra filled with excitement. We had felt such great warmth, hospitality, and welcome — surely, we thought, this is what Mount Athos is all about.
Before we departed, we were invited into the church to see the relics: the hand of Mary Magdalene, a fragment of the True Cross, and a relic of St. Anne, the mother of the Virgin Mary.
And then began our descent toward the coast, on foot, to reach our next monastery.
What we found there could not have been more different.
It was busy. Chaotic. We asked for the guest monk, who traditionally greets pilgrims and offers lodging. We were told simply, “Wait.”
We waited. Monks passed us silently. Some rushed by. No one seemed to notice us.
I bought a prayer rope in the small shop—just a simple black cord, knotted in the ancient tradition. And when we went into the church for Vespers, though I couldn’t understand a word of the chanting, I held the prayer rope in my hand and quietly prayed in the Orthdox tradition, the Jesus Prayer, “Lord Jesus Christ, Son of God, have mercy on me, a sinner.”
We were physically exhausted, yes. But the heaviness wasn’t just from the walk. It was spiritual. Something was pressing against us. Maybe it was a test. Maybe it was the reality of spiritual warfare.
Because peace without struggle isn’t peace.
And a pilgrimage without struggle is just a vacation.
Eventually, we were shown to our guest room. Cold showers never felt so earned. Later, we stood on the balcony looking out over the sea and spoke with some fellow pilgrims about the experience so far, and what it’s like to spend time on the Holy Mountain.
It wasn’t what we expected. But maybe that’s exactly what we needed.