“In the wide stillness of the Alaskan tundra— where the sky stretches open like a prayer and the rivers flow between worlds— God planted a soul full of hidden beauty.”
So the life of St. Olga of Alaska began in 1916, in the village of Kwethluk. The story of her life and how she became a saint is well worth reading here: “Righteous Mother Olga.”
Services for her glorification this week will be livestreamed: Livestream services
We are having services in celebration at our parish in California as well, joyfully adding her to the company of Orthodox Saints of North America for whom we are so thankful.
Guided by the heavenly light and touched by Christ’s rich mercy, thy loving hands heal the wounds of those hurt in the past. Thy soft voice encourages all to remain faithful to God, for the eternal Lord will give the steadfast a crown of life.
O holy Mother Olga, visit us with love and reassure us, that we may accept whatever cross we must bear as chosen by the merciful God, and that, through thy prayers, we do the will of God for the salvation of our souls.
Saint Demetrios entered the story of my trip to Greece almost at the beginning, and before I end my telling I want to bring him back into it more fully. As I write, I’m still in Greece, but in Athens and on my way home.
The Church that houses the saint’s relics was built on the site of a Roman bath house, believed to have been the place of his imprisonment and death. Emperor Maximian Galerius — yes, the same one who built the Arch and the Rotonda — had appointed young Demetrios proconsul of Thessalonica district, not knowing that he was a Christian.
One of his duties was to put to death Christians, but instead he preached the faith, and was said by some to be a “second Apostle Paul,” for Thessalonica.
When Galerius found out, he ordered his imprisonment, and eventually his death, on October 26, 306. This article tells the story of his life in detail, including subplots concerning his friend Nestor’s martyrdom at the same time, how Demetrios became so beloved of the Slavs, and how he never would allow his relics to be moved to Constantinople.
St. Demetrios mosaic Kiev, 12th century
During the reign of St. Constantine the first church was built on the site, and in later centuries the Christians began using the old bath house structures.
It was during the Ottoman rule when it was a mosque that the underground part became cryptic or “secret,” because whether by their intent or neglect, it was filled with earth and forgotten, until the fire of 1917 that destroyed much of the city; during restoration work on the church the crypt was revealed.
In recent years Orthodox services are often held in the space. I walked up to the church last Friday for Divine Liturgy that was served down there, where so much history is embedded in the stonework and the venerable marble floors.
The day before, the priest at the Church of the Panagia Acheiropoietos had reminded me, over coffee in his office, that there is nowhere on earth that God’s blessing is not present. You might think that He is here in Greece in a way that He is not to be found at the North Pole, for example, but it’s not true.
I have been thinking about that a lot. We Orthodox pray daily to the God Who “is everywhere present, and fills all things.” Also, we experience the eschaton at every Divine Liturgy, when Christ descends to commune with us.
The presence of God has been my experience in Greece, and He will be as immanent as ever back home when I return to the “same old” everlasting mercies of God new every morning. As I embark on my long, long day of travel, I hope I can keep in mind this constancy of grace.
Given the dailiness of our earthly pilgrimage, I can’t be too sad to leave Greece, and at the same time I’m extremely thankful for the short and rich time I’ve had here. Glory to God for all things.
I’ve written already about how my daughters convinced me to make the trip to Greece with them. They had to limit their travel time to about ten days, but I couldn’t face the thought of returning my poor body to the U.S. after such a short period, while it would still be confused from crossing ten time zones. Besides, being shuffled between multiple airports and airplanes, and spending hours in what are at best unnatural and uncomfortable environments — I wasn’t eager to impose that affliction on myself again so soon. So, my primary motivation to extend my visit was negative.
Acheiropoietos Church, underside of arch
But as soon as I began to consider the possibilities this would open up, the idea became exciting in a positive way, and also a little scary. I hadn’t traveled alone in a foreign country since I was much younger, and even then my youthful advantages didn’t prevent me getting into several problematic situations.
St. David the Tree Dweller, Monastery of St. Theodora
I knew I wouldn’t want to join a group tour, but if I could be in contact with even one helpful person in whatever strange place, that would make the adventure seem more doable.
Thessaloniki was the Greek place name that I had heard the most in the last many years. Orthodox Christians know it as a center of culture and scholarship, and a place of pilgrimage very near to that more famous destination for pilgrims, Mount Athos.
Rubble at Acheiropoietos Church
Travelers to Athos typically pass through Thessaloniki, and if a mixed group of men and women are traveling together in Greece, the women might spend time in the many women’s monasteries near Thessaloniki while the men visit the Holy Mountain, where women are not allowed.
And I had known of several people at my home parish who had visited this city for long periods or studied at Aristotle University, or for other reasons lived in the city, past or present. So, very quickly, my choice of Thessaloniki solidified.
Judas Tree
One friend had encouraged me to include at least two Sundays in the span of my visit, so that I could attend Sunday Divine Liturgy in two different churches. That helped me set the parameters of length of stay.
I really knew very little about the place. The first thing I learned was that St. Demetrios is the patron saint of Thessaloniki, and his relics are here, and I began to ask the saint’s prayers for a successful trip that would bring me to his city and church.
Church of St. Demetrios
It turned out to be easier than I expected to make not just connections but new friends, and to become closer to people I hadn’t known well before. They not only answered my questions beforehand and after I arrived, but they provided hours of good conversation and explanations of Greek history and culture.
You have learned from my recent posts how much more I’ve discovered and experienced here – and I still have more to tell ❤️
The Metropolitan Church of St. Gregory Palamas is very close to my hotel, and it houses the relics of St. Gregory, who was Archbishop of Thessaloniki from 1350 to 1359 A.D. I really appreciate St. Gregory and for months I’ve been looking forward to visiting his church.
I’m devoting an entire post to the subject because of the relationship of this particular site and temple to other churches in the city, and because of its unique role during the 400 years of Ottoman rule.
It was built in the 13th and 14th centuries and originally was dedicated to the Virgin Mary, but after the Ottoman conquest of the city in 1430, and the conversion of St. Demetrios Cathedral into a mosque in 1491, this church was re-christened after that saint, who is the city’s patron. After the (Rotonda) Cathedral of St. George was also converted into a mosque in 1591, and this temple remained a place of Christian worship, it was designated the cathedral church of Thessaloniki.
The Greeks rose up against Ottoman rule at various times over the centuries; during the revolution of 1821, hundreds of Thessalonians sought refuge in the church, but the Ottomans broke down the doors and massacred them.
The building was entirely destroyed in a fire in 1890, and fully rebuilt by 1909. By the time it was consecrated, the old St. Demetrios church was functioning as a Christian church again, and that’s when the newly rebuilt church was dedicated to St. Gregory Palamas, in 1914. Later in the 20th century it had to be repaired after an earthquake damaged it.
I often think of how buildings have lives. A building that is consecrated for worship has a particular “calling,” if you will, and is often a revered member and bedrock of the community. The Church of St. Gregory Palamas has served for 700 years, and during those centuries has suffered from earthquake, fire, and sword.
Today when I walked past, I stopped at the little booth shrine outside by the street, where candle fires were symbolizing a whole lake of prayers (sorry about the glare on the face of the icon):
The last fifty years — such a brief span of time in the context of this city — seem to have been peaceful, and if the temple were sentient, it would no doubt be happy that it’s one of the most popular churches in Thessaloniki for weddings. The first day I stopped in, they were getting ready for such an event.
But the presence of the relics of St. Gregory, deposited there in 1914 when the church was dedicated to him, are the greatest blessing to the temple and the people.
May the Lord continue to make His temple a blessing to the city of Thessaloniki.
Gladsome Lights 