Hand-and-a-Half Sword, Metropolitan Museum of Art: Arms and Armor

Gift of Laird and Kathleen Landmann, in memory of Edmund Roy Hofmann, 2006 Metropolitan Museum of Art, New York, NY Medium: Steel, copper alloy

http://www.metmuseum.org/art/collection/search/27966

Black and white-a Pair of F-4EJ Kai from the 302nd tactical fighter squadron in farewell livery during an air show at Hyakuri air base, 2018.

Starting another Gadsden post. Stay tuned for more or add your own

Anton Hoffmann, (1863 - 1938 ), Ritter hoch zu Ross vor alpenländischem Panorama (knight on horseback in front of alpine panorama)

The Hidden Monastery

    This afternoon I met with one of the priests from my parish in Halifax. Father Vladimir is an older man, originally from Newfoundland; a trait that shows through his age and solemn, monastic life. We discussed many things involving my ongoing catechism, from the Nicene Creed to the Big Bang of all things. All in all it was a wholly enjoyable time, despite the hour and a half drive to his home.

    Towards the end of the little Q&A that we had, I mentioned that I was still looking for a baptismal cross. He snapped his fingers and said “Hold on one moment, I’m going to make a call to the monastery.” So he got on the phone and started off speaking in Hebrew of all languages. Eventually he turned to me and asked if I wanted to go to Vespers. With no plans for the evening and the need for a baptismal cross, I decided why not. 

    We took my car and began driving up the road, a rural highway that Father Vladimir’s house was on. Twenty minutes along the way, he directed me to a dirt road barely visible from the highway. As the trip continued, he told me the address but said to be on the lookout; the path to the monastery was easy to miss. Eventually we reached it and turned onto a dirt track barely wide enough for a single car to fit on.

    Finally we crested the hill of the track and saw the monastery itself. The chapel had the traditional onion dome of Russian churches, while the common areas and room looked like a large log cabin. The contrast of styles was, in itself, fascinating. We left the car and passed by a set of large church bells on the way inside. A plain wooden door with a patriarchal cross was opened and we stepped over the threshold. 

    Inside the hall between the quarters and chapel was cold. All new construction that hadn’t been insulated yet, and it was the dead of Canadian winter. We soldiered through, kissed an icon of Simeon Theodochos, and entered the blessedly warm chapel to attend the Vespers.

    Inside the three monks had already begun their prayers and hymns, their solemn tones filling the tiny hall of the sanctuary. The walls were covered with holy ikons, beautifully maintained portraits of the apostles, greatmartyrs, saints, and all manner of angels. The flickering candlelight danced across the delicate gold of their faces and brought them to life as the prayers swelled.

    The head monk, Abbott Luke, wore a habit decorated with the Great Schema. For those who don’t know, this is the highest monastic order in the Orthodox Church, telling of the degree of spiritual discipline achieved. A great crimson, patriarchal cross was embroidered across his back and surrounded by all manner of symbols that attested to the Suffering of Christ. Around the hem of his koukoulion (monastic hood and veil thing) and all down his vestments was the Trisagion; Holy God, Holy Mighty, Holy Immortal have mercy on us.

    He went behind the iconostasis to retrieve the thurible as his fellows, Father Cassian and Father Nathaniel, continued with the Vesper hymns. As the bells on the thurible began to clamour, the room was filled with the heavy smoke of incense. Though it was thick and strong, the smoke didn’t choke or burn the eyes. If anything, it almost seemed to invigorate both myself and the other monks. The prayers continued perhaps even stronger than before.

    After an hour of prayers, hymns, and supplications, the service concluded and we joined the monks in the common area to talk. It was here they gave me my baptismal cross (picture included below). They gave me a short tour of the monastery and said that they offered retreat services for members of the church. It’s certainly something I’ll be taking them up on in the future.

    Well into the evening, we discussed all manner of topics. It turned out that not one person in the room had been born into the Church, we had all found our separate ways to her. One of the monks showed off his tattoos that he had received long before taking up the mantle (a patriarchal cross and the Jesus Prayer in Church Slavonic). 

    Eventually we had to leave, to my dismay. It had been a wonderful service and the monks at the hermitage made for such excellent company. I’ll certainly be visiting them again in the future. And next time, I’ll bring a damn camera.

For reference, this is what the Great Schema monks wear

And man, Orthodoxy sounds fascinating, a far more solemn affair than my Catholicism.

Interesting turn of events…

what a big baby

I’ll be releasing my #NOIRFirstMag video on the @salientarmsinternational Tier 1 @arsenalfirearmsusa Strike later next week. #ThePewPewLife = #ThePPL