The beggar monk

Some time ago, I’ve been told that I’m basically a beggar – which is definitely true, of course. The thought remained with me, and evolved from slight horror (after all, I’m not a saint, so my pride is still kicking), to pure delight. I’ve realised again how beautiful and exciting one’s life becomes once you place it all in Christ’s hands. Without Christ, I couldn’t have met all the wonderful-beyond-reason people I’ve talked to this last year; without Christ, I could never have seen and prayed in so many holy places. Most importantly, without Christ and without having abandoned my life to Him, I would have missed all the great gifts He’s blessed me with ever since. Everything changed; all boundaries to love have fallen. I know now that Christ is present everywhere and in everyone. I know now, with a different sort of knowledge, that the Church is the Mother of all creation. I know now that Christ is not restricted to the material walls of my monastery and my cell, nor to the immaterial walls of a set of rules and regulations. There is so much beauty in this world, there is so much holiness in each person – I had forgotten that, and Christ reminded me of it.

Home, in the Celtic isles.

Home, in the Celtic isles.

I am a beggar indeed. I am Christ’s beggar, and I’m very proud of it! If anything, this is the only thing I take pride in: I belong to Christ, and I am His beggar. Funnily enough, I’m not alone in this: I belong to a long and great tradition of beggars, going all the way back to the Lord’s Apostles.

I am also a very similar to a snail; I carry my home on my back. I carry my home, my life, my Christ on my back all the time, from one place to another. I have no home, and yet I’m at home everywhere. I’ve never felt so exposed and fragile, so unsafe and so open to hurt. And yet, I’ve never been happier, more at peace or more loved as I have since I’ve placed everything in Christ’s hands and I’ve become His beggar.

May it all be blessed. May it be that, as I work for this monastery, I also find my salvation. And may we all look back one day (from this life or the next) and rejoice seeing all the people who are working their own salvation in this monastery we are founding together: step by step, little by little, soul by soul.

US Schedule until mid-December (and thank you, Washington State)

Well, the time has come to leave Washington State. The whole experience been such a pleasant surprise, I have no words to describe my gratitude for all the kind and loving people I’ve met. I expected to leave with a few donations for our small monastic house, and I feel I’m leaving with so much more than that: friends, people I really connected with, people I know will remain in touch and will continue to pray for me and the monastery through these difficult years. Someone said this is the time when the monastery gets born, and that pain is natural. At times, that is obvious to me, too – nothing truly beautiful and blessed comes without sacrifice. Perhaps that’s because nothing truly beautiful and blessed belongs to this world, it all comes from Christ, and only a fine, transparent soul (made fine and transparent through sacrifice alone) can go beyond this world and open up to receiving something of Christ’s beauty and blessedness. I pray our monastery will be transparent enough in God’s eyes, so it may bring true beauty and blessing over its community, its benefactors and the whole world.

I don’t know how to express this. All I know is the love I’ve been surrounded with these last few days: nothing has been forgotten, nothing has been taken for granted, every single kind word is remembered and much appreciated. I’ve been reminded again that the meeting of two people is a mystery in its own right. Simply being face to face, doing our best to have an open, honest conversation, fighting to let go of all our masks for a few minutes, this is a mystery we so easily forget. Two walking breathing beings, both created in the same image of God, trying to go beyond the heavy and confusing ways of the body and really connect, really embrace in the Spirit: when we succeed, it is a true mystery; when we succeed, as we have several times over these days, I worry about nothing. When we succeed, I’m always reminded in my heart of Christ’s words: when two or three gather in My Name, I am here with you.

So, thank you, Washington State. I pray one day we meet again – either back here, in this lovely, rainy state, or at the monastery, on our lovely, rainy island.

Several of you have also asked me about the rest of my schedule while in the US. I still don’t know all the details, and I get many invitations as I advance from one parish to another, especially for events during the week. However, the talks on Sundays are all confirmed, and here they are: Milwaukie (October 19th); Santa Rosa (October 26th); Sacramento (November 2nd); Fairfield (November 9th); Garden Grove (November 16th); Tarzana (November 23rd); Phoenix (November 30th and December 7th).

I’m leaving in less than two hours, and it may be a while before I have access to the internet again. As I receive and confirm more invitations for during the week (smaller retreats, talks, more private meetings in people’s homes etc) I shall try to announce them in due time. Please continue to pray for me and the monastery – this is a place founded on your love, your sacrifice and your prayers. I’m merely a tool in God’s hands; please pray this tool continues to be in good shape and health. I very often feel like under attack (and not always lovely attacks, like the one in the attached photograph).

Puffin Attack - the original photo

Puffin Attack – the original photo

Puffin attack (I did survive, yes...)

Puffin attack (I did survive, yes…)

This is how you helped

One of the questions that you keep asking me when we meet face to face is how to support the Monastery. The obvious answer is to consider making a donation (and you can find all about how to do that by clicking the ‘Ways you can help’ button above) – that is the most important and practical way to help, regardless of how much or little you can actually donate. This is an atypical monastery, which is founded greatly on online donations – most of these donations are small, but they can be of huge help, especially if there are many of them.

However, there are other ways you can help found this Monastery, and I would like to give you a few examples, hoping you will all be inspired :)

For instance, there are now three confirmed authors who will write articles on various aspects of Celtic Christianity, which they will donate to our Monastery for publication and sale. These people – Prof Andrew Louth, Metropolitan Kallistos Ware and Frederica Matthews-Green (in the order I received their confirmations) – are great authors, people whose work is known and appreciated world-wide, so their sacrifice is significant.

Dr Avril Pyman-Sokolov donated the Monastery three wonderful works of her late husband, Russian painter Kirill Sokolov. When we shall have our monastic house (which is what I’m fundraising for), these paintings, which are inspired by his travels to Mount Athos, will be exhibited in the Monastery. I cannot express enough gratitude for Dr Pyman’s generosity.

Kirill Sokolov - Church of St Nicholas

Kirill Sokolov – Church of St Nicholas


Kirill Sokolov - Troitsa

Kirill Sokolov – Troitsa


Kirill Sokolov - Athos donkeys

Kirill Sokolov – Athos donkeys

Ben Anderson, one of the first friends of our Monastery, author of the McGunnegal Chronicles, will continue to donate 10% of sales of his books to our Monastery project at least through the end of the year, if not beyond.

Others have supported us by helping me travel, either by driving me from one place to another (some times for over 5 or 6 hours), or by buying me airplane tickets – this is especially easy for people who have extra flying miles, which can be used this way.

Nothing is useless; everyone can contribute. Some of you are helping me learn how to write HTML emails (yes, I’m slowly getting there!), a great man I’ve met in Denver is building up a new, better web-site for us, and so on.

Some of you talked to the local parish priest and arranged for me to give a talk or a presentation of the monastery in your parish. Others have convinced the parish council to make a donation to support the Monastery. Others have made for us the Thank-You cards I’m writing and sending you when you make a donation by cheque.

Everything counts. Everything helps. The most wonderful things is that it all comes from your love. Thank you all – that is, in fact, all I wanted to say. Thank you all, and let’s keep going.

Pilgrimage to Mull & Iona (should we?)

The idea of an Orthodox pilgrimage to Mull, Iona and the neighbouring isles has been suggested to me in practically every parish I visited this past year. I have been initially (and still remain) rather afraid to try organising any pilgrimage before we have built our small monastic house, but I confess I’m thinking more and more about it. It all changed after I was on the pilgrimage led by the Orthodox Friends of Iona this August (I should take this opportunity to thank His Eminence Metropolitan Kallistos and Bruce Clark for inviting me to join them, and for their kindness and generosity towards me and our monastery).

Puffins, Isle of Lunga

Puffins, Isle of Lunga

There are so many beautiful places to see in the Hebrides, such powerful spiritual landscapes, such strong presence of the Saints, it would be a pity not to at least give the idea some serious thought. I’ve also been fortunate enough to see how the OFI organize their pilgrimages, and I’ve done my best to learn from their experience as much as possible. Perhaps it would be a good idea to start with a ‘trial’ pilgrimage next summer, for just a small group of people who are friendly and kind (that is, people who would not ask for my head if it all turns our badly).

Although, how could it turn our badly? The isles are so visibly blessed, the Saints are so overwhelmingly present, all we’d need to do is let ourselves melt in their grace. Over the next few weeks, I’ll be posting photos and notes I’ve taken during the OFI pilgrimage in August, as a taste of what awaits one in the isles; this week, I attach a few photos from the Isle of Lunga, the largest of the Treshnish Isles.

I’ll think about it very carefully; please let me know (at or in the comments section below) what you think of this idea and whether you would be interested to join me.

May it be God’s will.

Wild Flowers on Lunga

Wild Flowers on Lunga

View of the ocean, Lunga

View of the ocean, Lunga

Lunga, Treshnish Isles

Lunga, Treshnish Isles

Puffins on Lunga

(More) Puffins on Lunga

Back on the road

Not that it’s been any different this past year…

Dear friends, I’m back in the United States, after a very busy summer in the UK, and I thought I should bring all of you up to date with what we’ve achieved until now and what’s left to be done.

Slowly, the monastery is coming to life. We now have Kilninian, our beautiful 1755 church (dedicated to Sts Cuthbert and Ninian), and we also have the money to purchase five acres of land surrounding it. All the legal actions have been done, it’s now only a matter of time before we own the land, as well. This allows me to focus on the last main step of founding our monastery: building a small monastic house for our nuns. We’ll apply for the smallest and most humble building Health and Safety will approve!

Metropolitan Kallistos visiting the Monastery

Metropolitan Kallistos visiting the Monastery

I must thank you all for all you support. We couldn’t have raised this money without your efforts and the love that hides behind and motivates your efforts. Similarly, I myself couldn’t have survived this year without your prayers and encouragement. It’s been a tough year, but blessed beyond reason. For the first time in my life, I feel God has taken over everything; I lost all control, it’s all in His hands now, and I’ve never felt more at home than during these months of homelessness. I understand now that I am at home only in Christ; home has nothing to do with my nationality, with my family or certain walls in some part of the world. Home is Christ, and I’ve never felt that as deeply as I do now. To receive Christ’s Holy Body and Blood is to really be at home.

It’s true, there are some ‘luxuries’ I miss, such as, for instance, being ill. When you’re always a guest, one cannot afford the luxury of illness; when you are a guest in someone’s home, you are supposed to be uplifting and spiritually strong; nobody welcomes me in order to have me sweating in their sheets. I also miss being alone, although – strangely – I’ve never had such silence and loneliness in my heart as I do now, surrounded by hundreds of new people every week.

This year you’ve supported founding this monastery, and I thank you for that with all my heart. Without your knowledge, though, you’ve also supported my own personal history of salvation. You’ve contributed to founding a physical monastery, but also the flesh monastery of my own being. I must thank you for that, too.

Please remain close by. Please continue to support this monastery and the return of Orthodox Christianity in the Hebrides. Please continue to love.

Yours in Christ,

fr seraphim

1714 – 2014. Love and Hate: Not Much Has Changed

Sfintii Brancoveni

In 1714, just before Easter, Constantin Brancoveanu – the Christian ruler of the Romanian Kingdom for 26 years – was taken to Istanbul and imprisoned. His four sons were imprisoned with him. In a typical gesture, the Muslim rulers of the Ottoman Empire gave them the well-known choice: convert to Islam or die. Because they refused to deny Christ, on August 15th (the Dormition Feast), they were all decapitated – first the Christian king’s councillor was beheaded, then all his sons (Matthew, the youngest of them, was 11 years old). The King, his wife and daughters, were forced to witness the public executions. Western diplomats were present; the official representatives of France, England and Russia (among others) felt they could not refuse the Muslim ruler’s invitation. In the end, after the killing of all his sons, the King himself was publicly executed – it was his 60th birthday. Their heads were carried and displayed through Istanbul; their bodies were thrown in the Bosphorus. Today, they are all commemorated as Martyrs.

We are now in 2014, three centuries later; we see Muslim children carrying the heads of the people their fundamentalist parents have murdered. We hear these children calling for more executions. The only difference is that, this time, Western journalists are also killed.


The West may be in shock, but Eastern Europe isn’t. For us, this is just the return of a very recent nightmare. Less than a century ago, the Ottoman Empire was still present here, in our countries. Think about that!

We all – West and East – have so much to learn from each other. The world needs to look at its past – its common past. The West needs to understand that what happens in other parts of the world will one day (very soon, it seems) happen at home, in its own back-yard.

When one visits the thousands of Orthodox monasteries in Greece, Bulgaria and Romania, one must learn how to see beyond their exterior beauty and exoticism. All these places are built on harrowing pain and horror, yet they remain living prayers for the peace and salvation of the whole world; for centuries, they’ve held on to a holy stubbornness to not let go of hope, to not let go of love, to not allow hate to win and take over our hearts.

If that happened, if we let go of love and embraced the hatred, we’d be denying Christ; we’d be losing the real battle, the battle these old and new Christian martyrs died for.

Iona Pilgrimage (August 2 – 9)

I want to thank Metropolitan Kallistos (Ware) and the organisers of the pilgrimage to Iona for inviting me to join them this year. I’m not sure of the exact schedule of the pilgrimage, but I know it will include a visit to our monastery, as well. It will be a great chance for me to find out even more about St Columba’s life on Iona, and to learn how to organise such a pilgrimage. I find the best way to learn something is to see someone else doing it!

Anyway, I shall be away for over a week. I’m leaving in a few hours, and it will take three trains, two boats and a bus to get me to Iona! But that’s all right – I’ll have some wonderful photographs when I’m back, and (I’m sure) a lot of great stories to tell.

St Columba

In the meantime, please remember that August is the last month for us to raise the money we need to buy the monastery land in September. We are very close, but new expenses seem to just fly in (only yesterday I found out that the lawyers will cost us 3,000 pounds plus VAT and outlays).

If you can, this is a very good moment to support the Monastery.

To make a donation, please use the following links:

UK Donations

US Donations

The rest of the world

May God bless all of us. I shall take you all with me to Iona – in my heart and in my prayer.

Monastery of All Celtic Saints

Much thought was put into deciding the Feast-Day of the Monastery. The Church was originally dedicated to St Ninian; as you know, we’ve decided to also add St Cuthbert, as a sign of unity between Christians in the British Isles.

All Saints of the British IslesSome time ago, I met with our Metropolitan Joseph, and I finally made the suggestion (which His Eminence gladly accepted) that the Monastery should be placed under the protection of the local saints, the Celtic saints who lived and found their salvation in these places. This is a recognition of the extraordinary Christian heritage of the Hebrides. We also want to honour the local traditions and local people, by placing our Monastery under the protection of the saints we have in common.

The Feast of All Celtic Saints will be celebrated on the Second Sunday after the Pentecost, the Sunday dedicated to the local saints of each Orthodox Church. Please pray that these forgotten giants of Christianity will bless our Monastery now and long after we are gone. And may this be a sign of their enduring love and prayer for the world.

New martyrs. New mob.

Christians in Mosul

I’ve learnt something important from the horrors of the last few weeks. As I pray for the Christians in Mosul, it becomes clear to me that I need their prayers more than they need mine. I do my best to pray for them, and my heart is filled with a sort of wonder at the strength of their faith. Their faith overwhelms me, their sacrifice and love for Christ is beyond anything I have ever done, and there is something in me that says ‘be silent, look and learn’.

My prayer for them has now changed. I just look at these people, and I thank God for the humbling gift of allowing me to witness these new martyrs walking on their way to salvation before my very eyes. I think about the martyrs of the early centuries, how they were dragged to be tortured and killed before the eyes of the mob around them. These people are the new martyrs – we are the new mob. These people are the ones on whose heads Christ places crowns of martyrdom, we are the ones witnessing it.

I know things are always complicated in this world; I am aware there are endless nuances to these problems, and that perhaps very few of these people had lived a saintly life prior to this persecution. But that is their past – their present is Christ. These tired, dirty, hungry people have left everything for Him; I think of that and I’m ashamed to be praying for them.

We are just people in the crowd, watching their martyrdom. We are witnessing the birth of holiness; we are part of a miracle.

PS: Please forgive me for disappearing for a week; with everything happening in the world, with so much much violence and horror, nothing else seems worthy of much attention. Life just freezes somehow.

Inner Farne: St Cuthbert’s hermitage

Despite the December look, this is actually July: the great British summer we know and love…


The most striking thing about visiting the Farne Islands is how unaware people seem of the Christian history of the area. I simply cannot understand this; regardless of one’s own personal faith, we should be able to recognize and appreciate the extraordinary value of this heritage. I never could understand what hides behind this hurried willingness to erase one’s own past, and to get rid of one’s own history.

And yet, in some ways, this is a useful (though painful) lesson about how culture cannot preserve faith. The Orthodox have always had a strange relationship with culture; especially over the last few centuries, we’ve had a strong tendency to make an idol out of our ethnicity and our national culture at the expense of the living, true faith. I cannot recall how many times I’ve been told that nationality and culture preserve our faith. Well, a pilgrimage to the Farne Isles should cure anybody of this disease.

When you face these lonely and deserted isles, when find yourself surrounded by these huge, dark cliffs, when the harsh, unwelcome character of these seas hits you, you realise what sort of strength and faith St Cuthbert must have had. We all idealise the lives of the early Celtic saints; it’s unavoidable. We imagine these romantic characters, washed in light and supported by grace; pain, fear and disease never seem very real in relation to them. It’s almost as if they’re faking it, we image they go through these temptations untouched by weakness, unaffected by suffering.

And then, you come here. And all you see are bare rocks coming out of the sea; not one tree, not one place of shelter; no detail to catch one’s eyes. There’s nothing frail, nothing delicate about these small isles. To live here must have been hell. Pure hell. The only thing I could think of was Christ descending into Hell; my thoughts could not let go of this image. These saints came here to confront hell, and to wait for their Saviour.

And THIS sort of faith, THIS sort of life is lost to most of the people you meet. Culture could not even preserve something as monumental as St Cuthbert’s heritage. Because, in reality, faith is not something which can be preserved. Faith is a living being, it has to breathe, it has to find a human heart in order to remain alive. Once we lock it up in a museum of any kind, it dies away.

At the end of this pilgrimage, I remain even more convinced that faith is God’s gift to a living human being. It has nothing to do with nationalism, nothing to do with culture, nothing to do with any of these created ‘selves’ of our society. Faith is always personal, and always alive: here and now, in this human heart.