Evia and St. John the Russian

When considering where to go in Greece, I’d read a lot from a wonderful Orthodox pilgrim’s guide called “Evlogeite!” (this is the greeting between monastics, and means “Your blessing!”. It is also how a layperson can greet a monk or nun.) One of the places I’d read about after a suggestion from our friend Nikos, was the island of Evia, and specifically the relics of St. John the Russian. I had felt strongly in reading his life that I wanted to go and venerate his relics and “meet” him, as it were.

He was captured in a war between the Russians and Turks, in a failed attempt by the Russians to re-take once-Orthodox lands. Made a slave, he told his Muslim master that he would serve him fully and with a good will, asking only that he be allowed to remain Christian and practice his faith. Many stories from this difficult period of history for the Greeks – namely, the occupation of their homelands by the Turks, are filled with violent destruction and martyrdoms. But there are also many stories of Muslim people who respected their Orthodox neighbors living side by side with them, and in many cases, even came to venerate the local Orthodox saints and wonder-workers.

This happened in the case of St John the Russian, who became an indispensable part of his master’s home and domestic life because of his illumined character, great love and mercy for all, and his perfect humility. His life ended in martyrdom, in the end, and his relics were transferred from Asia Minor during the period when all Greek people were “kicked out” of Turkish-dominated lands. Many Orthodox had lived there for generations and there were very many holy Christian sites, dating back to the Apostolic age. Rather than leave their beloved saints behind, those being relocated took the relics with them, and thus St. John now lies on the island of Evia, up in the mountins along the central ridge of the northern side, in the village of Prokopi.

After driving out of Athens along a straight highway, with a short rest stop for Basil to play on a playground, we drove across a huge bridge – we saw a similar one on the northern Peleponnesse – it looks like huge white triangular sails all along the bridge—and onto the island. It took us a little while and a bunch of turning around before we were sure we were headed the right way. North and south directions may be indicated by N. and S. (not quite sure), but otherwise we couldn’t really tell which direction was which, not familiar with the major town names posted on signs.

Evia offered different topography from what we have seen until now in Greece. It actually reminded us of “home” – both in northern California and in Washington. We drove through shady forests of pine and chestnut which clothe the rolling hills and climbing mountains of Evia. The roads were very twisted, one turn was actually almost a full circle, I think. At one point, we descended quite a bit and found ourselves driving along an engineered mostly-straight road under the brow of a huge rock face that had been partially carved out, running alongside an almost-dry gorge. The other rock face rose across the narrow gorge only a couple hundred feet away. It was quite dramatic.


We finally arrived in the small village of Prokopi. Our guide book said that there was a guesthouse for pilgrims there, run by the church, and we hoped that we would be able to stay there. It was very easy to find the big white marble church housing St. John’s relics. It is the only major structure for miles around. And the town of Prokopi basically consists of a dozen or so roads – 2 main ones that lead in and out from the church, circling round it, and a few smaller residential streets.

We went into the church and immediately venerated the relics of St. John the Russian, enclosed in a glass coffin, with his feet, arms, and bottom half of his face exposed, still covered with skin which has become dark brown in its “mummified” state. The scent of the relics was strong and sweet. The church was very large, decorated with beautiful frescoes all over.

I tried to ask at the candle desk about available rooms. I can generally get by pretty well with my growing Greek vocabulary and good hand gestures. We were in an area were little to no English was spoken or understood by most people. This young man, however, simply could not understand me, and I didn’t know the word for “room”. By the time I went back to consult my phrase book, he had gotten an English-speaking woman to help me, and she assured me that they did have rooms for us. I was surprised to be led to the second largest building in town directly across the street, probably an old 3-story hotel purchased by the church, I imagine. There was no A/C, but it wasn’t really needed because of the breeze. Evia is also quite a bit cooler than the mainland, I understand. The rooms were very pleasant, and the hotel was very simply decorated with icons.

We went to get dinner at one of the restaurants a few steps away from the guesthouse. We all felt good to be in a quiet place out of the city, paying 30E per night instead of 64E. The taverna had a guy with a little grill on the streetside cooking souvlaki, and it was just too tempting to pass up. We all had it for dinner, except Emma, who got another round of the Greek potroast she has discovered. Christopher and I ate quickly and went off to the Paraklesis service, leaving Grandma and the kids to go get some ice cream from the only kiosk there was. They could also happily spend time in the little tourist shops selling pictures of St. John on just about anything you can imagine – cups, incense burners, plaques, key-chains, salt and pepper holders – somehow kitsch in any culture is pretty much the same, “holy” or not.

Our experience of the service was extremely sweet. There was a largish group of Greek ladies gathered around the relics and a priest standing alongside interjecting his parts when necessary, and busy reading lists of names otherwise. The women led the service, singing the familiar melody and following along in their little booklets. It is the same service we had done in Zakynthos and I’ve done also in America (in English). The Paraklesis or Supplicatory Canon to the Mother of God, is a wonderful brief service of prayer usually offered in times of distress or illness in America, or during the Dormition fast in August. In Greece, especially in monasteries, it is a much-loved prayer commonly done every night or every Sunday night. You could hear that these ladies were used to doing this service, and they prayed and sang with hearts full of love.

Christopher and I stood in the corner of the group and I hummed along the ison that I know. We had a good half hour to pray and spend time with St. John. It was very refreshing. After this we went out to get some ice cream and spend time in the pleasant coolness of the evening. It was about 8:30PM and we expected Nikos, Fr. Nicholas, Gabriel and Maria at any time. Sure enough, as the car drew up we recognized them and went to meet them at the entrance to the church. Fr. and Gabriel had just come from the weekend in Andros and after being picked up at the dock in Rafina, they had all decided to head towards Evia to venerate these relics. We were so delighted to find when we called to check in that they were on their way.

We went back to the taverna and sat drinking cold water and limonata, a drink we really like – sort of like a light lemon soda, without too much sugar. We were able to discuss our coming plans for the next few days before they headed back down the winding mountain road towards Athens, where Fr. and Gabriel would be staying in an apartment, poised to do some major liturgical shopping over the next couple of days.

Our view from the second floor balcony overlooked the church of St. John with rising waves of mountains stretching out behind it, receding through different shades of blue-green into the distance. It was quiet, and simply beautiful. Christopher decided he really wanted to stay two nights, so we all went to sleep with a settled feeling.

The experience of strange juxtapositions becomes more and more common for us, and to me, it is one of the delights of tasting a foreign culture. In this beautiful peaceful place, full of God’s grace and far from the teeming bustle of Athens, the young Greek men still come out to “show of their testosterone” as Christopher put it, and the young girls go out to walk by the tables filled with ouzo-drinkers, gracefully offering their pretty dresses for consideration. It was the four-wheeled motorcycle going around and around and around the church, piloted by any number of young men, the lively chatter which rang off the marble sides of the church, and the other vehicles buzzing by until 1AM that changed Christopher’s mind.

At one point, after midnight, I went to look down onto the street for myself as he grumbled about the young men and their motorcycles. At that moment, I saw the woman who had served us dinner that night, well into her 60’s tooting by on a motorcycle. We decided to head on out the next morning. It was wonderful to be there, but we were finished. We said goodbye to St. John in the morning, and had some nice Nescafe and yogurt and rice pudding for breakfast, packing in to the car and heading out around 10AM.