The following is the history of my own vocation, in three major sections. Much of it has been published in past issues of our newsletter. I have edited it slightly (e.g. giving my present age and number of years in the monastery), but mostly I have left it as I wrote it a number of years ago. More recent history has been added in the final section, and there it more or less coincides with monastery history.

	1980		2007

The (somewhat crooked) Path to the Monastery

Dateline: Orlando, Florida, 1980. I had moved there the year before from Auburn, New York—to find my "freedom," to see if I could live on my own and support myself, and to have as much of a worldly good time as possible.

Flashback: JFK Airport, New York City, 1978. I was a mess. I had just returned from bumming around Europe for several months with a couple friends. My trip had to be cut a little short because my girlfriend broke up with me on a long-distance phone call from Amsterdam to Auburn, and my Godfather suddenly died of a heart attack at age 40. The computers broke down at Heathrow Airport in London and they couldn't book my connecting flight from New York to Syracuse. I had to get a standby ticket in JFK. All flights booked.

I had no money except for a few Dutch guilders. The thought of spending the night in a plastic airport chair was wholly unappealing, given my state of mind. At the time I wasn't a particularly religious man, but I did what most not-particularly-religious people do when they're in a bind: I turned to God. I uttered the fateful words: "God, I'll do whatever you want, if you just get me on a plane tonight!" At the last possible moment, He came through. After a short time I forgot my promise. But God didn't....

Back to Orlando: The "good life" was turning out to be not so good after all. I had and did most of what I wanted to, but I was not really happy. The meaninglessness of the life I was living began to nibble, then gnaw at me. I began to think: "There must be more to life than this!" But what should I do next? Since I never had found anything that was worth giving myself completely to, I ended up with this more or less unconscious philosophy: "If I don't like it, I'm getting out!" I didn't persevere at anything, because nothing was worth it. My parents used to ask me what I was going to do with my life. A foolish question, I thought, when I was 16 or 17. But by the time I was 22, I began to think, "What am I going to do with my life?"

God had the answer, but He knew I couldn't bear to hear it all at once. The Lord did somehow begin to put it in my head and heart that, after all, He was worth giving oneself to completely, was He not? I still had enough faith to believe that He existed, and that I would somehow have to make an account for my life at its end—I just wanted to postpone dealing with that stuff as long as possible! The Lord was trying to tell me that now was the acceptable time and the day of salvation. (By the way, I give a lot of credit to the nuns who taught me in Catholic school for helping establish the anchor of my faith, which I now realize how much I needed as I passed through the uncharted waters of adolescence. Nuns of the "old school" get a lot of bad press these days, but who knows where I'd be today if they didn't drill the faith into me—and even make me kneel on my knuckles once in a while!)

To try to make short what could be a very long story, I will simply say here that the Lord gradually impressed upon me that He wanted me to serve Him, and He instilled that desire in me as well. I didn't know quite where to begin. Then I remembered: my mother had sent me a New Testament when I first moved to Florida, as an act of faith (or desperation?). My initial reaction to that had been: "What am I going to do with this?" Now that the Holy Spirit had begun to stir within me, I thought: "There's a Bible around here somewhere. Maybe I should start reading it..."

I remember that time in my life as a kind of "spiritual springtime." Everything seemed fresh and new. Nothing had changed in my external environment, but much was changing in my heart. I would walk the streets on those warm Florida evenings which were filled with the scent of orange blossoms, and I would just think and think—and pray.

It wasn't long before I made an appointment with the vocation director of the Roman Catholic diocese of Orlando (at that time, the Byzantine Church was just a relic of my past, which I never really understood). He recommended that I go back to New York and begin studies there. I'm not sure if that was because He was listening to the Holy Spirit or because he thought I was an unlikely candidate and was just trying to get rid of me! I thought it was a good idea, too, since I couldn't afford college and seminary, and I figured that my folks would be happy enough over the salvaging of my soul to lend some support to this noble endeavor.

I went first to St John Fisher College in Rochester, NY. On my own, I started reading classics of spirituality by the great spiritual masters, most of which went completely over my head and left me a bit befuddled and slightly despairing over the possibility of my being ever able to grasp enough theology to fulfill my calling (I didn't even know quite what that was yet). Then a book came into my hands which forever changed the direction of my vocation: Thomas Merton's Seven Storey Mountain. I learned about a fascinating way of life, of which I'd hitherto known almost nothing: monasticism.

Providentially, I discovered that there was a Trappist Monastery about an hour's drive from the school. After one, maybe two, short retreats there, I was convinced that I need look no further. This was it! There was a gate in their beautiful wood-and-stone chapel that separated the visitors from the monks. I got the distinct impression as I was praying there that I was on the wrong side of the gate. After another retreat and some talks with their vocation director and the Abbot, I was accepted to begin monastic life with them, starting in a couple months.

One other advantage to the monastic vocation, from my point of view at the time, was that I wouldn't have to complete all those years of school that were looming on my horizon! Little did I know that God still had a few more "tricks" up His divine sleeve! (But that wasn't revealed until much later when, after about four years in monastic life, I realized I was called to the priesthood as well.)

There was one minor detail I had to take care of. At that time, when a person of one Rite of the Catholic Church wanted to enter a canonical state (such as monasticism) in a different Rite, an official change of Rite had to be obtained. No sweat, I thought. So I went to the vocation director of the R.C. diocese of Rochester, who told me how to do it, advising me that in my letter to the Ukrainian bishop I should not mention my vocation, lest he have second thoughts about letting me go. Once again, no sweat.

My parents had innocently told the local Ukrainian pastor about my vocation with the Trappists. He wasted no time in beating my letter to the bishop by calling him and telling him not to let this vocation get away. So of course the bishop denied my request. I talked to the pastor on the phone. He said, "You know I love you, but I'm going to fight you all the way on this!" I began to sweat....

The Lord had led me over the past couple years so patiently and carefully to the open door of the Trappist monastery, and who were these guys to slam it in my face!? I brought my woes back to the monks, and the Abbot provided me with an "ace in the hole." He was a personal friend of the Apostolic Delegate to the U.S., and he wrote me a letter of recommendation which would give me the opportunity go over the head of the bishop and secure my entrance into the Trappist Monastery. Now I didn't know much about ecclesiastical politics, but I was pretty sure that bishops didn't like uppity laymen going over their heads to the Apostolic Delegate. So I would hold on to this letter to use only if all else failed.

Next came a meeting with the Ukrainian pastor and the vocation director for the Eastern eparchy. To put it mildly, I was not in a pleasant mood. The first thing they said was, "Our Church needs priests." I replied, "I am not going to be a priest. I am going to be a monk." Their response was, "Our Church needs monks." I thought, "These guys must take me for a sucker." I tried to keep my cool, and asked, "Well, what do have to offer?" They had a Studite house in Rome, and one in Canada. At neither place was English spoken. Strikes one and two. Then the vocation director grasped at the last straw: "Then there's this place out in California. They live in huts."

"Not only do they take me for a sucker," thought I, "they are not even playing with a full deck!"

"Look," they argued, "if you at least go out to California and give it try, that will be a sign of good will for the bishop. Then, if it's really not your calling, he will probably let you go to the Trappists."

"OK," I mused to myself, "it can't hurt to make an act of obedience to the bishop. I've never been to California anyway. Besides, I've still got my letter for the Apostolic Delegate. I'll go to California, come back and tell them I hated it, and then get on with my life."

Meanwhile, I began receiving letters from someone who signed his name "Hieromonk Boniface," and I wondered what a hieromonk was. The Ukrainian pastor was engaging in all kinds of Byzantine intrigue behind my back. He's the one that urged Hieromonk Boniface, the Hegumen (Superior) of the community, to write to me. I was told about the beauty of monastic life at Mt Tabor, and of their plans for the future, etc. I wrote and told him I was not interested in the Ukrainian Church. I had just attended a parish mission at which the priest talked a lot about Wayne Gretzky, the Ukrainian hockey hero, and very little about the Gospel. I said, that is not what I'm going to give my life to. The Hieromonk patiently assured me that things were not like that at Mt Tabor.

He never did answer any of my pointed practical questions in our correspondence; he only talked about spiritual things. This omission made me a bit nervous, but I at last agreed to meet them in Chicago, where one of the monks was being ordained a deacon, and then ride back with them to California, where I would stay for a month (at the Hieromonk's insistence).

They didn't tell me that the ride from Chicago to California would take place in a fully-loaded and thoroughly-used VW Rabbit, but this was evidently the first step along the "narrow way" that Jesus said we must travel. Upon arriving at Mt Tabor, I was impressed by all the natural beauty, though I was a bit distressed that very little of this beauty had been cleared away for things like places to live. I may have thought then that perhaps they do live in huts after all!

Life at Mt Tabor back then was very close to nature—so close that the cabin I stayed in was not only shared by occasional guests or observers, but also by frogs, bats, and chipmunks! (We're still close to nature, but not quite that close.) They hastened to tell me of their plans to build a novitiate, a retreat house, etc., but as I surveyed the steep and overgrown landscape, I couldn't help but think, "Yeah, right." Yet it wasn't long before I was on my way, ax in hand, to share in the work of carving a monastery out of these California hills.

Thus I began to get a taste of monastic life. If it was anything like the taste of the food, I might have been on the next plane. But something kept me there. I wasn't quite sure what it was, but gradually it began to dawn on me, after all my protests and my certitude about my vocation to the Trappists, that perhaps this was the place that God was calling me to all along. Maybe it was the Liturgy, whose ancient and hallowed texts and chants evoked not only my first experiences of Church, but perhaps something eternal in the depths of my soul. Maybe it was the experience of community life, which was, contrary to my expectations, more like a family than an institution. Or maybe it was the healthy balance between silence and sharing, solitude and openness to people, contemplative and liturgical prayer, along with work, study, and rest. It was probably all this and more, with the grace of the Holy Spirit urging me to take up my cross and follow Jesus into this blessed wilderness where alone I would find my salvation. In any case, it took only 3 or 4 weeks before I was on the phone saying, "Mom, I'm moving to California!"

After returning to New York in order to sell all and give to my creditors, I hopped on a plane with one suitcase and my guitar (OK, so I wasn't entirely detached yet!). I also had the sum total of my liquid assets—$126—which I placed in the hand of Fr Boniface when I arrived, rejoicing in my newly-emptied pockets. That was October 10, 1982. I was 24 years old. Now I'm 49, and I'm still here.

Without even thinking about it, I kept my promise to God made that fateful night in 1978 at JFK airport. That was only possible because the Lord loved me first, and because He works all things for the good for those who love Him and who will give Him just a little room to move in their lives.

It was a great relief to me, after several years of soul-searching, to find the place that God had chosen for me before I ever had the good sense to make such a choice. Once you are where God wants you, then, come what may, you can persevere because you know the grace is there.

There is much more that happened after my entrance to Mt Tabor, for example, my journey to the priesthood, but these will have to be left for another occasion. After nearly 25 years as a monk of Mt Tabor, I can safely say that I finally did find something—rather, Someone—eminently worth giving myself completely to. "Give thanks to the Lord, for He is good; His steadfast love endures forever!

The (somewhat surprising) Path to Priesthood

As the Lord was calling me out of darkness into His marvelous light (before actually entering the monastery), a desire to become a priest surfaced, though I didn't think I was cut out to be a parish priest. Once I felt the call to monastic life, however, I let go of the desire for priesthood. This was partly because I didn't really know what the vocation of a priest-monk might be, but mostly because when one comes to enter a monastery one comes to be a monk. Period. Any other desires or ambitions have to be released if the monk is to live his life in peace and without frustrated expectations. Besides, there already is a strong priestly dimension to monastic life as such, expressed in intercession, sacrifice, and spiritual fatherhood. So I dropped the idea of the priesthood.

One fine spring day about a year into my novitiate, I was in the kitchen slicing radishes for the evening's salad. Fr Abbot Boniface walked in and said, "I think you should continue your studies." Without waiting for a response, he walked out. My heart sank. I thought, "One of the blessings of this vocation was supposed to be that I would never have to go to school again!" I really had no idea what was in the works, since Fr Abbot told me that it was simply "for my formation."

So for the next two summers (1984-85) Br Cyril and I took assorted courses in philosophy and theology at the University of San Francisco. (While there we met a devout and delightful group of Carmelite Sisters with whom we shared a couple courses, and with whom we have remained good friends). Once that was over, I thought I was in the clear. But on another spring day (probably raining) in 1986, things took a new turn: "We're sending you to Connecticut to study philosophy" (that is where the Ukrainian Seminary College, St Basil's, is located). Now I may have been slow to catch on, but I wasn't totally clueless. No one gets sent 3000 miles away to study philosophy merely for monastic formation. Finally they admitted that I was being prepared for the priesthood.

It still didn't register very much, for two basic reasons: it seemed like such a long way off (and I could hardly imagine myself being ordained), and because the fear of philosophy (sometimes referred to as "philosophobia") crowded out most of my other thought processes. How can I describe what happened next? I had to immerse my small brain in everything from Aristotle to Abelard, from Socrates to Sartre. There were Heidegger and Hegel, Kant and Kierkegaard, Whitehead and Wittgenstein. I'm not sure that I have yet fully recovered. I had to cram two years of philosophy into one, so I was personally tutored in addition to taking the regular classes. It was a relief to be done with it (though I must admit, it made me think—a lot—and helped me recognize that fuzzy theology can often be traced to faulty philosophy). I returned to Mt Tabor with the resolution never to let them do that to me again!

I took a year off from school to be re-immersed in my monastic milieu, and then I headed north for theology in 1988. This time it was to Mt Angel Abbey/Seminary, near Salem, OR. My experience at Mt Angel was much more fruitful and rewarding, partly because I was allowed to live with the monks and follow their schedule. (Thus I was also able to avoid the interminable and largely vacuous "theological reflections" and other conferences, usually conducted by a middle-aged nun sporting a recent degree in spirituality which was supposed to make her an expert in forming men for the priesthood!)

But again, the press was on to get a lot done in a little time (monks are supposed to be away from their monastery as little as possible). So I had to achieve a Master's Degree in Theology/Scripture in two years, including the writing of a thesis. Based on my transcripts and the courses I had taken at Mt Tabor and USF, and because there were certain courses in their program unnecessary for an Eastern monk to take, I was allowed to work for the M.A. instead of the usual M. Div. Thus I could accomplish it in whatever time it would take to fulfill all the requirements.

I worked tirelessly (and sometimes tiredly) to do all the course work and the thesis. I experienced the power of God's grace and inspiration, and I rediscovered the practical value of caffeine. Theology was much more interesting than philosophy, because it had much more to do with my vocation. I especially loved the study of Scripture. It's not so bad going to school when your main textbook is the word of God!

During this time I began to think seriously about where all of this was leading me. My desire to be a priest of God Most High was increasing, but I was a little afraid to actually expect it, fearing that something would surely happen to deny me this inestimable grace, even though I knew I was wholly unworthy of it. But little by little my confidence in God's mercy and providence grew, in no small measure due to the influence of Our Lady in my life, which during my seminary years increased quite a bit. I have often felt that she has had a lot to do with my vocation to the priesthood, in ways that I will perhaps not know until the light of heaven is shining around me. The Blessed Mother has been a precious consolation to me and a motivation to persevere in prayer and sacrifice, and to develop a deeper appreciation of the nature and exercise of the priesthood of Jesus.

After two years and many gallons of coffee, in May of 1990 I graduated from Mt Angel (my thesis being accepted and signed on March 19—St Joseph was with me too!). But I had little time to savor the triumph. In a few days I was on a jet to Chicago to be ordained a deacon at St Nicholas Cathedral. It was a relatively low-key affair, but my soul was pitched much higher. Having received the sacrament of Holy Orders (its first degree), I was now a minister of the holy altar and a proclaimer and preacher of the holy Gospel! I could hardly believe that it had actually happened.

After about 8 or 9 months of serving as a deacon, I summoned the boldness to ask Fr Abbot if he had any idea when I would be ordained a priest. The community had, in the meantime, gotten quite used to the diaconal ministry in the Liturgy (our Liturgy is really designed for that), and so Fr Abbot's answer was, "when someone else will be ordained a deacon." Again the sinking heart. Before my ordination, it was seven years since we last had a deacon. My desire to become a priest was increasing, and would I have to wait another seven years for this to be fulfilled?

Feeling somewhat dejected, I went to the church to prepare for Vespers (I was the reader that week). I opened the Bible and the first passage my eyes fell on was this: "You shall be named priests of the Lord, ministers of our God you shall be called" (Is. 61:6). God was giving me encouragement and confidence that He was in charge and would arrange my ordination! Fr Abbot must have noticed my crestfallen countenance when I had asked about my ordination, so he met with Fr Michael and they arrived at a decision: Br Theodore would be ordained a deacon and I a priest, within six months!

I began to pray and read more and more in order to prepare myself for this awe-inspiring gift and sacred ministry, which I conceived of mainly in terms of the offering of the Divine Sacrifice and the forgiveness of sins through the ministry of the confessional. This latter dimension was emphasized in a word I received from Scripture to guide me through the year in which I was to be ordained: "You will go before the Lord to prepare His ways, to give knowledge of salvation to His people, through the forgiveness of their sins" (Lk. 1:76-77).

Since Our Lady had been so instrumental in my vocation, and so dear to my heart, I wanted to be ordained on one of her feast days. So I chose September 8, her nativity. For her birthday I would give her the gift of another priest in the world, one who would be devoted to her and faithful to her Son. Our Bishop, Innocent Lotocky, OSBM, thought it would be a good idea to come out here then, and so plans were made. After some time the Bishop thought it wouldn't be such a good idea after all, since he remembered that he had already committed himself to a groundbreaking ceremony for a new church in Chicago. My heart sank a lot in those years!

The Bishop suggested that he do the ordination on the next feast day, which would be September 14, the Exaltation of the Holy Cross. I didn't like this very much, for two basic reasons: it wasn't a feast of Our Lady, and I could hardly stand to wait the extra 6 days! As I spoke to Fr Abbot about this disappointment, he said, "Instead of wishing your ordination were on the feast of Our Lady, why don't you just do what she would do, and say, 'Let it be done to me according to Your word'?" Recognizing the good sense of this advice, I accepted it.

Finally, the time was fulfilled and my ordination was at hand. I prayed a special novena to the Mother of God during my pre-ordination retreat—one which I'm sure I'll never do again, since it takes 3 hours a day to complete it! The Bishop was expected to arrive mid-afternoon on the 13th, but by time Vespers came (6:00) he was still not here. At the end of the prayer meeting (8:30) he was still not here. I thought to myself, "It must be because of my sins that the Lord is refusing me, at the last minute, my ordination. He has allowed something to happen to the Bishop so he can't lay his consecrated hands on me!" Finally, around 9:30 the Bishop arrived, with no explanations, but it didn't matter—his hands were not missing and he was in good health and spirits!

During my retreat, and especially as the Day drew near, I was undergoing much struggle and turmoil. I more or less expected it, but it's always different than you expect when you're right in the midst of it. I wanted the ordination to be a day of peace and joy and grace; I wanted to make my oblation to the Lord with a pure heart and an uncluttered mind. I went to bed the night of the 13th with much anticipation but not fully at peace in my soul. I don't think I slept very much that night.

Then, at Matins on the 14th, it happened. During the Great Doxology, all the works of the devil were driven out; all turmoil and temptation, all doubt and distress, vanished. It seemed as if there was a bulldozer clearing the path for grace, leveling all opposition, leaving peace in its wake. Then I knew I could prostrate before the Most High, to give myself to Him and to receive His priesthood in return.

One of the most moving moments during the Divine Liturgy actually came before the ordination itself. I was still serving as a deacon for the first part of the Liturgy. The Gospel for the Feast of the Holy Cross consists of selections from the passion account of St John. What really struck me was the closing verse: "He who saw it has borne witness, and his testimony is true" (Jn. 19:35). It is all true! The testimony of Jesus' life, death, and resurrection; of all that the Lord has done through the ages for the Church; of all that He has done for me personally up to that very hour—the testimony is true! And within minutes I would be inserted irreversibly into the great mystery of the eternal high priesthood of Jesus Christ.

The appointed time arrived at last. Little did I know in times past that my whole life was somehow leading me to that moment. A little better did I know that henceforth my whole life would draw its meaning and fruitfulness from that moment. I made the procession around the altar with the venerations thereof. I made the cruciform prostration before the Holy Doors, open to the Holy of Holies, with Christ's representative, the Bishop, ready to receive me in the name of the Lord. I professed my faith. Then I was led to "the altar of God, the God of my joy" (Ps. 42/43). I knelt down, placed my arms crosswise before me, and rested my head upon the altar. The Bishop placed his hand on my head and prayed: "Divine Grace, which ever gives strength to weakness and supplies what is lacking, elevates the devout deacon Joseph to the priesthood..." I had knelt down a deacon but arose a priest.

Other words that the Bishop pronounced also filled me with awe, for example, "Receive the power to offer sacrifice in the Church of God." Having been clothed with priestly vestments, I took my place at the altar, scarcely comprehending what had just happened to me. Soon came the moment to form my hand into the name of Jesus Christ (abbreviated in Greek and Slavonic as IC XC, which is the way we hold our hand when blessing), and I said, "This is My Body," and "This is My Blood." Now it was no longer I but Christ speaking the words through me. And after we invoked the grace of the Holy Spirit, Jesus Christ was present before us on the Holy Table.

"No one can receive anything unless it is given from heaven... my joy is now complete" (Jn. 3:27, 29). I had this text printed on my ordination cards, for it expressed concisely my reception of what could only be sheer gift from God. I could have just as well printed something from the parable of the prodigal son. As I hinted in my earlier account, I was "still a long way off" when the Father caught sight of me beginning my return to Him. But the amazing thing is that not only did He restore me as His son, He clothed me with "the finest robes"—the priestly vestments—and invited me to an intimate participation in the Banquet of the Lamb.

As I was lying prostrate in the form of a cross before the sanctuary, it occurred to me that perhaps it was providential after all that I was being ordained on the feast of the Holy Cross. Was I not being configured in an ineffable way to the eternal High Priest, who sacrificed Himself on the Cross? And was I not receiving the power to offer this same sacrifice? I happened also to be 33 years old when I, by accepting ordination, made my oblation at the altar, as was Jesus when He made His on the Cross. As time has proven, the feast of the Cross was the most appropriate one for my ordination and priestly life, in many more ways than I just mentioned!

I have had much opportunity to fulfill the prophetic word of the Lord concerning the ministry of the forgiveness of sins, both here and at various Catholic conferences and conventions that we sometimes attend. It is one of my great joys to absolve penitents, especially those who have been away from the Church for many years, or who have committed grievous sins. There is such joy in heaven over a sinner who repents!

The priestly charism of one who blesses is an important one for me. I have been reminded that freely I have received this grace, now I must freely give. Whether it is a person or an object for which a blessing is sought, St Peter exhorts me: "Bless, for to this you have been called" (1Pet. 3:9). It has also been rewarding to be an instrument for the Lord as He guides souls to a knowledge of His will and to a deeper life in Him. Despite the inevitable sacrifices and trials which accompany this vocation (see Sir. 2:1), I wouldn't trade it for anything else!

There's one more thing I'd like to say to any young (or not so young) man who may be reading this. If you perceive the call of God to priesthood or monastic life, go for it! Give your "yes" to Him as Our Lady did, and you will not regret it, in this life or in the life to come. Don't expect it to be easy—it won't. But expect it to be the greatest blessing of your life—it will. The Lord didn't tell us everything that our future would hold for us, but He told us something even more important: "I am with you always, even to the end of the world" (Mt. 28:20).

The (wholly unexpected) Path to the Abbot's Chair

The first presentiments of things to come began around 1993, though it was impossible to interpret them at the time. In that year I was diagnosed with cancer and subsequently underwent surgery and radiation therapy. Incredibly (at least from my supine perspective), Fr Michael chose that very time to leave the monastery. He had been a co-founder, a priest-monk who had carried much of the vision and the burden of the monastery with Fr Boniface in the early years, and he was the "heir apparent" to the abbot's chair. It came as a shock to most people, though some later confided that they saw it coming, but the consequences for me were quite immediate and practical. I was just barely beginning to recover from the physical (and, to a lesser extent, emotional) trauma of a deadly disease, and I had to take over most of Fr Michael's tasks, without relinquishing any of my own.

Fr Michael had many good qualities, but a talent for order and organization was not one of them. He left me with a huge mountain of monastery records and documents to sift and organize, but eventually I got it done, and over the next several years I began to accustom myself to a much heavier workload. I would get up extra early and do "work vigils" to keep up, and I had to do more and more priestly ministry, since I was the only priest besides Abbot Boniface. Age and infirmity were beginning to slow him down a bit.

My body was trying to tell me that it hadn't ever fully recovered from the cancer and its reverberations in my body, and from the lack of time for convalescence. My immune system was permanently weakened, and I began to get sick more often (even hospitalized for several days once), and I took a long time to recover from even a simple cold.

I finally realized that I was destroying myself, so in 1998 (there being a few more professed monks by this time) I was able to delegate much of my non-priestly work to other monks and enter upon a semi-eremitical life, in the hope of easing the stress and forestalling any more serious illnesses, devoting myself primarily to prayer, writing, and spiritual direction. I did enjoy that time of increased solitude and more focused prayer, but I still had a number of inner and outer symptoms and, coupled with some simmering resentments in the community, the situation became such that I realized I would need to spend an extended period of time away from the monastery. So Abbot Boniface reluctantly granted me a leave of absence, which was to last one year. He gave me permission to stay with my sister.

So in June of 1999, I headed to southern California (not exactly a hermit's paradise, though the change of scenery and schedule did me good). But my leave of blessed absence did not last nearly as long as planned. Inscrutable are the ways of Providence…

During the time I was away, certain issues in the community came to a head, and this caused some serious turmoil. Abbot Boniface realized things were getting out of control. He was too old and unwell to "put out the fires." The bishop (not our present bishop) came to the monastery, presumably both to make a judgment on the various issues and to help us get back on course—and also to preside over the election of a new abbot. Fr Boniface was finally ready to retire, though it was unfortunate that he could not do so more gracefully, because his resignation had to be submitted in a time of unrest.

I was called back to the monastery for the election, because all professed members are required to vote. Plus this was such a momentous occasion: the only abbot this monastery ever had was its learned and charismatic founder. I had said on several occasions over the years that I would not envy whoever had to fill his shoes. Little does one know of what one speaks when one says such things!

My original suggestion was that an administrator be appointed until the dust settled (thus I could also finish my leave!), but it was determined that it was time for a new abbot to be elected. Having spent just over three months of my leave, I suddenly found myself elected abbot of Mt Tabor Monastery. Talk about going from the frying pan into the fire! I had barely settled into my leave, which I had to take because of burn-out and poor health, and now I was thrown into the deepest crisis the community had ever faced! I was glad the bishop was there, however, since he was the one who was supposed to decide the issues. Well, suffice it to say that he didn't exactly meet our expectations, so now the responsibility belonged to the new abbot. (Some months later, however, the bishop did lend some needed assistance when I asked him.)

One's election as abbot is confirmed by means of a special benediction given by the bishop. The bishop ordinarily isn't present for the election, so the abbot-elect usually has to go to the bishop (for us that means going to Chicago) to receive it. But since the bishop was already here for the election, he imparted the benediction to me the following day at the Divine Liturgy. If anyone would have told me—at any time in my monastic life—that one day I would be the abbot, I would have seriously doubted it. As Providence would have it (and not without a bit of humor), I received the benediction confirming me as abbot on the feast of St Thomas the Apostle.

I won't go into the details of how difficult it was to assume leadership of the monastery in the condition it was in at that time. An Apostolic Visitation mandated by Rome did clear the air quite a bit, thank God. About half of the community left during those months, and Abbot Boniface retired to Belgium and the monastery of his profession. But the hand of God was still upon us, in ways that we could only later understand.

Because I was unable to recover fully when I was on my abbreviated leave, the stress of taking over as abbot took serious toll on my health. Over the next year or two I had to take several breaks in order to get some rest, more medical tests, and to learn some stress-management strategies. Things leveled off after a while, and eventually the life of the monastery resumed its pre-crisis peace. We were a smaller group, and somewhat weary from the events of those couple of years, but in the end we were grateful to God for helping us turn that rather unhappy page of our history. We could look then to the future with the hope of bearing much fruit for the salvation of souls and the good of the Church. The Lord had not given up on us, and had granted us some clear signs during those dark days that He was with us and wanted us very much to persevere.

One of the blessings God granted us in the year 2000, to help us move more easily into the future, was the ordination of Fr Theodore, who had been a deacon for almost nine years. We also were given a new deacon (no waiting this time!) with the ordination of Fr Joachim. I had told them shortly after I became abbot that I had plans to have them ordained, but there was no concrete timetable yet. Being the only priest here, after Abbot Boniface left, only added to my workload and stress. So I wrote to the bishop and reminded him that the Apostolic Visitator recommended that another priest be ordained to help out with the priestly ministry here. I received a call some time later: "I'll be in southern California in ten days. Come down and I'll do the ordinations then." Ten days! I reminded the two brothers of our plans for their ordinations and then advised them to begin their pre-ordination retreats immediately!

Such short notice is not the usual monastic way of doing things, but I wasn't about to complain in the face of this rare gift. So we headed for southern California and the brothers were ordained in the Ukrainian Catholic parish in Hollywood (of all places!). It was quite an event. Since the bishop wanted it to be an experience for both the English-speaking and Ukrainian-speaking parishioners, he did not do both ordinations in the same Divine Liturgy. Fr Joachim was ordained at the Ukrainian Liturgy (he speaks Ukrainian, so he knew what was going on), and Fr Theodore was ordained at the following English Liturgy. After many hours of prayer and worship, there were a new priest and deacon in the world, and one exhausted abbot followed the glowing monks out to the parking lot and then to a dinner, full of gratitude.

In the following years up to the present (mid-2005), we have lived our monastic life in relative peace, entering more fully into the rhythms of nature, the liturgical year, and our own inner lives. At this point, after all we have been through, if there's no news it's good news. We did gain a new vocation, however—the promising young novice, Br Symeon, who will become a fully consecrated monk later this year, God willing. We have also been able, in recent years, to reach out to many more people through our presence on the internet. On our website we not only manifest, to some extent, the monastery to the world, but we also publish our quarterly newsletter and the majority of my homilies. There has been much good feedback, and we're glad we can send the message of the Gospel out over the monastery walls without ever having to leave home!

Shortly after I became the abbot we began in earnest with the urgent work of repairing and rebuilding the monastery, since the cheapjack materials with which the monastery was originally built simultaneously began to self-destruct (with a little help from termites in some places). The work still goes on, and we have many plans for future improvements and additions, as long as spiritual blessings and material funding hold out.

I don't know how long I am going to hold out, but that is in the hands of the Lord. My health is better, however, and so are my spirits. Despite my shortcomings, I'm willing, by God's grace, to lead this monastery as far into the future as He sees fit. Please keep us in your prayers! Nothing of any enduring value is accomplished without prayer, sacrifice, and the grace of God. In His will is our peace and strength and salvation, "for we are called by your name, O Lord, God of hosts" (Jeremiah 15: 16).

Our History—Introduction
History of Our Monastery
Interview with Archimandrite Boniface
Eulogy for Archimandrite Boniface