He was a short man, dressed in a monastic cassock that provided him with anonymity towards his brethren. White beard. A slight forward bend to his stance, I imagined from years spent quietly and obediently serving his Lord. Whether he was monk or hieromonk or otherwise, there was no way to tell. In monasticism there are no military battle insignia, no ribbons on display at the chest to indicate battles won, theaters conquered. There is only the silent image of a humble man serving as directed those who, like this unworthy pilgrim, come in faith to witness the treasure that he guards.
The treasure itself is small. From a distance the treasure calls no attention to itself. One gains an appreciation of the treasure's importance based not on observing the relic directly, but by observing the line of people standing and waiting to venerate it, to prostrate themselves before him, to silently receive his blessing.
"He" is Saint Andrew, the first-called of the Apostles. When reality catches up with this pilgrim, it brings tears of reverence and joy because St. Andrew is the patron of the church in which this pilgrim was baptized, in which he offered his first confession, in which he first served inside an altar as an acolyte, in which his parents were wed, as well as his brother, in which many of his family reposed, from which they were buried. The presence, the physical presence of this patron floods the pilgrim with memories of all of these things - blessings granted by the saint's (and the pilgrim's) Master without need to ask for them, blessings founded in the saint's patronage and the Lord's knowledge of our needs even before we know them. Blessings that came from that small community church which made it "the cradle" that nurtured and set on the path this one cradle Orthodox Christian. Now all of these memories flood to the surface with the urgent need for thanksgiving.
The guardian monk motions the pilgrim to draw near. It's your time. Come. See. Touch.
I make my prostrations. Fearful of the holiness of what is present before me, I kiss the silver cover over the relic, a cover with an opening exposing the head of the blessed saint. I place my pectoral cross into the open hand of the guardian monk, who lovingly takes it, makes the sign of the cross over the saint with it, touches the cross to Saint Andrew's head, then turns and places it back into my trembling hand.
As he does so, he takes notice of that right hand. He grasps the wedding ring thereon. I don't think he spoke English. This pilgrim speaks no Greek. But by the grace of God we together understood one another. He showed recognition that the pilgrim is a married priest. At this, he took that ring covered finger and touched the pilgrim's ring and hand to the head of the saint. The pilgrim became an instrument conforming to the guardian monk's guidance. The monk then indicated that I should venerate the relic itself. Simultaneously with both great fear and great peace, the pilgrim conformed to the instructions of the monk. I kissed the head of Saint Andrew! My lips have touched one who walked with, spoke with, and touched my Lord and my God; one who was an apostle of the Forerunner and who took St. John's encouragement to follow Christ; one who was witness to the Master's ministry, His miracles, His love for mankind. He was there at the raising of Lazarus. He had his feet washed by the Lord. He was called 'friend' by the Lord. He was in the room when the resurrected Lord entered through closed doors. He witnessed the Ascension. He carried the Gospel throughout the world on his missionary journeys. He was martyred in his love for Christ.
With head still spinning from all these recognitions and pondering them, I turned to walk away, but was called back. The monk held out his hand and placed a vial of holy oil into my own hand - a blessing to share with the flock I've been called to serve.
The pilgrim tried to resume the pilgrimage. But as he prayerfully walked away, he recognized that those last 5 or 10 minutes of his life changed him - forever.
Now he gives thanks to his Lord. He gives thanks to Saint Andrew. And he gives thanks to the nameless humble monk who served as the instrument permitting this grace-filled moment to occur. He prays that he too may find repentance and humility in the time the Lord blesses him to remain in this life.
