A multitude of people greeted Arseny when he rode up to the monastery toward evening. When Arseny saw the monastery’s walls, he remembered his childhood trip with Christofer. He remembered the nighttime cart and the peasant men from the quarter speaking in hushed tones over his head. He thought about how bones were all that remained of Christofer, who had loved him. And he was delighted that he was now nearing those bones. Arseny began feeling their kindred warmth. He attempted to imagine Christofer’s face but could not.
After dismounting from his horse, Arseny sank to his knees and kissed the ground by the monastery gates.
I have returned home after long travels, my love, Arseny told Ustina.
Your travels are just beginning, objected Elder Innokenty. But now they will proceed in a different direction.
Arseny raised his head and looked up at the elder.
I think I recognize you, O elder. Might it have been you I spoke with in Jerusalem?
Quite possible, answered Elder Innokenty.
He took Arseny by the arm and led him through the monastery gates. Once inside the monastery, the elder said:
Monks usually take their vows and are shorn about seven years after they arrive. But the story of your life, O Arseny, is known to us and it has been monastic hitherto, so there is no real need for you to undergo additional trials. And the overall circumstances, as you know, do not exactly lend themselves to a lot of procrastination. If the end of the world truly does await us, well, it is better that you greet it shorn. Though maybe that will hold off.
The elder winked.
The crowd that accompanied them began buzzing. The issue of the end of world was extraordinarily agitating for them. They saw before them two people who lived holy lives, and awaited their explanations. Those who had come knew Arseny had been granted the gift of healing, but they did not rule out that he possessed the gift of prophesy, too. Essentially, knowledge about the end of the earth was more important to them than healing because, as they saw things, acknowledging the nearness of doomsday canceled out the need for healing.
So the question is, the crowd shouted, when is the end of the world? Forgive our directness but this is important to us, both in terms of planning one’s work and in terms of saving one’s soul. We have appealed to the monastery for specifics many times but have never received a straight answer.
Elder Innokenty took in the crowd with a severe gaze.
It is not for man to know times and deadlines, he said. What dates are you waiting for? Every Christian should be ready to meet his end at any hour. Even the youngest of those standing here will live no more than seventy years, well, perhaps eighty. (The young began weeping.) And nobody you see here will still be around in one hundred years. Is that delay great in comparison to eternity? This is why (the elder looked at the young) I tell you: weep for your own sins. But the main thing is: remain vigilant and pray. And be glad you have acquired yet one more man to pray fervently for your souls. And now we shall bid farewell to Arseny, for ye dost now acquire Amvrosy.
After saying that, Elder Innokenty brought Arseny to the abbot. According to custom, a monastic name is chosen that begins with the same letter as the secular name. And Arseny already knew what name would be offered to him and he delighted in that name to the depths of his soul.
We are choosing a name for you in memory of the saint and bishop Ambrosius of Mediolanum, said Elder Innokenty. We have also heard a lot—things always seem to work out this way—about your devoted friend who pronounced this saint’s name in another manner. May this name in its correct pronunciation serve as a remembrance of your friend. How many more lives will you spend henceforth simultaneously?
With the bishop’s blessing, the abbot confirmed Arseny’s new name. Arseny was shorn after seven days of strict fasting.
Do not seek me among the living under the name Arseny, but seek me under the name Amvrosy. That is what Amvrosy told Ustina. Do you remember, my love, that you and I talked about time? It is completely different here. Time no longer moves forward but goes around in circles because it teems with events that go around in circles. And events here, my love, are tied primarily to worship. In the first and third hours of each day we remember Pilate’s trial of Our Lord Jesus Christ, in the sixth hour it is the Way of the Cross, and in the ninth hour, the suffering on the cross. And that composes the worship cycle for the day. But each day of the week, like a person, has its own face and its own dedicated purpose. Monday is dedicated to incorporeal forces, Tuesday to the prophets, Wednesday and Friday to the remembrance of Christ’s death on the cross, and Saturday to prayer for the deceased, and then the main day is dedicated to the resurrection of the Lord. All that, my love, composes the seven-day worship cycle. But the largest of the cycles is annual. It is determined by the sun and moon, to which you are, I hope, closer than all of us here. The great feasts and the saints’ days are tied to the movement of the sun, and the moon tells us about the time for Easter and the holidays that depend on it. I wanted to tell you how long I have already been at the monastery but, you know, somehow I cannot get my thoughts together. Apparently I can no longer understand this myself. Time, my love, is very shaky here because the cycle is closed and it corresponds to eternity. It is autumn now: that may be the only thing I can say with anything approaching certainty. Leaves are falling and clouds are rushing above the monastery. They nearly get caught on the crosses.
Amvrosy was standing on the lake shore, where the wind was covering his face with a fine spray. He watched as Elder Innokenty slowly approached him, along a wall. A robe hid the elder’s feet so his steps were not visible, making it impossible to say he was walking. He was approaching.
Monastic time truly does lie close to eternity, said Elder Innokenty, but they are not equal. The path of the living, O Amvrosy, cannot be a circle. The path of the living, even if they are monks, has been opened up because, as one might ask, how could there be freedom of will if there is no way out of a vicious circle? And even when we replicate events in prayer, we do not simply recall them. We relive those events once again and they occur once again.
The elder, along with a swirl of yellow leaves, passed right by Amvrosy and disappeared behind a curve in the wall. The shore by the wall was once again unpeopled. Exaggeratedly deserted (as if nobody had even walked through here) and not intended for walking. Only Amvrosy’s immobility made his presence on that shore possible.
So you think time here is some sort of open figure rather than a circle? Amvrosy asked the elder.
That’s exactly it, answered the elder. After I have become enamored of geometry, I will liken the motion of time to a spiral. This involves repetition but on some new, higher level. Or, if you like, the experience of something new but not from a clean slate. With the memory of what was experienced previously.
A weak autumnal sun appeared from behind some clouds. Elder Innokenty appeared from the opposite side of the wall. He had managed to walk around the monastery during the time he spent talking with Amvrosy.
And you, O elder, are making circles, Amvrosy told him.
No, this is already the spiral. I am walking, as before, along with the swirl of leaves but—do take note, O Amvrosy—the sun came out and I am already a little different. I feel as if I am even taking flight, ever so slightly. (Elder Innokenty broke free of the ground and slowly floated past Amvrosy.) Though not very high, of course.