🕁 O.S. May 6th / N.S. May 19th (Slavic)

But where sin abounded, grace did much more abound1 applies to the lives of many saints who lived lives of debauchery or wanton destruction before they are utterly transformed and washed clean in their repentance, glittering as new, shining stars from the black abyss of their former lives.

For those inquiring into the faith, these stories are often those that grab the attention as examples of genuine transformation, which many long for in their own lives. Saint Moses the Black, a murderous brigand who transformed into a humble and obedient ascetic, or Saint Mary of Egypt, a wanton harlot whose story of repentance led to the Fifth Sunday of Great Lent being dedicated to her, are two of the more popular saints who are often brought up when speaking of repentance.

Yet the calendar is large and the number of saints innumerable, so today I’d like to highlight a lesser known saint, whose life is no less inspiring than those more well-known holy men and women.

So if you can relate to a saint with a troubled past, or if perhaps you’re in the Navy or often on the waters, consider adding this saint to your devotions, a saint named Barbarian: a pirate and sole survivor of a raid gone wrong who found himself clasped in chains and hunted like an animal.

Vita Barbarus

During the reign of Michael the Stammerer (AD 820-829), military catastrophe struck the Empire; the Arabs began their conquest of Sicily and captured Crete, giving their pirates free reign to plunder the Ionian sea. The Arabian pirates ravaged the coastal cities of the Empire, from Palestine to the Aegean Islands, Sicily to Crete and Epiros, and occupied the city of Nikopolis. However, the pirates’ incursion would come to an end upon descending onto Dragamesti.2

When the pirates made landfall, the Acarnanian people courageously fought back, routing the pirates and utterly eradicating the entire crew. Only one corsair was able to escape and survive, hiding himself in a vineyard.

While for many, being the sole survivor of a defeated pirate crew may be the impetus for repentance, for this corsair, it was not so. Rather than change his life, the former terror of the seas became a terror on land, going from pirate to bandit and highwayman. He stalked the roads for unsuspecting travelers to murder and rob, and between both his time as a pirate and time as a bandit, at least 100 men, women, and children had died by his hands alone.

The bandit then sought to plunder a church dedicated to Saint George the Victorious, where a priest from Nikopolis named John served, and he arrived at the church while the Divine Liturgy was being celebrated. Entering the church and waiting by the door, he planned to kill and rob the priest once he left, but his eyes were then opened to the spiritual reality of the service. The bandit saw angels serving with the Priest John, surrounded by a holy light, and witnessed Christ, in the form of a divine infant, being sacrificed then ascending whole into Heaven.

Being transformed by such a sight, the bandit fell at the feet of Father John, and confessed his wrongdoings, but despaired at the possibility of forgiveness, given his many wicked deeds. The holy priest revealed to him the story of the Good Thief on the Cross and how he found salvation at the very last moment. Father John comforted the repentant bandit and accepted him for catechism. When baptized, the man insisted that he be given the name of “Barbarus,”3 so that he might never forget his former way of life and remain in humility.

Desiring to live a new life of repentance and ascesis, the weapons which had slain so many and had spilt so much blood, were used to create iron restraints. Manacles were locked onto his wrists, and ankles, and a chain was placed around his neck and attached to the shackles, forcing him to keep his head bowed permanently.

Father John gave Barbarus a place in his own home and the saint condemned himself to crawling on all fours, feeling unworthy to live as a man; he lived among the cattle and ate with the animals. After three years of living under the guidance and care of his spiritual father, Barbarus retreated to the mountains, continuing to live as an animal, naked and without clothes, subsisting only on wild herbs. His skin blackened from the sun and the elements and, while his body came to resemble that of a beast, his soul had become a pure and radiant white.

After twelve years of his life among the beasts of the mountains, merchants passing through the area at dusk saw the self-named Barbarian and mistook his form for that of an animal. Loosing arrows from their bows, they pierced the man and terror overtook them when they realized they had shot not a beast but a man.

As Barbarus lay dying, he told the men not to grieve, but begged them to send for the priest John. With the last of his strength, he cried out, “Drink, O Barbarus, of the cup which you offered to others!” and surrendered his spirit to the Lord, Whom he had made himself a captive in chains to for fifteen years.

When Father John arrived, he found the body of his spiritual son shining with a heavenly light, joining with the Good Thief in Paradise, then took his body and buried him. From his grave, a sweet balm flowed from the ground like a spring, which healed many of their maladies and a church was built over the site.

In 1571, a Venetian veteran of the naval battle of Naupactus named Sklavounos fell deathly ill and Saint Barbarus appeared to him in his dreams, encouraging him to worship at his tomb. Sklavounos, after having worshiped at his church, was immediately healed of his infirmity. Wishing to bring veneration of the saint who had cured him back to his homeland, the Venetian recovered the saint’s relics for transport.

Needing to stop for supplies, his ship docked near Corfu, at a small village named Potamos. Upon entering the village, the Venetian witnessed a young man who was paralyzed and brought the relics of Saint Barbarus into the village, so that all may receive the same healing which he had received. The young man’s paralysis was cured, as were many of the other illnesses which plagued the people in the village. To honor the saint, the people renamed their local church dedicated to the Life-Giving Spring to the Church of Saint Barbarus of the Mother of God of the Life-Giving Spring.

Meditation on a Name

Names play an important role in the Christian faith, especially when someone is given a new name. God proclaims Abram would be known as Abraham when He makes covenant with him.4 Moses renames Hoshea to Joshua when he sends him out to spy in the land of Canaan.5 Christ famously gives His chief apostle Simon the name of Peter at his declaration of faith.6 And while Christianity is famously an exoteric faith (meaning there is no secret knowledge leading to salvation; all may be saved), the single esoteric element to Christianity will be the secret name Christ gives to all those saved in the eschaton.

“He that hath an ear, let him hear what the Spirit saith unto the churches; To him that overcometh will I give to eat of the hidden manna, and will give him a white stone, and in the stone a new name written, which no man knoweth saving he that receiveth it.”

Revelation 2:17, KJV

This practice is continued when one enters the New Covenant at baptism; he or she takes a new name, symbolizing his or her new life in Christ and the dying of the old self in sin.

You may have noticed that, prior to his conversion, I did not mention the name of Saint Barbarus, only referring to him as “the pirate” or “the bandit.” We do not know the birth name of Barbarus, only the name he took upon baptism. While the word may have lost some of its punch in the modern world, take a moment to reflect on the absolute humility it took to insist upon being referred to, from then on, as “Barbarian.” Imagine if, when we communed or confessed, we were always reminded of our basest of passions and struggles.

“The servant of God, Drunkard, receives the precious Body and Blood…”

“…have mercy now on Thy handmaid Whore; grant her true penitence, and the pardon and forgiveness of sins…”

“Now, also we pray and entreat Thy goodness, O Lover of Mankind, for Thy servant, Thief, whose head is bowed in the presence of Thy Holy Glory…”

The past is painful and when one converts, one of the most freeing aspects is the idea of becoming someone new, to not let one’s past persistently define who one is today. And yet there is the paradox: if one is prone to despair, to free oneself from the past is necessary, to let the old man fully die in his sins, but if one is prone to pride, a remembrance of our past is needed to remain humble. It strikes at the heart, but sometimes it is necessarily in order to sear the growing thorns of pride from entangling the heart.

“The Lord sometimes allows people who are devoted to Him to fall into such dreadful vices; and this is in order to prevent them from falling into a still greater sin—pride.

Your temptation will pass and you will spend the remaining days of your life in humility. Only do not forget your sin.”

Saint Seraphim of Sarov

Barbarian, that was his name and also the only name that we today have to remember him by.

And yet, he is not the only saint whom we remember in this way; Saint Barbarian shares this distinction with the very saint whose story comforted him, that of the Good Thief on the Cross. While various church traditions give the Thief a name (most commonly the name ‘Dismas’), liturgically, he is only ever referred to as “the thief.” Indeed, one of the prayers before communion we recite is “Of Thy Mystical Supper, O Son of God, accept me today as a communicant; for I will not speak of Thy Mystery to Thine enemies, neither like Judas will I give Thee a kiss; but like the thief will I confess Thee: Remember me, O Lord, in Thy Kingdom!” While Judas is mentioned by name in condemnation, the thief’s name is absent but is mentioned as a figure we are to emulate.

In the same manner, the sinful woman who anoints Christ before His crucifixion, whose act is recounted in all four Gospel accounts, is similarly known and referred to as “the harlot.”7 Indeed, Christ promises that wherever the Gospel is preached,8 her act will be memorialized, yet only one account provides a positive identity for her.

The Samaritans, historically, were a Semitic people in conflict with the Jews, seen as heretics and unclean. Today, they number less than 1,000 total, but the very word “Samaritan” has been completely subsumed by Christ’s Parable of the Good Samaritan.9 A people in opposition to the Israelites of old, Whom Christ Himself confirms worshiped incorrectly, from whom salvation would not come,10 are now forever linked with the word “Good.”

The very words “thief” and “harlot” and “Samaritan” are transformed.

“And God shall wipe away all tears from their eyes; and there shall be no more death, neither sorrow, nor crying, neither shall there be any more pain: for the former things are passed away.

And He that sat upon the throne said, ‘Behold, I make all things new. And He said unto me, Write: for these words are true and faithful.’”

Revelation 21:4-5, KJV

While I don’t predict that we will likely see a “Saint Whore,” “Saint Murderer,” or “Saint Drunk” on the liturgical calendar, the church has already sanctified otherwise non-Christian names. The name of the Greek god of wine and frenzy loses its madness in the mystical writings of Saint Dionysius the Areopagite. As the Egyptian sun god set, Saint Ammon rose in his place over Egypt. The philosophies of the ancient Greeks found new meaning in Saint Platon. And the name of Saint Ahmed the Calligrapher is but a derivative version of the Islamic Muhammed.

Perhaps one day, as the Great Commission continues, we may commemorate a Saint Confucius or a Saint Vishnu.

“Behold, I make all things new” is a line from the Book of Revelation which does not receive as much meditation as it deserves. All things are made new and find new meaning in Christ, that utter transformation and renewal.

The Old Testament serves as a reflection through a glass, darkly11 of the New Covenant and the spiritual reality of things. The Land of Canaan, the Promised Land, was neither built nor cultivated by the Israelites, yet God transformed this land of idolatry and paganism into a land for His people. This land would again find new meaning as the Holy Land, being the land in which Christ was incarnate and walked as a man.

When the Throne of Judgment is set up and all the books are opened, it will be as the conquest of Canaan on a cosmic scale, in which everything is made new and finds a final definition in the eternal kingdom of Christ. Already we see this transformation taking place in the lives of those who have felt the warm gold embrace of grace.

A Samaritan is no longer a bitter ethnic rival of a covenantal people, but rather he who shows mercy to those whose own kin pass by without a thought. A Harlot is no longer she who gives over her body for pleasure and money, but rather she who uses the long hair which once enticed men to wash the feet of the Lord from out of a true love. A Thief is no longer he who takes unlawfully, but rather he who defends the Lord from slander in his final moments, only asking to be remembered in the Kingdom when it comes. And a Barbarian is no longer a bestial man living outside civilization, but rather the one with a humble heart who chooses to forsake the sinful habitations of the world, remembering the words of the Psalmist, “I have chosen rather to be an outcast in the house of my God than to dwell in the tents of sinners.”12

May we all, Samaritan, Thief, Harlot, and Barbarian alike, be found deserving to receive a new name written in a white stone.

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Sources:

Saint Nikolai Velimirovich. “Saint Barbarus the Robber, in Epirus.” The Prologue of Ochrid. 3rd ed., vol. 1, Sebastian Press, 2017, pp. 526.

Hieromonk Makarios of Simonos Petra. “The Memory of our Venerable Father Barbarus.” The Synaxarion: The Lives of the Saints of the Orthodox Church. Vol. 5 (May, June), Holy Convent of The Annunciation of Our Lady Ormylia (Chalkidike), 2005, pp. 169-70.

“An ‘Unknown’ Saint and Model of Repentance.” Άγιος Κυριακός, no. 302, May-June 2001, pp. 35, 38.

Starodubcev, Tatjana. Holy hermit Barbarus. Cult and representation in the Middle Ages. Zograf, issue 45, 2021, pp. 131-148.

Polymeri, Evi, et al. “The Bell – Tower of Saint Barbaros in the medieval ‘Borgo’ of Potamos in Corfu: Historical documentation and multi-disciplinary proposal for its preservation.” Springer Proceedings in Materials, vol. 16, 2022, pp. 178–193.

“For the lips of a strange woman drop as a honeycomb, and her mouth is smoother than oil; but her end is bitter as wormwood, sharp as a two-edged sword.”

Proverbs 5:3-4, KJV

I am no stranger to addiction, though I have avoided the typical vices. Neither alcohol nor stronger substances have ever appealed to me, and I often call myself a teetotaler in jest. The lack of desire is result of many factors, but one of which is witnessing the deleterious effects resulting from addiction and another being my own desire to retain control of my own faculties.

The flesh aches, the heart races, sweat beads down the skin, and the body quivers with desire. There comes a point in which it is no longer just a want, but a need, a physical need of the body in order for it to continue to function.

While the body craves, the mind plots. Lies, theft, lashing out in anger, it doesn’t matter; the appetite must be sated. Money, the empathy of others, relationships, all are tossed into the insatiable bottomless abyss that will only ever ask for more. Sneaking into your grandmother’s bedroom to steal her jewelry to have something to pawn for another hit is an afterthought. What must be done, must be done.

Depending on one’s particular poison, it becomes Consumption. Consuming one’s thoughts, dreams, and ambitions; sneaking away to drink down mouth wash or rubbing alcohol to sate oneself for a time. Shoot it in the veins, and the body is Consumed; the hair withers, the skin thins, the teeth rot and fall out, the body wastes away. Not yet dead, but can hardly be described as living, the Consumed becomes as a shambling corpse that has yet to die. When the mind is devoured, what can be said is properly left of that person?

And when someone wishes to break free, to wash the Consuming tar off himself, if the addiction is severe enough, he must be slowly weaned off, lest the withdrawal symptoms kill him.

It is slavery in the truest sense of the word.

I mentioned earlier about my desire to remain in control of myself. As such, all my sins I have committed of my own free will, with a completely sober mind. And my addiction, that which consumed me, was much more of a fleshly nature.

“Night for me is a frenzy without restraint, very dark and moonless, a sinful love-affair.”

Hymn of Kassiani, sung on Holy Wednesday in memory of the woman who anointed Christ

Anticipation and arousal. Flesh against flesh, the tender touch of skin against skin, the sweet taste of another’s lips. Passion. Intensity. Ecstasy. Release and regret.

I am going to Hell.

Lust just as equally devours the finances, the mind, and even the body with rancorous disease (should one be less than careful during his sordid affairs), as an illicit drug. Should there be any wonder why sex and drugs so often walk hand in hand into the darkness of the bedroom?

As I said, “The flesh aches, the heart races, sweat beads down the skin, and the body quivers with desire.” Does this not describe the arousal of a lustful Eros as equally as it does when someone needs one more drink? My body craved the touch, my tongue the sinful black ichor which tastes of sweet honey in the moment, but soul and heart were set blaze, kindled by desire.

In online discussions about addiction, the word “Addiction” itself is often thrown into question due to how it is used colloquially versus a more “clinical” definition. If one mentions “porn addiction,” “sex addiction,” a “gambling addiction,” even an “addiction to social media,” others are quick to inform you that those don’t exist since they are not a result of a chemical dependence being formed, as which occurs with substances such as meth. Yet, even without a chemical dependency, we all understand what it feels like to have that itch that will not go away, even if our scratching tears at the skin and our fingers become coated in our life blood.

We are both soul and flesh, mind and body, and what is true for one is often reflected in a mirror darkly for the other. Addiction is no different. What we understand as “addiction” is but the secular understanding of concupiscence, the human inclination towards evil, a consequence of the Original Sin, when Adam and Eve indulged and gave into desire. The desire gnaws at the flesh and gnaws at the soul just as strongly.

“For we know that the law is spiritual: but I am carnal, sold under sin. For that which I do I allow not: for what I would, that do I not; but what I hate, that do I.”

Romans 7:14-15, KJV

Just ten more minutes scrolling on 𝕏witter, just a couple more TikTok videos, then I will go to bed. Sloth then eats away at the dwindling attention span, already depleted throughout the day and one can never truly sleep soundly under the glow of a screen’s blue light.

“Can’t miss a single day on this app!” Itching ears and wagging tongues, even the quiet gossip needs to stay up-to-date on the feuds and scandals of the e-celebs. I don’t even know who this person is, yet I must indulge in his public destruction.

The shambling, half-living addicts wandering the less savory parts of town are a common sight in the wealthy and poverty-stricken California Bay Area. What a sad sight to see minds and bodies gnawed away at by the addiction, yet theirs is just more visible. Turn the mirror on oneself when gorged with food, half-conscious scrolling the phone, mind enraptured by pleasure when the person becomes but flesh, and the addiction and sin is no less the same. We just prefer the walls of our tombs to be white.

We are all addicts of some sort, to various degrees, because we are all sinners. The key is to acknowledge to which master we are a slave and to fight against it, to thrash about and resist being consumed, even if we are in the very jaws of the formless tar of our sin, teeth piercing the body and soul alike.

Yet even then, even when we know our struggle, how easily the words, “just one more time” escape our lips.

Ten more minutes, then I’ll start. Finances are hard, I need this, no more stealing after this. I’ve already indulged, one more cookie then the diet starts tomorrow. This has to be the last time, I can’t do this to my wife again. I’m so stressed out, I need the endorphins, no more videos after this one. Just one more hit. Just one more drink. Then I’m done for good. I promise. Last time.

“The last time” is never premeditated. The last time is only something that exists in reflection, in looking back when you had decided change starts now.

“O Lord, grant me chastity and continency, but not yet!”

Saint Augustine of Hippo, Confessions 8.7

We all try to replicate the experience of that first time, how sticky sweet it was, the pleasure intoxicating. But we can never return to that same feeling. No matter how much we engorge ourselves on the forbidden fruit, apple after apple, fig after fig, core, stem, seeds and all, our eyes can never be opened a second time. We can only ever learn of evil once; then we know it as intimately as Adam knew Eve.

At least Judas returned his ill-gotten silver, but how many of us can say the same? When I had priced the Son of Man and took the silver, I spent it, returned, then tried to sell Him again, all the same.

“For now we see through a glass, darkly; but then face to face: now I know in part; but then shall I know even as also I am known.”

1 Corinthians 13:12

When the heart stops and the soul is sundered from the body, whatever state the soul is in at the time of death is what undergoes judgment. The addiction, the gnawing, the consumption, the inclination doesn’t go away when that separation occurs. That sinful desire remains within the soul, though, now cut off from the body, there is no way to satisfy the desire.

We on earth are given signs, symbols, and reflections of the spiritual realities of Heaven and the spiritual realms. Withdrawal symptoms from addiction are one such dim reflection; a withdrawal is but a temporal foretaste of an eternal Hell.

When the craving becomes so intense in the body, you clench your fists, you tear at your hair, you wail and grind and gnash your teeth. And while one still draws breath, a man may find relief from this torment with time; in the eternal, the soul can only wither and burn from unsated desire and everlasting longing.

O, how bitter the soul will be when it craves so sweetly the sin of man.

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