Testimony by regarding Elder Paisios

Metropolitan Athanasios of Limassol

To begin with, since I never imagined that a time would come when I would narrate Father Paisios' life―and he himself never related his life all the way through―there may be some gaps regarding dates and  events. Only out of gratitude towards the Elder did I accept to come here Mr Nikolaidis, to this television station, so as to give my own testimony about his holy life, his presence within Orthodoxy, within our Church, about all the things I saw during my stay on Mount Athos, and everything else trustworthy people have told me. These are the things I will talk about, feeling, of course, that narrating the lives of holy people is an extremely difficult task. It is particularly difficult because the Elder was truly a holy person, and we are nothing and have understood very few things. Let us at least hope that God help us relay the facts as we witnessed them and the people that are listening to evaluate them according to their own disposition.    

I met Father Paisios in 1976, in September. I visited Mount Athos for the first time, and there, together with the rest of my classmates, we visited the Elder, when he resided in his small hut at Timios Stavros (Holy Cross), near Stavronikita Monastery. I met him there. I must say, we arrived curious to see the Elder, about whom we had heard so much. He received us with much love, and I must say that our first meeting disappointed me a little in the beginning because I was not familiar with the secrets of these spiritual people. When I saw the Elder, who received us in such simplicity, he gave us various treats and told us jokes and laughed. I started to doubt that this man was truly as much a saint as he was considered, because I thought saints were meant to be silent, not talkative and glum. I was under this impression. But afterwards, the truth refuted us, as the elder spoke of things we had never heard of before, and he had his own life as a testimony. 

The first incident which I testify to in all honesty, is that when we were greeting him goodbye and kissed his hand, something happened that truly was God's intervention. All the mountains, all the surrounding atmosphere overflowed with an indescribable fragrance. The whole area smelt fragrant. The Elder realized this and immediately recommended that we get on our way, while he headed towards his cell. We, the three kids that we were, set off for Karyes without perceiving what was happening, feeling an indescribable joy inside, which had no a explanation. We neither understood the reason we were running, nor the reason the surrounding mountains, air, rocks, and everything smelt sweet. What I experienced the first time I met Father Paisios was moving. 

He spent his childhood in Konitsa. He once recounted to us that when he was fifteen years old he used to withdraw into the woods, where he had built a place using wood and twigs―like a hideaway for prayer―and there he  prayed in tears. This of course, was an energy of Grace. He felt this sweetness and wished to stay alone and pray to Christ. And as he was praying, he saw Christ right in front of him (not in his sleep but while awake), and Christ had His hand on the open Gospel and spoke to him, while at the same time the things He said were written in the Gospel. And He told him:
"Arsenios, I am the Resurrection and the Life. The one who believes in Me will live even if he dies." This experience of Christ's appearance was―as far as I know―the first of young Arsenios' in the sphere of supernatural revelations and possibly, the most decisive sign of his later path of monasticism.
The elder carefully avoided any talk around his name, and I can say that the only times he used to become strict―so much so that one would feel afraid―were when someone talked about him, recalled or mentioned miraculous incidents relating to him.

When I visited him in 1976, I said. “Elder, you have a great reputation out in the world*; people think well of you, well of your name.” He replied laughing, as he usually said in jokes and in a very cheerful and wise manner: “Now when you were coming from below, did you pass by the garbage dump?” (the one in Karyes). I said: “I did...”. “There in the garbage dump of Karyes there are quite a few squid tins. And there, when the sun falls over them, they shine. That's what has happened to people. They see the sun shining off the tin, which is me, they think it's gold. But, my child, if you approach close, you see it's a squid tin.” He said this, having fun with it. 

Later on though, when we were talking seriously, sometimes he would sorrowfully say: “Father, my greatest enemy is my name. Woe to the man and the monk that 'gains a name for himself'. Because after that he doesn't even have peace, but people also start to make things up, which many times are not realistic, and he becomes a point of conflict.” Hundreds of people visited his cell. As soon as the bus arrived in Karyes and they received their lodging passes, they immediately all headed to Father Paisios. You would see a caravan of people heading that way. He was their first target, their first stop. Sometimes when I happened to be with him, and he would not open, I wondered [why]. Then he used to say to me: “Look, we will pray and if God tells us, we'll open.”

He was a man whose greatest work was prayer. Only later on did he dedicate himself to people. Despite all his hardships, his ordeals, he was a fleshless man: a man that did not know sleep or rest. He was always in a good mood, and he always retained love in his heart to receive people's pain. I remember during Christmas of 1981, I went to visit him after Christmas vigil. We talked, and he explained to me what a great thing God's love is. He used to say that God's love resides in man like fire. He told me: “A few years ago this love burned so intensely inside me that my bones were melting like candles. And in fact, once, so much Grace fell on me that as I was walking, I knelt and could not continue. I was also afraid that someone would see me and not understand what was happening to me.” Eight years later, this great love turned without abandoning him, of course, into a great pain for people. It seems that from then on, the Elder dedicated himself to people in distress, after having been made God's habitation.        

Father Paisios was visited by people of all classes: educated and uneducated, bishops and many professors, even people of other faiths and every type of person.

In general, the places he lived cannot be described: The Cell of the Holy Cross was such a remote cell that I recall, as far as the eye could see all around, we did not see any other monk's cell. Desert. I recall the Elder used to say to me: “If you hear any sort of noise during the night, do not be afraid. It's wild boars and jackals”.

It is a fact that the Elder passed through many illnesses throughout his life. And I remember that when he suffered severe headaches, he used to place patches on his forehead, to restrain the headaches. Once in a while when we also got sick, he said: “Listen father, my sickness has been more beneficial to me than my health.”

And despite his illnesses, he would never neglect his duties. It is amazing that up until complete exhaustion he continued his fight. I recall we attended a vigil in the monastery for Christmas, which lasted approximately ten hours. The Elder received people all day and did not rest at all. All night during vigil he was standing. I sat right next to him and waited to see when he would sit. He did not sit at all all night; he remained standing. At some point he said to me: “Why don't you move a little further over? Are you a policeman?” He understood that I stood next to him to examine what he would do. 

His love was infinitely and richly evident to everyone who visited him, especially to those in distress and to the youth. I remember something I experienced vividly in 1982, when a youth visited Mount Athos from Athens, who was a modern young man, with a most inquiring mind, muddled in a lot of difficult things, disappointed from his life and his environment, in dirty clothes―a state that attested to his disorder and concerns. The youth visited Father Paisios. They spoke and then he left.       

After two or three months, he returned and crying told me the following. In Athens, when he experienced various bad mishaps and this melancholy caught hold of him, this depression, he got on his motorcycle so as to commit suicide. Speeding he said: “There is no one in the world, nobody loves me, [no one's] interested, better to kill myself and end my life”. 

He had gotten out of Athens and was going down the road, intending to finish his life. While speeding, suddenly his bike was immobilized without him being hurt. At the same time he saw Father Paisios' figure in front of him, who said: “Stop! Don't do it.” As soon as he saw the figure of the Elder, he remembered that he was the only one who really loved him and showed him this love. Father Paisios was a very expressive person. When young people with problems visited, he showed them so much love, as if they were small children. In this way, those children were comforted. After having told me this story, I set off to the Elder and asked him: “Is it true that this incident happened?” He said: “I don't know but what I do know is that many times when I am praying in my cell, the Holy Spirit takes me me to hospitals, houses of people in pain, to people that are ready to commit suicide, etc. I don't do anything, except pray and light candles.”

In his cell he always had candles lit in front of his icons. The cell was plain, ascetic, very poor, with icons placed on the walls and lit candles. Once, when he was sick at Holy Cross and I was looking after him, I went to his cell constantly. It was a very small cell (2.50mx2.00m), and the elder always had on a stove recessed in the wall, because the cold caused him trouble. On one side was his small bed, which was wooden, like a coffin, full of icons [around it] and a large Russian 'monastic schema' over it. On the other side underneath, he had some old rags which were supposed to be his rug. He used to tease me and say: “This rug is Persian and they sent it to me from Baghdad.”     

It was an old rag, which was used to place saddles on mules. He also had a small stool where he used to sit and pray, a piece of wood he placed on his knees and wrote on, a hole with a few sheets of paper and a couple of pencils with which he wrote.

Father Paisios was extremely poor. He owned nothing. Many people left money for him. They hid it so that he would find it later. But when the Elder used to find money, he usually placed it in books or magazines and gave it away. He was so poor that once, I remember he told me he didn't even have 500 drachmas to buy bread. He did not have a mini gas stove; he did not have any cooking pans. He only had a couple of tin cans, where he used to throw tea or boil rice inside. He also had a small pot which he would rarely use when he was hosting strangers. Then, as he used to say, he would also add in a spoon of lentils to make it a formal meal.

He would eat maybe a tomato or some greens which he took from his small garden. When I stayed with him, he told me every couple of days: “Go eat in one of the monasteries and come back afterwards.” He only kept tea and dried bread: nothing else. I can say that as much as we eat in a meal, he used to eat in two weeks. He was truly a fleshless man, an earthly angel and a heavenly person. Not only did he not eat anything, but he hardly slept at all.

As a monk, of course, he exactingly abided by the schedule of the daily services: the evening, compline, midnight office, matins and the hours. Later on, he substituted most of the services with the prayer rope. He would keep vigil every night. He took a little rest after sunset and even less before sunrise. And I used to see that too, when I would go. 

I will tell you an experience I had personally because it testifies to this person's sanctity. When, in 1977, I joined him and remained with him for several days, it happened to be the feast of the Holy Cross. It was September 13 on the old calendar and he said to me: “We will perform a vigil tonight and in the morning a priest will come to perform the service.” I was a deacon then.

Indeed, I stayed there and from approximately four in the afternoon he said for us to perform the evening vesper saying the prayer (i.e. the Jesus Prayer) using the prayer rope. Indeed we prayed for one and half to two hours using the prayer rope. At six o'clock he called for me, made me a tea, showed me how to perform the vigil with the prayer rope and told me that around 1:30 a.m. he would call me to read the preparation prayers for Holy Communion, and after that we would continue up until morning when the priest would arrive. Indeed, I tried to do everything he told me.

All night I heard the Elder praying and walking back and forth and sighing. It was an amazing experience, because in that desert I was scared, but the Elder was like an unshakable pillar and prayed close by. 

We went to the church. The chapel was long and narrow, and there were five icons on its iconostasis but only one bench inside. He let me stay on the bench, the Elder by my side and we started reading the preparation service for Holy Communion. The Elder said the phrases “Glory to Thee our God, glory to Thee”, and afterwards in the troparia (hymns) to the Mother of God “Most Holy Mother of God save us”. Every time he said a phrase he did a prostration. And I, close by holding the candle, watched and read the troparion. When we reached the troparion that says, “Mary, Mother of God, the venerable tabernacle of sweet fragrance”, and the Elder said “Most Holy Mother of God save us”, in an way expressing intense distress, then I was just about to say “Mary, Mother of God”. Immediately though, everything altered―I cannot comprehend what happened. Suddenly, the whole cell lit up, and something like a light breeze entered the chapel and the oil lamp of the Mother of God started to move on its own. There were five oil lamps on the iconostasis, but only this oil lamp was moving continuously. I turned towards the elder, and he nodded to stay quiet. He bent down, and remained bent and I remained holding the candle in my hand, but the candle was not necessary because everything was lit up; there was abundant light, as if it had suddenly dawned. I waited for quite some time. The oil lamp was still moving. The light remained, and the Elder was silent. Half an hour later I started reading on my own, since the Elder did not speak. I read the service on my own, until I reached the seventh prayer of Saint Simeon. There like that, again in a very heartening way, the oil lamp stopped moving. The light disappeared, and I needed the candle once again to read.         

When we finished preparation prayers for Holy Communion, I said to him, “Elder, what was that?” He replied, “What?” I said, “The incident in Church. I saw the Panagia's** oil lamp moving and the cell was lit up.” He says: “Did you see anything else?” I replied that I did not see anything else. I wanted to tell you that at that time my mind stopped working, and I was unable to think.

I couldn't understand anything. I only watched all this as a spectator. He said: “My son, what was it! Don't you know that the Panagia, here on Mount Athos, goes around all the monasteries, to all the cells, to see what we're doing. She passed by this way, saw two loonies here and moved the oil lamp to let us know She passed by.” And the Elder laughed. After that occurrence that night, he told me of many incidents from his life―he was very moved―and maybe that was the reason we then developed a close relationship with the Elder. He trusted me with a lot of things concerning himself. 

I am truly convinced that Father Paisios was a man that provided support for the world through his prayers. He was a man equally worthy as the great fathers of our Church.

One may talk for hours and days about Father Paisios. The miracles that took place through his prayers are probably countless. I will tell you about something that took place towards the end [of the elder's] life. A father who had a small child wandered around all Mount Athos to find the monk that saved his son from death. One night, the small child was riding a bicycle, and attempting to turn somewhere, was hit by a truck. The truck was going to mash the child with its wheels, when a monk appeared, grabbed him, threw him to the pavement, and in this way the child was saved. The child saw the monk, but did not know who it was. He told his father what happened and the father brought his child to Mount Athos and went around all the cells and monasteries to find the monk, until they arrived to Father Paisios whom the child immediately recognized.  

Also, another incident took place before I left Cyprus. A young man visited the Elder and wanted to tell him that his wife was very sick. The Elder had received a lot of people and was very tired and said to them: “Children, I cannot, leave and go to Iviron.” The young man said: “I want to tell you something.” The Elder replied: “Go my son, go. Go.” “But I have something important to tell you Elder!” “Go my son, there is nothing wrong. Go and God will help.” He insisted but the Elder told him: “My son, go make it in time for the Monastery, before it shuts”. Then the young man revealed the reason: “Elder, my wife is sick!” “Go. Your wife is fine”. The young man looked at his watch, to see how long he still had to head to the Monastery; it was 2:45 p.m. He left disappointed because he did not achieve anything. When he returned home, his wife, completely recovered told him the following: “Suddenly as I was seated in my bed, I felt a cold sweat, and from then on I was cured. I went to the doctor who said I was completely fine.” He asked her, “What time did this happen?” “It was Friday at 2:45 p.m.” That is, the time the Elder told him: “Go. Your wife is fine”. 

There are numerous such incidents that we can talk about. But the most important thing is not the Elder's miracles, but his great love for God, his deep faith and the fact that he was a true child of the Orthodox Church and of monasticism. I think that no matter what anyone may say, they will not be able to describe the Elder. He always said: “Let us love God and strive in magnanimity”. He said that Christ is oxygen. Let us not turn it into carbon dioxide. And that is why he always wanted all Christians to be courageous, full of joy for God's love and never be disappointed, because, as he always said, anxiety and disappointment are always from the devil and never from God.

*Trans. Note: On Mount Athos (and in many monasteries, in general) the term “world” refers to the world outside of Mount Athos (or the monastery).
**Trans. Note: “Panagia” is the most common title used for the Mother of God in Orthodox Christianity. It means All-Holy.

Source: TESTIMONIES OF PILGRIMS
ELDER PAISIOS THE MONK OF ATHOS 1924-1994
PUBLICATION 'AGIOTOKOS KAPADOKIA'

Translation by: Holy Monastery of Pantokrator

Source:

Elder Paisios told me.....

An excerpt from the book: “Father Paisios told me”, by Athan. Rakovalis, “Orthodox Hive” Publications, pages 166-168.

At times, when we are submerged in (what we believe to be) «profound theological perceptions», we are under the impression that we are doing something unique and significant. However, because we have lost our simplicity, we have essentially lost Holiness. We lose contact with Jesus Christ. Very often, it takes the Holiness of “the person next door” to remind us that we should be simple and humble, like the lay porter of this incident, as narrated by the Geron Paisios.



...I once met a man who was very kind and sensitive. Just imagine, he even refused to stay overnight at the monastery, because he didn’t want to be a burden to the monks… I used to be the host monk at the time, at the Iberon Scete, when I went out onto the balcony for a moment at noon and saw a man lying down on the stones outside. Well, well, I wondered, what is he doing out there? So I went down to him.



— What are you doing here, you blessed one? Why don’t you come into the monastery, where we can offer you our hospitality?



— No, no, I’m just fine here, don’t concern yourself, he said.



I pressed him to come in, but he refused. He said: “All through the night, the fathers here are on vigil prayer… they’re tired, they fast… they retire at noon to get some rest, and I’m supposed to disturb them? Its not proper!”



See what kind of good thoughts he made? That is an indication of mental and spiritual health… whereas, other visitors come here, demanding to be served, and then they have nothing but malicious thoughts…they even accuse you. I finally convinced him, and brought him into the monastery, where we became better acquainted and eventually became friends.



Now listen to what this man had done. He was orphaned from his youth. He never knew his parents; he grew up in an orphanage. When he grew up, he worked as a porter in the port of Thessaloniki.



He married, and was very happy for that, as he had found the family that he longed for. His in-laws were like parents to him. They moved into a house near his in-laws and he was extremely fond of them. Imagine that, after leaving work every day, he would first go to his in-laws to greet them, to see if they needed anything, and would afterwards go to his own home to see his wife.

He was also very pious. He would repeat the prayer “My Lord Jesus Christ, have mercy on me”. He would carry loads and pray.

He was concerned however, that his in-laws were not believers. In fact, his father-in-law blasphemed and that made him very sad… So, he prayed to God, asking Him not to take them away from this life, before they had properly repented… He even asked me to pray for this problem..

So, there came a time that his father-in-law became very ill, and had to be taken to hospital. He was in there for days. One day, after work as usual, he went directly to the hospital, without passing by his home first. He looked for his father-in-law, but didn’t find him in his room… He searched everywhere, asking for him… “Who? Him? Oh, he passed away.. He’s downstairs, in the morgue, where they keep all the deceased patients”, they told him.

It was as if lightning had struck him. “Why, my Lord, did You take him away, if he wasn’t ready, and he didn’t even have a chance to repent? Why, my God?”

He began to pray fervently, with profound pain: “What is it for God, to bring him back? Nothing!” he thought, and began to beseech God accordingly.

He found his way downstairs, and looked around in the morgue, only to find him frozen, dead. He grabbed his father-in-law by the hand, insisting, “Come on, get up, let’s go home”. The dead man immediately came alive…he got up and followed him….



— Really, Geron, did that really happen? I asked him, dumbfounded.



— Yes, it is really true.



— And is that man still alive today?



— No, he has passed away... he lived on for a few more years, he repented, he became a much kinder person… a veritable lamb, and Christ then took him into Paradise….



I was amazed.



— Do things like that actually happen in our day? I asked with wonder…



— See?... and he was an ordinary layman. But he had such simplicity!!! And such profound faith. Didn’t Christ say: «whomsoever believes in Me, can do whatever I do, and even greater things»? Why should this incident seem strange? Didn’t Christ resurrect the dead? Lazarus, the widow’s son, Jaerus’ daughter? Didn’t the Apostles resurrect the dead?… Haven’t we read so many wonders in the lives of the saints?

Source:

The Nativity Season - Blessed Nativity Fast!

Dear brothers of the Greek Orthodox Church and all the brothers who celebrate Christmas according to the Gregorian calendar, I wish a happy and blessed Nativity Fast!

Christian Laity 

Icon Holy Mother of God - Divine Love, Come, I beg you by St. Nektariou Pentapoleos

Icon of Holy Mother of God - Cathedral of St Gregory of Palamas, Tessaloniki

Ω Θεία Αγάπη, Αγίου Νεκταρίου

Ω Θεία Αγάπη, ελθέ, ικετεύω,

εξ’ όλης ψυχής μου και μέσης καρδίας,

και σκήνωμα θειον, Χριστέ, ποίησόν με

και πάσης κηλίδος, ω καθάρισόν με.

Ω Θεία Αγάπη, αγάπης ενθέου

την Σε εκζητουσαν ψυχήν έμπλησόν μου

και έρωτα θειον, ω Θεία Αγάπη,

θερμώς ικετεύω τω δούλω Σου δος μοι.

Ω Θεία Αγάπη, την Σην ικετεύω,

αγάπην παράσχου τοις Σε εκζητουσιν·

Η γαρ Ση αγάπη το πλήρωμά εστί

του Θείου Σου Νόμου, Αγάπη γλυκεια.

Ω Θεία Αγάπη, η μόνη πληρουσα

τον σύμπαντα κόσμον και η συντηρουσα,

συ πέλεις ο νόμος και των επιγείων.

Η Ση βασιλεία εστίν η αγάπη,

εν η βασιλεύει χαρά και ειρήνη,

εν η βασιλεύει η μακαριότης,

ο έρως του Θείου και η ευφροσύνη

Holy Ground Zero, the Greek Church Is a Thing to Behold

It was only a year ago that the St. Nicholas Greek Orthodox Church beside the World Trade Center looked doomed, at least to a side street if not all together. But Andrew Cuomo, in one of his first direct acts at the Port Authority, brokered a deal to put the church back in its pride-of-place spot across from the 9/11 Memorial, as George Pataki promised a decade ago.

The Architect’s Newspaper looks into the new arrangement and turns up some new details about the plans for the church, as well as some new renderings that make a compelling case for the church.

Throughout the planning and the lawsuit Koutsomitis said his architecture office acted as a clearinghouse for all aspects of the negotiations. “It’s very rare, but it’s a special relationship with the client group,” explained Koutsomitis of the combination design, legal, and financial team.

Blessing? More like a curse. (NY Post)

Currently there is no final design, the architect said, but it will be clearly identified as an Eastern Orthodox church. While the old St. Nicholas contrasted with Yamasaki’s twin towers, the new church will play off the new buildings, the architect said, describing the new structure as a transparent “cube that’s floating on air.” If the current schedule holds, the church could open its doors by 2014.

O.K., so, even if that is not what the project is going to look like, compare that rendering to the earlier one, and then try and tell us that doesn’t make a considerable difference. Just ask Daniel Libeskind—soaring words and pretty pictures make all the difference in the world.

 Source

St. John Maximovitch - On the Fall of Man

 

The world was created good and called to the joy of life in union with the Source and Creator of life, the Lord God.

The first to sin and to be torn from this union were angels. The angelic realm was split: some remained with God; others, in their pride, desired to live their own life, independent of God. The angelic world was split and sin was born there, but the earthly world remained good.

And then the devil, which means “the one cast down from heaven,” began to strive to join the earthly realm to himself. The highest creation on earth, man, had been given a commandment by God not to eat of the tree of knowledge of good and evil. Why was the commandment given? This tree was just like all the others, and in itself it had no outstanding characteristics. No, the knowledge of good and evil was not in the tree itself, and not for this reason was the commandment given. The Lord gave it because man was created free, and the Lord desires of man a freely-willed striving and longing for union with God. The commandment was given because only through its fulfillment could man express his freely-willed striving toward God and love for Him. And blessedness consists simply of communication with God through love of Him.

The devil is burdened by his separation; he is perpetually in a state of wrath and vengeance, and it comforts him to attract others. The devil never appears as his true self, but takes on various appearances. Then in paradise he took on the appearance of a serpent, and gave man the idea that the commandment had not been given for the expression of man’s love of God, but so that man would not become like God. The devil planted the thought that the command was issued, not out of God’s love, so that man would dwell in God’s love, but because God desires to dominate, and to prevent man from being as God, and coming to know the endless and limitless joy of being.

When man came to believe this diabolical idea, he was instantly separated from God. Everything changed, and man could no longer enjoy life in God and speak with God freely and straightforwardly as children speak. There was no peace, no joy, and man began to hide from God. Everything changed, the link between God and man was destroyed and nature ceased to heed man. Weeping entered the world, and the soul became burdened.

Source 

Orthodoxy & Scripture: Septuagint vs. Masoretic

This video is on Holy Scripture and Old Testament. Why the Orthodox Christian use the Septuagint instead of the Masoretic, as Protestants and Jews use.

A chapter from the Russian samizdat manuscript, "Hieromonk Arseny"

  

 One winter there came to the barracks a young fellow of about twenty-three. He was a student sentenced to twenty years under Article 58.[1] Having come directly from Butvrka prison into the "special",[2] he was not yet wise to the ways of camp life.

    Young, still green, with little understanding of what had happened to him, he arrived in the "special" and at once had a clash with the criminals. The fellow was decently dressed; his clothes hadn't been picked off his back in the transits. The criminals saw this and, with Ivan Kari as their leader, they decided to "undress" him.

    They sat down for a game of cards, staking the newcomer's clothes. Everyone saw they would strip him, but no one could say a word; even Sazikov dared not transgress the camp tradition. It was the law; keep quiet and don't interfere. Any interference and they'd knock you off.

    Those prisoners who had spent a long time in the camp system knew that if any of their belongings were made the subject of a wager, they mustn't resist. Death would be their only gain.

    Ivan Keri won the lot. He 'went up to the student: "Well, my friend, take off your duds." Then it began.

    The fellow's name was Alexis. He didn't understand the "rules of the game," and refused to hand over his clothes.

    Ivan Karl decided to put on a "show" for the barracks. He began with a grin, using affable persuasion; then he took to beating. Alexis tried to resist, but the barracks already knew that he would be beaten to within an inch of his life, and perhaps to death. Whatever the outcome, it was going to be quite a performance.

    Everyone held their breath as Ivan Keri struck out with increasing fury. Alexis tried to ward of the blows, but what was the use; blood was streaming down his face. The criminals for the fun of it divided themselves into two camps; one rooted for Alexis.

During this "performance," Fr. Arsany was stacking wood at the other end of the barracks and did not see how it started. But then he came to a stove nearby and saw Karl beating the student to a pulp. By that time Karl had grown vicious and was hammering away at Alexis who was covered with blood. For him it would soon be the end.

     Silently Fr. Arsany placed the wood in front of the stove and calmly made his way to the scene of the fray. There, before the eyes of the astonished onlookers, he grabbed Karl by the arm. The latter looked at him in amazement and then whistled with glee. 'Pope' had violated tradition by interfering in the fight. Indeed, the rules called for the offender to be 'eliminated.' Kari despised Fr. Arseny, but so far he hadn't touched him because he feared the barracks. Here, however, was a lawful situation; his prey had fallen into his hands. Karl stopped beating Alyosha.

    "Well, Popesy, it's the end for both of you; first the student, then you."

     The prisoners were agitated. If anyone interfered all the criminals would together rise up, like one man. Somewhere Kari got hold of a knife and threw himself at Alyosha.

    No one could make sense of what happened next, but suddenly the always quiet, kind and weak Pr. Arseny drew himself up, leaned forward towards Karl and hit him on the arm --with such force that the knife flew from Keri' s grip. Then he pushed Keri away from Alexis. Keri staggered and fell, striking his face against the corner of one of the bunks. At that moment many gasped. Fr. Arseny went up to Alexis. "Go, Alyosha, wash up. No one will touch you again." And, as if nothing had happened, he went off to continue stacking wood.

    Everyone dispersed. Karl got up. The criminals were silent; they knew that Karl had lost face before the entire barracks. Someone smeared the blood into the floor with his foot and picked up the knife; Alyosha's face was cut up, an ear was torn, one eye was shut completely, the other was black and blue. Everyone was silent. A bad end was in sight for Fr. Arseny and for Alexis. The criminals would kill them, for sure.

    It turned out, however, quite differently. The criminals assessed Fr. Arseny's action according to their own standards, seeing in him a man of courage and, most importantly, highly individual. Unlike the rest of the barracks, he didn't fear Keri, even when the latter was armed with a knife. They respected courage, and because of his courage they came to love him--after their own fashion. Long ago they had come to know Fr. Arseny's kindness and uniqueness.

     Kari retired to his bunk. He conversed in whispers with his comrades, but he had the feeling they would not back him up since they had not done so at once.

    The night passed. In the morning the prisoners went out to work. Fr. Arseny set about his tasks in the barracks: firing the stoves, tidying up, scrubbing away the dirt. In the evening they returned. Suddenly, just before the barracks were locked up, the camp commandant stormed in accompanied by several inspectors.

    "Line up!" he barked. The prisoners got up and stood as ordered. The commandant went down the line as far as Fr. Arseny and began beating him, while the inspectors found Alexis and pulled him out of line.

    "For violating the camp rules and picking a fight, numbers 18376 and P281 are sentenced to the cold cell #1 for kB hours without food or water."

    Kari had denounced them. This was considered by the criminals to be the basest and most despicable action possible.

    Cell #1 was a small house which stood at the entrance to the camp. In this building were several isolation cells and one cell for two persons with a single narrow platform for resting; (actually this Was nothing more than a board about 9 inches wide). The floor, walls and platform were entirely covered with metal sheeting. The cell itself was no more than 2 1/2 feet wide and 6 1/2 feet long.  

     There was a frost of 30 degrees below, it was hard to breathe. On going outside one instantly felt numb. The prisoners of the barracks understood – it was certain death. They would freeze in the cell within a matter of a few hours; they would freeze to death, no question about it.

    In such frosts prisoners weren't sent to this particular cell. At five or six below, prisoners were known to be sent in for 24 hours. Only those survived who spent the entire time jumping around. To stop meant to freeze to death. And here it was 30 below, Fr. Arseny was old, Alyosha beaten up, both were exhausted.

    The inspectors dragged out the two of them. Avseyenkov and Sazikov broke rank and addressed the commandant:

    "Citizen commandant, they'll freeze in such frost. You can't throw them into that cell; they'll die there!" The inspectors swore a bloody streak and flew from the barracks half-crazed.

     Ivan Kari drew his head into his shoulders, sensing that his days in the barracks were numbered; his own mates would do him in for his denunciation.

    Fr. Arseny and Alexis were taken to the cell and shoved in. They both fell, bruising themselves as they stumbled over they knew not what. It was dark. Presently Fr. Arseny got to his feet. "Well," he said, "the Lord God has brought us to live together. It's cold, cold. Alyosha. We're surrounded by metal."

    Behind the door the bolt rattled, the lock snapped, the voices and footsteps faded away, and in the ensuing silence the cold seized them both and held them fast.

    "We'll freeze to death, Fr. Arseny," moaned Alexis. "Because of me we'll freeze. It's death for both of us. We must keep moving, jumping the entire 48 hours. I have no strength, I'm altogether worn out. The cold is already getting me; my feet are numb. And it's so cramped here that it's impossible to move. It's death for us, Fr. Arseny. These aren't human beings! Isn't that so? Human beings couldn't do what they have done to us. Better the firing squad."

     Fr. Arseny was silent. Alexis tried to jump in one place, but his efforts to warm up were in vain. It was useless to resist the cold. Death was sure to come within two to three hours. After all, that is why they had been sent there.

     "Why don't you say anything? Why don't you say anything, Fr. Arseny?" Alyosha was almost shouting. The answer reached him as if from somewhere far away:

"I'm praying to God, Alexis !"

     "What's there to pray about when we're freezing to death?" responded Alexis.

     "We are alone together, Alyosha. For 48 hours no one will come. Let's pray. This is the first time in camp that the Lord has granted me to pray aloud. Let us pray--the rest is up to God."

     The cold was affecting Alexis, but one thing he understood: Fr. Arseny was losing his mind. There he stood in a milky shaft of moonlight, crossing himself and uttering something in a low voice.

     Alexis' arms and legs had stiffened with cold. He had no strength to move. As he lay there, freezing, he was overcome by indifference. Fr. Arseny grew silent; and suddenly Alexis heard clearly the words pronounced by Fr. Arseny, and he understood-this was prayer.

     Once, out of curiosity, Alexis had gone into a church, His grandmother had baptized him years ago, but none of his family had faith in God; they were, in fact, absolutely indifferent to matters of religion; they didn’t even know what faith was. Alexis was a member of the Komsomol, a student. What kind of faith could one expect to find here?

    Through his numbness, the awareness of imminent death, the pain incurred by the beatings, and the cold, Alexis began to make out the words of prayer--vaguely at first, then more distinctly:

    "O Lord God! Have mercy on us sinners. O, our All-merciful God, Lord Jesus Christ, out of great love Thou didst come down and become incarnate in order to save all. According to Thine unspeakable mercy, save and have mercy on us and deliver us from a cruel death, as we trust in Thee, for Thou art our God and Creator."

    The words of prayer streamed forth, and each word uttered by Fr. Arseny contained profound love, hope in God's mercy and unshakable faith.

     Alexis began to listen attentively. At first he could barely make sense of it. But the more the cold gripped him, the more clearly he understood just what the words and phrases meant. Prayer enveloped his soul in tranquility; it led his heart away from icy terror and united it with the old man standing beside him--Fr. Arseny.

    "O Lord, our God Jesus Christ! Through Thine own pure lips Thou hast said that if two shall agree on earth concerning any thing that they shall ask, it shall be done for them ' by My Heavenly Father, For where two or three are gathered together in My name, there am I in the midst of them" (Matt. 18:18-19).

    The cold had wholly taken possession of Alexis; it penetrated the very marrow of his bones. He was no longer conscious of whether he was lying down, sitting on the floor or standing. Every inch of his body was turning to ice. But there suddenly came a moment when it all disappeared--the cell, the cold, the freezing of the body, the pain from the beatings...

    Fr. Arseny's voice filled the cell--if indeed it was a cell. "There I am in the midst of them...' Who could possibly be here with us? Who? Alexis turned to Fr. Arseny and was stunned. Everything was changed, transfigured. A tormenting thought crossed his mind: I'm hallucinating; it's the end; I'm freezing to death.

     The cell had expanded, the shaft of moonlight had disappeared; it was light, bright, and Fr. Arseny, clothed in brilliant white garments, his arms upraised, was loudly praying. Yes, he was wearing the same apparel as Alexis had seen in church.

     The words of the prayers spoken by Fr. Arseny were now understandable, even kindred; they penetrated his soul. Fears, suffering, danger departed; he felt a desire to steep himself in these words, to fathom their meaning, to remember them for life.

    There was no cell, there was a church. But how did they get here, and why was someone else here, beside them? Alexis saw in amazement that two men were assisting Fr. Arseny. They, too, were in glistening garments and shone with an indescribable white light. Alexis did not see their faces, but he felt they must be extraordinarily beautiful.

     Prayer suffused Alexis' entire being. He got up, stood behind Fr. Arseny, and began to pray. It was warm. easy to breathe; a feeling of joy entered his soul. Everything Fr. Arseny said Alexis repeated, and not simply repeated but prayed; he prayed together with him. ....

     It seemed that Fr. Arsney had become fused with the words of the prayers, but Alexis understood that he had not forgotten him, that he was with him all the time, helping him to pray. Alexis became conscious that God exists, that He was now there with them, and he felt that he saw God with his soul, and that the two men were His servants sent by Him to help Fr. Arseny.

    Again there came to him the thought that they had both already died or were dying and were merely hallucinating. But Fr. Arseny's voice and his presence brought him back to reality,

     Alexis didn't know how much time had passed when Fr. Arseny turned to him:

    "Go, Alyosha, and lie down. You are tired. I shall pray. You'll hear me."

    Alexis lay down on the metal floor and closed his eyes. The words of the prayer filled his entire being: "... agree concerning any thing...it shall be done for them by My Heavenly Father..." In his heart there echoed repeatedly the words "gathered in My name..." Yes. yes! we are not alone, thought Alexis from time to time, as he continued to pray.

     It was peaceful, warm. Suddenly, his mother came from somewhere and covered him with something warm, as she used to not so long ago. Her hands clasped his head and she pressed him to her breast. He wanted to say, "Mama, do you hear how Fr. Arseny is praying? I've come to know that there is a God. I believe in Him." Whether he wanted to say this or actually did, he was not sure, but his mother answered:

    "Alyoshenka ! When they took you, I too, found God, and this has given me strength to live."

    Alexis felt good; all dread was gone; his mother and Fr. Arseny were close by. The previously unknown words of prayer now rejuvenated and warmed his heart, leading it towards the sublime. He felt he must do everything possible in order not to forget these words, to remember them forever. He must never be separated from Fr. Arseny, he must always be with him.

    Lying on the floor at Fr. Arseny's feet, Alexis listened through his ethereal somnolence to the glorious words of the prayers. He felt blessed beyond measure.

     Fr. Arseny prayed, while the two men in shining garments assisted him. It seemed they were amazed by how this Man prayed. He was no longer petitioning the Lord, but glorifying Him and thanking Him.

    How long Fr. Arseny's prayer lasted and how long Alexis lay on the floor half-asleep neither of them could afterwards recall. Alexis remembered only this – the words of the prayers, the warming and joyous light, Fr. Arseny in prayer, the two co-servers in garments of light, and the incomparable, intense feeling of inwardly renewing warmth.

      They were beating on the door bolt, the frozen lock screeched, voices were heard. Alexis opened his eyes. Fr. Arseny was still praying. The two men in bright garments blessed him and Fr. Arseny, and slowly departed. The brilliant light disappeared, and the cell became dark, cold, and gloomy as before.

     "Get up, Alexis; they've come," said Fr. Arseny. Alexis arose. "They" proved to be the camp commandant, the head doctor, the chief of regulations and the chief of the "special" section, Abrosimov. Someone from the camp administration spoke from behind the door:

     "This is altogether inadmissible; it could be reported to Moscow. Who knows what they'll think. Frozen corpses--that's outdated."

     The door was opened. In the cell stood an old man in a camp-issue vest, and a young fellow in torn clothing with lacerations and bruises on his face. The expression of one and the other were calm; their clothing was thickly crusted with frost.

     "Alive?!" cried out the commandant in astonishment. "How did you manage to survive in this place for two whole days?!"

     "We're alive, citizen commandant," answered Fr. Arseny.

      The officials exchanged bewildered glances.

"Search them ," snapped the commandant.

     "Out with you," ordered one of the attendant inspectors.

      Fr. Arseny and Alexis came out of the cell. The inspectors, taking off their gloves, began to search them. The doctor likewise removed his gloves; he thrust his hand under the prisoners' clothing and, addressing no one, remarked pensively: "Amazing! How did they survive?! They're actually warm!" He entered the cell and carefully looked it over. "What kept you from freezing?"

     "Faith in God and prayer," replied Fr, Arseny.

     "Fanatics. Quick, into the barracks," said one of the inspectors, visibly shaken.

     As they left, Alexis heard the officials arguing, the last phrase to reach his ears was, "Astounding! An unheard-of occurrence! They shouldn't have survived more than four hours at such temperatures. It's perfectly astounding, unbelievable, considering the 30° frost. You were lucky, comrade commandant. There could have been some rather nasty consequences."

      The barracks greeted Fr. Arseny and Alexis as ones resurrected from the dead, only asking incessantly, "How did you do it?"  to which they both replied: "God saved us."

    A week later Ivan Kari wzs transferred to another barracks, and the following week he was crushed by some rock. He died in agony. It was rumored that his own fraternity gave the rock a fatal nudge.

    Through his experience in the cell Alexis was reborn. He became attached to Fr. Arseny and would question all the believers in the barracks concerning God and Orthodox services.  

The above incident occurred in the '40' s. The account was written from the words of Alexis and several eye-witnesses in the barracks. Alexis remained close to Fr. Arseny even after their release, and eventually became a priest.

---

[1] A broadly interpreted section of the USSR Criminal Code, under which most dissidents were arrested; described by Solzhenitsyn as “a fan whose spread encompassed al human existence.” (cf. Gulag, vol. 1, pp. 60-67) 

[2] An exceptionally strict regime prison camp.

Source 

BBC: Metropolitan Anthony Bloom - Such People We Have Never Seen

 

In the following article and interview we meet a living example of purity in spiritual authority. Metropolitan Anthony of Sourozh is the head of the Russian Orthodox Church in Great Britain, a church that sees itself as proceeding in an unbroken lineage from the earliest days of Christianity. Having split from the Western church in 1054, Eastern Orthodoxy today has over 170 million followers and, with Russia's new openness to religion, is growing in size and influence. For many years, Metropolitan Anthony's sermons have been broadcast by BBC radio and television, and he is well known in Europe and Russia as "the voice and face of Orthodoxy."

Central to Orthodox Christianity is the hesychast tradition, the esoteric practice of silent contemplation under the direction of a staretz, or spiritual father. This tradition is said to go back to the early saints and Christian contemplatives known as the Desert Fathers.

Metropolitan Anthony is himself a contemplative as well as a spiritual father to many. Through his books and talks, he has brought prayer and spirituality to life for innumerable others. While fulfilling the responsibilities of a patriarch in the Church organization, Metropolitan Anthony sees union with the Divine and manifesting this union in the world as his foremost task. His humility and single-minded seriousness of purpose shine through in this portrait of a rare and extraordinary human being.

It's Sunday morning. As I approach the Russian Orthodox Church, which looks small and unimposing amid the stately Georgian architecture of affluent Knightsbridge in Central London, I am wondering what it will be like to meet Metropolitan Anthony of Sourozh, the head of the Russian Orthodox Church in Great Britain and a man regarded by many as nothing less than a modern-day saint. In a time when organized religion seems to have fallen into disrepute and spiritual authorities in general are regarded with suspicion and mistrust, what is it that attracts this man's parishioners to Christian Orthodoxy, and why do they and so many others hold him in such high esteem? As I pause before the pale stone front of his church, it excites me to realize that I am about to find out.

After entering through the heavy wooden door, it takes my eyes a moment to adjust to the dim light within. But then what strikes me is just how many people are here for today's service—hundreds, and they're all standing. I'm surprised to see that there are hardly any chairs, though I find out later that this is the norm for services in the Orthodox Church. The atmosphere is rich with the smell of incense and the beautiful voices of an unaccompanied choir.

The walls and pillars are covered with golden icons depicting the Orthodox tradition's pantheon of saints. Candlelight shimmers in the darkness, reflected by the gold of the icons. A feeling of devotion is palpable as people pray, kneeling periodically on the bare wooden floor, or deep in contemplation, offer a candle and kiss the icons unselfconsciously. Partly in Russian and partly in English, the service lasts for a good two and a half hours, by the end of which I can hardly stand. But the people around me look as attentive as they did at the start.

The Orthodox Church is an Eastern branch of Christianity which has developed in near-total isolation from the Roman Catholic and Protestant churches of the West. Prayer has always been paramount in its tradition as a way of communion with God, and the extraordinary lives of its many saints through the centuries are testimony to its efficacy. In our time the Orthodox Church is increasingly attractive to many Western Christians who feel that it offers a depth of spiritual life not available to them in their own traditions. I've been told that recently an Anglican priest together with his entire congregation converted to Orthodoxy in this very church. The priest said during the ceremony that for him it was a homecoming.

Suddenly the congregation crowds expectantly to the front and an elderly archbishop with a gray beard and an ornate robe and mitre begins speaking in English. I know at once that this must be Metropolitan Anthony. As he leans on his staff, eyes closed and seemingly in meditation, his carefully chosen words emerge with a natural warmth and authority. His sermon is short, but his words command attention and have undeniable power and authenticity:

"People usually say that a heretic is someone who holds false and wrong views, but also I say a heretic is someone who doesn't live what they preach. So let us examine ourselves. Why is it that people who meet us never notice that we are limbs of the risen Christ, temples of the Holy Spirit? Why? Each of us has got to give his own reply to this question. Let us, each of us, examine ourselves and be ready to answer before our own conscience, and do what is necessary to change our lives in such a way that people meeting us may look at us and say: 'Such people we have never seen. There is something about them that we have never seen in anyone. What is it?' And we could answer: 'It is the life of Christ in us. We are His limbs. This is the life of the spirit in us. We are His temple.' "

Suddenly the service is over and the congregation begins to disperse. When the Metropolitan reappears after a few minutes, the robe and mitre are gone, replaced by a plain brown monk's habit and a well-worn leather belt. People waylay him and ask with moving devotion for a quick word or a blessing for their babies. As he strides purposefully towards me, I realize how extraordinarily vigorous and solid he is for a man over eighty years old. He takes both my hands together in his and readily agrees to my request for an interview. Then he's gone, disappearing out a side door.

Although we've hardly spoken, I feel that I've just met with a fellow human being rather than with the representative of a powerful institution. Why this is so becomes clearer to me during another visit to the church to listen to the Metropolitan speak at the ordination of a new deacon:


"Let us therefore pray with him and surround him with care, with compassion, because we have sent him like a lamb among the wolves. The wolves are all the temptations that may come with new force to everyone who devotes his life to the service of God. It is also those people to whom he will be sent, of whom some will receive his words with gratitude and some will reject them with anger, because the message he is to bring is a message of total transparency, total surrender to God, and also of a heroic following of Him who has said to us: 'I have given you an example to follow.' "Listening to this, I have the feeling that Metropolitan Anthony is speaking as much about himself as anyone else.

Returning a few weeks later at the time we've arranged for our interview, I'm surprised that it is the archbishop himself who heaves open the door to greet me. Seeing him again I realize that he is shorter than I had thought, his bearing and presence having given the impression of a man of larger physical stature. I follow him upstairs to the gallery, where we have to climb through all manner of boxes and old clothes—stored here for rummage sales—in order to get to the small space where he keeps a makeshift desk. Since the gallery is tiered and narrow, the seat he offers me is on a higher level than his own, so that I find myself looking down at the head of the Russian Orthodox Church in Great Britain and feeling slightly embarrassed by this reversal of protocol. He seems to have no secretary or office and appears indifferent to such material concerns. I notice that his monk's habit is held together by a safety pin.

The Metropolitan is very welcoming, and although his gaze is steady and penetrating, his eyes often flicker with humor. I find him down to earth, completely natural and quick to laugh, and I sense in him a fearlessness that must come from having gone through the fire himself. Because he is so self-effacing, tending to downplay his knowledge and spiritual attainment, it is sometimes difficult to draw him out about his own inner life. He seems to prefer sharing stories and anecdotes reminiscent of the teaching stories of the Desert Fathers, the early Christian ascetics of the Egyptian desert among whom the Orthodox tradition originated. He relates with amusement that the posters announcing a seminar he once gave at Oxford made it clear that believers were not invited, because it is his experience that believers think they have all the answers and tend not to be open! Having read some of his books and listened to some of his BBC radio and television broadcasts, I know his talks and writings to be an extraordinary and universal testament to the fruits of the spiritual life. But he smiles with a certain relish as he confesses that he never went to theological college.

The son of a Russian diplomat, Metropolitan Anthony of Sourozh was born in 1914 and spent his early years in Russia and Persia. Because of the revolution, his family emigrated to France, where he eventually became a medical doctor in Paris. He recalls that his father was a powerful spiritual influence on him as he was growing up. Once, when he returned home late from a holiday, his father told him that he had been worried about him. "Did you think I'd had an accident?" he asked. But that wasn't what his father was concerned about. "That would have meant nothing," his father answered, "even if you had been killed. I thought you had lost your integrity." This incident made a profound impression on him, and has stayed with him all his life.

During the Second World War, he served in the French Resistance as well as practicing medicine. Many of his anecdotes about the conditions which really test an individual's devotion to truth and readiness for self-sacrifice are drawn from his experiences during the war. He took monastic vows secretly in 1943 and was ordained as a priest in 1948. Soon afterward he moved in order to serve his church in England, where he has lived ever since. He became an archbishop in 1962, and Metropolitan (which means bishop of a chief city, or metropolis) in 1966.

By the Metropolitan's own account, he was "aggressively anti-church" during his teenage years in Paris, and did not believe in God. At a certain point, while at boarding school, it occurred to him that life would be unbearable if it had no meaning. He allotted himself one year in which to discover whether life did have any meaning. He decided that if at the end of that year he had found none, he would kill himself. Months went by and no meaning appeared.


Then one day he was persuaded to attend a talk by a priest who had been invited to address a Russian youth group to which he belonged. He sat through the lecture reluctantly, finding himself disturbed and repelled by the picture of Christianity which the priest presented. Returning home, he read through one of the Gospels to see if it would confirm the negative impression the lecture had given him. As he read he suddenly became aware of a mysterious and overwhelming presence in the room. To his shock and surprise he knew without any doubt that this was Christ. This direct experience was, he says, the turning point of his life, and gave him a certainty which has never left him.

Man's aim, the end and vocation set before him, is that through and beyond his own union with God, he should make this transcendent yet ever-present God (who enfolds and penetrates all, in whom we live and move and have our being, but who remains unknown to the world, unknowable indeed from without) interior and immanent in man and through man in the world; united with his creature indissolubly, though without confusion, distinct yet not alien, still himself, still personal, still God—yet closer to the soul than breathing itself. . . .

Thus, as he embarks on his course, the Christian must make his peace with God, with his own conscience, with men and things; relinquish all care about himself, firmly purpose to forget himself, not to know himself, to kill in himself all greed, even for spiritual things, in order to know nothing but God alone. . . .

Henceforward the worshipper must free himself from the bondage of the world by unconditional obedience—joyful, total, humble, and immediate; he must in all simplicity seek God, without hiding any of his wretchedness, without founding any hope on himself, in this active self-abandonment to God which is the spirit of watchfulness in humility, in veneration, with a sincere will to be converted, ready to die rather than give up the search.

Interview

WIE: What is the importance of a spiritual father or master in guiding a sincere person who wants to go further in their spiritual life, who wants to be serious about God?

Metropolitan Anthony: As in every walk of life, before you can walk independently you must be taught how to walk and in what direction. If you have someone who is more experienced than you are, knows perhaps more or better, it's natural that you should learn to listen. And the point of obedience, which we always think of in terms of being like a little dog who is given commands and obeys them—it isn't that at all. Obedience is a word that means listening. If you learn to listen to someone else, not only to the words he speaks but to the mood and meaning he tries to convey, you become freer of your self-centeredness, of your narrowness, and you become capable of listening not only to this man but to every person, and to the totality of life, and to God. Because unless you learn to listen to one person you cannot learn to listen. But on the other hand, it is not everyone who knows a little and can teach a great deal. If you find a great spiritual guide you are lucky, but they don't grow like grass.

WIE: In the modern world there have been many people who've assumed the role of mentor or teacher and abused their power, so that people have become suspicious of genuine spiritual authority.

MA: One must learn at the same time to listen with openness, and never to renounce one's right to say, "I cannot follow beyond this point." Because otherwise you will obey the guidance of people who have no basis for guidance, who have no reason to guide you. It doesn't mean you have a right to judge everyone, to say, "I know better." But it means that you must be very sure that this person knows what the answer is to your question, to the question you are asking.

WIE: I read your beautiful introduction to The Way of a Pilgrim, the famous classic of Russian Orthodox spirituality. You wrote there about the importance of a relationship with a master who is well qualified to guide one on the way.

MA: Yes, but the master doesn't always tell you, "You do this and you do that and you will arrive at such and such a point." At times he's an example to you, at times there is something in him that makes you follow. I remember how I found my spiritual father. I came to a church late for the service and I saw a man coming out. There was in him such serenity, such centeredness and light that I came up to him and said, "I don't know who you are, but would you be my spiritual guide?" And afterwards he hardly ever gave me guidance, but I'm sure he prayed for me, and I found that I was like a little skiff tied by a long rope to a great boat. He was moving in that direction and I was moving behind him, but there was always this rope between us. I saw him once or twice a year, and whenever we met I discovered I had come to a point where he was. Not in the same degree, but like a little circle and a big circle: both are a circle, but there is a difference of size, of scale. Before he died he sent a note to me, "I know now what the mystery of contemplative silence is, I can now die." And he was dead within three days.

WIE: He was obviously an important influence on you.

MA: Yes, but he must be ashamed of me now because I have not born fruit of what he was. But he is really an image for me.

WIE: Often people don't like the idea of obedience to authority, but you are talking about being inspired by and following the example of another.

MA: If only people thought less in terms of drill and doing what they are told, but thought instead, "If I want to learn to play the piano, I must ask someone to direct every finger of mine." The same is true about everything we want to learn. You cannot learn the piano by simply banging and hoping it will come out right.

WIE: For the Orthodox Christian and the Orthodox Christian path, what is the ideal goal or result for a human being?

MA: I think I would answer in a way that may sound very stupid: to become a real human being. Because habitually we are not real human beings, we are human animals. We develop our intellect, we have our emotions, we have a wavering will. This is not real harmony. This is not wholeness. The perfect wholeness to us is the person of the Lord Jesus Christ. The aim of the Christian life is to become disciples, people who learn from him, not only obedient in the sense of being well drilled but obedient in the sense of being able to listen deeply, to understand his thought, his heart, and to grow into the full measure of our humanity, which is His humanity.

WIE: What would it mean to grow into the full measure of one's humanity, the full measure of Christ's humanity?

MA: I think the ideal would be to love one's neighbor with all one's being—if necessary at the cost of one's life—and to know and love God with all of one's being, because it is His life and His love that finds perfect expression in us when we are sufficiently open.

Doing the will of God is a discipline in the best sense of the word. It is also a test of our loyalty, of our fidelity to Christ. It is by doing in every detail, at every moment, to the utmost of our power, as perfectly as we can, with the greatest moral integrity, using our intelligence, our imagination, our will, our skill, our experience, that we can gradually learn to be strictly, earnestly obedient to the Lord God.

Unless we do this our discipleship is an illusion and all our life of discipline, when it is a set of self-imposed rules in which we delight, which makes us proud and self-satisfied, leaves us nowhere, because the essential momentum of our discipleship is the ability to reject our self, to allow the Lord Christ to be our mind, our will and our heart. Unless we renounce ourselves and accept his life in place of our life, unless we aim at what St. Paul defines as "it is no longer I but Christ who lives in me," we shall never be either disciplined or disciples.

Metropolitan Anthony
from Living Prayer

Source 

An interview with Archimandrite Dionysios - The Enemy Within ( Part 3 )

    

Archimandrite Dionysios

An interview with Archimandrite Dionysios - The Enemy Within ( Part 2 )

 

 Simonopetra Monastery

An interview with Archimandrite Dionysios - The Enemy Within ( Part 1 )

 

Elder Paisios said...

+++

When you ask God for something, and for a long time He doesn’t help, you should know that there is pride. If we have passions - for example: gluttony, vain talk, anger, envy and so forth - and, in addition to that, we also have pride, God won’t help us; because we are obstructing divine Grace with our passions. And even if we only have a tendency to pride within us, we still obstruct God from helping us; though we may be struggling, and perhaps praying more than is needed.

+++

Blessed are those who were born crazy and will be judged as crazy, and, in this way, will enter Paradise without a passport.

+++

“…One afternoon something extraordinary happened to him. While praying, he saw Christ in front of him right there in the forest.”

“Was it a mystical vision of the Christ?” I asked.

“No. Elder Paisios insisted that it was Christ Himself who literally appeared in front of him. He had a material body and was seen by the elder with his ordinary vision. It was a living experience, just like the experiences he later had with dead saints. In this manifestation Christ held an opened Gospel and what He said to him was spoken verbatim in the way it was written in the Gospel. Addressing him by his first name Christ told him:

“I am the Resurrection and the Life. Whoever believes in Me will not taste death.”

“This direct experience of the Christ,” Father Maximos continued, “was as far as I know the first entrance of young Paisios into the realm of supernatural revelations and was a turning point on his path toward monasticism.”

- from ‘The Mountain of Silence,’ p.90

Source