A Word Delivered on December 6, 1907, in the Kronstadt Andreevsky Cathedral

It is related in an ancient hagiographic account that hearers and admirers came from every side to a certain devout elder-ascetic, seeking his prayers, his counsel, his blessing. Many asked him about many things, and to each and every one he answered according to the measure of the Spirit given him. Only one youth, always visiting the elder, sat silently at his feet and asked him nothing at all. One day the elder, noticing this, at last turned to the youth with a question: why was he silent, and asked him nothing? The youth answered: «My father! For me it is enough only to listen, and to look upon you!»

Does not the Elder of Kronstadt—you know of whom I speak—remind us of, does he not repeat before our very eyes, over the course of decades, this ancient elder? There lives, indestructibly, in the soul of man, the need to find and to embrace a holy thing, to venerate it, to dwell for a time in its sanctifying, spirit-lifting communion. Among the Russian Orthodox people this need shows itself with particular intensity; it fills and shakes the whole soul of the nation, holding sway over all its other interests and demands. And so it is here, to this wondrous elder, that holy and freedom-loving Rus has turned its gaze for so many years. Some have come to him in person, have prayed with him and still pray with him, have received counsel and blessing, and not infrequently the gift of miraculous help. However many they are, they are, in comparison with all of Russia, a barely noticeable part of the people. All the rest, like the youth before the ancient elder, have only gazed upon this wondrous vision of our own time and rejoiced in the grace of God resting within him, and kindled their faith and hope, and were fed by his abundant spiritual table of word, prayer, and unceasing instruction—the instruction of his life, his ascetic labor, his love, his generosity, his burning faith and the burning word that comes forth from his lips. From that land of deep midnight, where, in struggle against a harsh nature, fleeing from his enemies, the Russian found for himself a refuge of freedom and a school of strength of spirit and character, our lamp has shone forth. There once grew up, great in spirit, the venerable Tryphon and Theodoret, Zosima and Sabbatius, Herman and Cyril, and many others. Steeped in their spirit, there has stood here, for more than half a century, this pastor, great in simplicity of faith and humility, a man of prayer—on the very edge of the Russian realm, by the midnight capital, at the end of the Russian land, by the very sea, shining like a lighthouse for the ships of life, shattered amid the storms and troubles of this world.

Here, in this holy temple, for half a century the very air has trembled with the voice of the prayers and sighs of this pastor and man of prayer of all Russia; here his first tears of priestly prayer were shed; here his pastoral sorrows and joys were lifted up to God; here around him there have been so many spiritual raptures of faith and hope, so many events and instances of rebirth, repentance, salvation, comfort and consolation, so many miracles of divine grace, that in very truth one must say, in the words of the Lord to Moses at the burning bush: take off your shoes from your feet, for the place on which you stand is holy (Ex 3:5). For so many years, unchangingly and unceasingly, by day, in the depth of night, and in the early morning, while it was yet dark, he has stood here and taught, and prayed—and God gave him the joy of seeing how a city, known in former times only for debauchery and vice, was turned into a place revered throughout all Russia, a place of pilgrimage, as the effect of his ministry made itself felt ever more and more widely.

Long and gradually did his lamp burn brighter, until it shone for the whole of Russia and far beyond her borders as a rule of faith, an image of meekness and self-restraint, a teacher—until our pastor of all Russia obtained greatness through humility and riches through poverty. Proudly did the waves of unbelief rise in the sixties; there were fierce storms in the Church: heresies arose; Tolstoy grew up and fell… Father John fearlessly and unceasingly exhorted, instructed, chastised, and denounced vice and the pride of unbelief and heresy; he stood as an unshakeable pillar of Orthodox churchliness, showing in himself, by a living example, and proving, the power, the vitality, and the effectiveness of the holy Church, which is able to raise up in her own bosom such a grace-filled pastor. He kindled a sacred fire in thousands of souls; he saved thousands of desolate hearts from despair; he brought back to God and into the fold of the Church a thousand perishing children; he drew into pastoral service so many outstanding men, who, in the very person of Father John, came to see, to value, and to love, to the point of self-forgetfulness, the beauty of the priesthood… Now these men, not infrequently already standing on the high steps of the hierarchy, come to this man of God and bow before him, humbled to the very dust of the earth. Yesterday and today we were witnesses of this (Both of the concelebrating hierarchs are spiritual children of Father John and were called by him to the priesthood; the day before, Vladimir, Metropolitan of Moscow, came to visit Father John and to express to him his love and reverence).

And now, in these last years, when our drunken, rotten, and godless, nation-destroying, self-destructive revolution ripened and burst open with pus and stench, we have witnessed a fearsome spectacle. The embittered brigands have spared nothing, have spared neither the faith nor the sacred things of the nation. And this great elder, this luminary of our Church, «the glorious beauty of fathers among fathers,» the honor of our pastorate, a man of whom every land and every people would be proud—this elder, before the eyes of all, is now raised up upon the cross of suffering, given over to mockery and reproach; his honor, his glory, his influence are being picked apart by black ravens. A vile slander has begun to creep about; newspaper reptiles, brigands of the press, verbal hyenas and jackals, gravediggers of another’s honor, have crawled out of their filthy burrows. The Judaizing press has poured its filth upon Father John. They must destroy the people’s faith; they must lay waste the conscience of the nation; they must push the people onto the path of crime; they must take revenge upon a man who for so long and so successfully strengthened the faith, cultivated love for the Tsar and the fatherland, and scourged all the traitors, our own Judases and destroyers of the fatherland, from Tolstoy down to the spawn of the revolution… It was he who was the first to be hounded and defamed by the unbridled press. I remember, two years ago, returning from Siberia to the northern capital, seeing all along the railway line these leaflets, cartoons, verses—mockeries of John of Kronstadt… Then, for a short while, the hounding weakened, but now all this filth is once more flowing together into a single stream. Black ravens gather in clouds over Russia, and the first thing their predatory beaks strain to peck apart is holy things and holy people, to undermine the authority of respected persons, to undermine that religious reverence on which every duty, every order, every life truly worthy and truly human, is built. It is no concern of ours what the author of this talentless piece of stagecraft, calculated to fleece simple-hearted people—a fleecing which he scourges, however, not in himself and his own kind, as he ought, but in others—actually meant to express. Perhaps he, as he assures us, truly did wish to depict, in a repugnant light, fanatical sectarianism and religious charlatanism, even if it cloaks itself in the name of Father John: for evil can cloak itself not only in the name of a venerated pastor, but even in the name of Jehovah (the Jehovists) or of Jesus (the Jesuits); indeed, in other fields of thought and of life generally, Satan not infrequently transforms himself into an angel of light, and have we not seen how brigands, violators, and betrayers of the people, serving, for Jewish money, the destruction of Russia, come forward under the banner of brotherhood, equality, and especially of «the people’s freedom» or the good of society (socialism)? So then, we do not speak here of the play itself and its content; we speak of what the vile servants of the stage, lackeys, venal and cringing servants of the base instincts of the crowd and of the diabolical revolution, have made of it upon the stage. On the stage, instead of the scourging of sectarian fanaticism, savagery, or fraud, there is depicted, to the horror of the Orthodox, the life and setting of our own Orthodox monasteries and churches, and our valiant pastor, revered by the whole nation, of whom the people’s faith long ago pronounced its own verdict—that his life is glorious and his falling asleep will be among the saints—is unambiguously brought forward in a buffoonish guise. And this at the very time when he, in the evening of his days, weakened by a tormenting illness, feeble in bodily strength, scarcely able to move, still performs among the faithful, as before, what may be his last labors of prayer and piety upon this earth; when he has no strength left to defend himself; when we tremble for every day and every hour of his life; when this holy lamp barely flickers, and is on the point of going out, when this pure candle of God is about to burn itself away. Has he, then, no defense? Shall we leave him alone in the midst of our great multitude? Shall he be given over to be torn apart by spiritual dogs, to the torture and mockery of these brigands?

«But why do you speak to us of this?» — you may perhaps ask, in anguish and sorrow and perplexity. «Why?» But then ask why a loving son weeps over a father or mother torn apart by grief! Why, in great sorrow, having left off weeping and seemingly grown calm, do we, on seeing those close to us, beloved, who share our feeling—we who kept silent among strangers—here, among our own, find that we cannot restrain our grief, our tears, our cries? So too now, in this temple, at the sight of this great multitude of worshippers, the children and admirers of Father John, let us pour out our grief, let us weep out our tears!

And now, on this day of a church-and-civic celebration, I wish, through you, through this whole great multitude of people, to say, from this temple, to all of Russia: O, guard what is holy, and the holy people among you! Treasure your spiritual riches! Defend them, stand firm for them, against those swine who trample them underfoot! Do you not know that the lips of the righteous drop wisdom, but the tongue of the wicked shall perish? Or do you not believe that where insolence enters, there dishonor enters too—and have we not seen this in all these efforts toward «freedom» and the «liberation movement,» full of nothing but malice and insolence? Or do you forget that by the blessing of the upright a city is exalted, but by the mouth of the wicked it is overthrown? Has it ceased to be an unalterable truth that kingdoms of men are upheld by the righteous, that their standing is a holy seed, that righteousness exalts a nation, while sin diminishes peoples?

Or do you imagine that, though you slay the prophets, as the God-murdering Jews once did, your house will not be left desolate? Or will you have a new John of Kronstadt every year, that you do not treasure this one?

You will not debase God and His holy things, you will not spit upon heaven—the spittle will fall back upon the heads of those who spat; but you yourselves—you yourselves—what answer will you give? What will our descendants say of us? How justly will they judge us, for our failure and unwillingness to protect what is holy, for our failure to defend him, to surround him with the fence and wall of our love—and this at a time when there still live among us thousands whom he has miraculously healed, thousands whom he has brought back to life? How, then, shall we answer to God, and will not His just and fearsome sentence be fulfilled upon us—that if we will not hear Moses and the prophets, neither will we believe though one rose from the dead? Have we not, then, come to the blasphemy against the Spirit, for which alone, even by the judgment of Love Himself incarnate, who declared forgiveness for every other blasphemy and every other sin, there is no forgiveness, neither in this life nor in the life to come?

Then neither will our kingdom stand upon the earth, nor will our people live. By love for our elder, by prayer for him, by a manifestation of national and public indignation against the spawn of the black ravens and all their theatrical filth, we must arm ourselves in defense of our trampled sacred things.

And to you, vile blasphemers, there stands ready the prophetic word of that very righteous man whom you now cover with filth. As though foreseeing this very sorrow, only three years ago, Father John wrote in his diary: «I thank You, O Lord my God, that You have called me into communion of Your Divine Table, have made me a companion and interlocutor at Your table, that I might recline, as it were, upon Your breast, or more precisely, that I might have You within my own breast and in my heart. What honor have You granted me, what dignity, what love, what communion! What shall I bring You for this, and what shall I render, O most bountiful, immortal King?! But what grief it is, that Your ministers and companions at Your Divine Table are now held in contempt and reproach by the men of this age; how they revile Your priests, and Your Church, and Your holy word, which the Holy Spirit has spoken! And how long will You endure them, how long before You bring them low, who have brought You, our God, low, and blot out their name from among the living! Let their memory perish with a roar. So be it!» (Archpriest John Sergiev, «From the Diary for 1904»). Amen.

Archpriest John Vostorgov.

Hierarchs at the Bedside of the Ailing Father John of Kronstadt.

On December 5, by the 10 a.m. train, on the Baltic Railway, there departed for Kronstadt, with the purpose of visiting the ailing pastor of Kronstadt, Father John Ilyich Sergiev, held in the highest esteem and fervently loved by all of Orthodox Rus—His Eminence Vladimir, Metropolitan of Moscow, and Their Graces Seraphim of Oryol and Hermogenes of Saratov, accompanied by pastors and laymen among the admirers of Father John, among whom were Archpriest I. I. Vostorgov, V. M. Skvortsov, and others.

The journey was intended to be made as an entirely private pilgrimage to a great luminary of the Church and a pastor beloved of the people, whose physical strength was now failing. But the news, which spread throughout Kronstadt, that these distinguished hierarch-guests were arriving, roused to their feet both the local clergy and the representatives of the authorities and of society.

At the station, a gendarme officer met the hierarchs and greeted the bishops on behalf of the chief commander of the port, at the same time reporting that a solemn reception awaited His Eminence at the Andreevsky Cathedral.

At the ringing of the bells, the hierarchs entered the cathedral, which was lit with full illumination and filled with a multitude of people and representatives of society; here too, in their decorations and in full uniform, were the Governor-General, General Ivanov, and the commander of the port and governor of Kronstadt, Admiral Nikonov. The cathedral clergy met the hierarch in full vestments, and the sacristan of the cathedral, Archpriest Popov, addressed His Eminence the Metropolitan with a fine speech, in which he vividly expressed and strongly underscored this thought: the cyclone of liberationist unrest that has swept across Rus has passed with special ferocity over Kronstadt, and has driven here no small number of black ravens, greedy for every abomination, sparing neither anyone nor anything that serves the cause of revolution and the overthrow of the authorities revered by holy Rus. The speaker asked of the hierarch the help of his prayers and his intercession in the struggle against these «black ravens»—the heroes of our seditious, base age—and thanked him for his high attention to the ailing Father John.

«Black birds of prey are accustomed to flock,» the hierarch answered, more or less, «to where the carcass is, and to gather there, where the prey is…

Kronstadt has always been, and is—thanks to the pastoral labors of faith and mercy of the now ailing, deeply revered elder-pastor—in the eyes of all truly Russian, Orthodox-believing Russia, a place where a lighthouse has been kindled, where the star of faith and zeal for the Church of God shines… The «black ravens,» driven here by the following wind of this turbulent age, will, God grant, soon scatter—they will find no prey here. The prayer of faith of this faithful servant of the Church has been, and will continue to be, a saving lighthouse for those tossed by the storms, here too, of our troubled time, so free of faith and conscience».

Having venerated the cross and received the sprinkling of holy water, the bishops proceeded to venerate the holy icons and the holy altar, while the choir, dressed in ceremonial kuntushes, quietly began to sing the entrance hymn «It Is Truly Meet.»

Let us note, as an innovation making a pleasant impression, that the women singers, too, were dressed in ceremonial kuntushes.

The deacon pronounced the litany, and then proclaimed the Many Years, including for the visiting hierarchs. His Eminence the Metropolitan pronounced the final Many Years himself: «to the clergy, to the mayor, to the military commander, and to all the Orthodox inhabitants of this city.»

Having blessed the people, the hierarchs and those accompanying them set off for Father John’s house.

Our dear batushka soon came out to meet his distinguished guests and visitors, but no longer with that always brisk and vigorous step. Father John is greatly worn down by his illness—he has grown gray, his face has grown drawn and gaunt, and has a pale yellow, waxen color, testifying to an exhausting fever.

His wondrous blue eyes no longer shine with their former liveliness, but have a fading gaze, though still full of that same captivating kindness and gentleness. His voice is much softer, and no longer has those sharp, strained notes that had earlier been heard from exhaustion. The hearts of those who love Father John felt that grievous infirmities were wearing down this great elder, the pastor of Orthodox Russia, and that the days of his life were scarcely likely to be long. Some of the visitors could not restrain their tears, kissing, perhaps for the last time, their dear batushka.

— I thank you from my heart, distinguished guests, most reverend hierarchs, for remembering me, small as I am, and visiting me in my infirmities—and especially, I embrace your love, Most Reverend Vladyka!…

General Ivanov and Admiral Nikonov arrived. His Eminence the Metropolitan seated the ailing elder beside himself on the sofa.

Father John asked a blessing on the tea and the light refreshments served. He himself poured and served each of the guests a glass of wine, and proposed a toast to the health of «our distinguished, dear guests.»

His Eminence the Metropolitan wished health to the ailing host, so dear to all, and many years of life for the good of the Holy Church.

All together, from the fullness of their loving hearts, sang «Many Years,» which visibly moved the sufferer deeply.

Father John sat with his guests for more than half an hour, conversing animatedly about his own years (he is now seventy-nine), about the few fellow hierarchs of his own generation still living, and told them of his tormenting illness, which grants him no rest, by day or by night, for more than fifteen or twenty minutes at a stretch. Only during divine worship, which he has again begun to celebrate early in the morning, against the demands of his physicians, does nature grant him a respite of some two hours. His strength fails him especially through lack of appetite and the complete inactivity of his stomach—he can take nothing solid at all.

Despite the demands of his physicians, Father John, as an unbendingly zealous keeper of the Church’s ordinances, categorically refused any non-fasting food, even in the form of medicine.

— I thank my Lord for the sufferings He has sent down upon me, for the purifying beforehand of my sinful soul,—Father John said humbly, concluding his sorrowful account of his illness. — Holy Communion revives me.

Feeling his strength fail, he withdrew to his cell. Archpriest Popov invited the distinguished pilgrim-hierarchs, the officials, and all those present to a meal at his own residence.

Here the venerable fellow clergyman of the deeply revered Father John expressed his profound gratitude to the Metropolitan for visiting the ailing elder and Kronstadt, both of which deeply honor, in the Moscow hierarch, a worthy successor of the great hierarchs of Moscow, men of prayer and intercessors for the holy Russian land.

His Eminence the Metropolitan replied with a speech, deeply moving to all present, on the worthy bearers of «sound Russian sense.»

After the meal, His Eminence the Metropolitan visited Father John once more, who came out wrapped in a fur coat, with the clear signs of a feverish condition upon him.

Here too was Father John’s wife, an old woman as frail as he.

The Vladyka recalled Father John’s visits to Moscow, asked to be covered by his love whenever the press of business had prevented him from showing him spiritual attention, and asked for his prayers, both in this life and in the life to come.

The elder, visibly moved by the hierarch’s tenderness, said:—What are you asking of me, holy Vladyka? I have always carried in my heart, and will keep to the end of my days, a special love and reverence for your holiness.

Having taken his leave, the hierarch called with visits upon the Governor-General and the governor, and departed for Petersburg at 4 o’clock in the afternoon, accompanied by the festal peal of the bells of the Andreevsky Cathedral.

V. Ryazansky.