5. The Practice of Silence.—Return to the Hermitage and the Reclusion

Elder Seraphim, after the death of the prior Isaiya, while continuing to dwell in the wilderness, took upon himself the monastic labor of silence. “Above all things one must adorn oneself with silence,” he would say, “for, as Saint Ambrose of Milan says, through silence I have seen many saved, but through much talking, not one. And again one of the fathers says: silence is the mystery of the age to come, while words are the instruments of this world.” From this time onward his life became even more still than before: for now not only the wilderness itself, but the elder’s own lips seal it from us.

In what aspect, then, does the life of Father Seraphim now present itself to the observer? In general, he now took as his guide the deeds of two ancient ascetics—Arsenius the Great and John the Silentiary and hermit. In particular: if visitors came to him in the wilderness, he would not appear to them. If he himself happened to encounter someone unexpectedly in the forest, the elder fell face down and would not raise his eyes until the person had passed by. In this manner he preserved his silence for about three years. Some time before the end of that period he also stopped visiting the hermitage on Sundays and feast days. One brother carried food to him in the wilderness, especially in winter when Father Seraphim had no vegetables of his own. Food was brought once a week, on Sunday. It was hard for the appointed brother to perform this obedience in winter! There was no path to Father Seraphim’s wilderness cell. He would trudge through blizzards, sinking in snow up to his knees, carrying a week’s supply of food for the silent elder!… Upon entering the vestibule, the visiting brother would customarily say the prayer. The elder, silently saying “Amen” to himself, would open the door from the cell into the vestibule. With hands folded crosswise on his chest, he would stand at the door with his face cast down toward the ground: he would neither bless the brother nor even glance at him. And the visiting brother, having said his prayer according to custom and bowed to the elder’s feet, would place the food on a small tray that lay on a table in the vestibule. For his part, Father Seraphim would place on the same tray either a small piece of bread or a little cabbage. The visiting brother took careful note of this. By these signs the elder silently indicated what should be brought the following Sunday: bread or cabbage. And again the visiting brother, having said the prayer, would bow to the elder’s feet and, having asked for his prayers on his behalf, would return to the hermitage without having heard a single word from Father Seraphim. All of this was only the visible, outward sign of the practice of silence. But the essence of the feat consisted not in outward withdrawal from social interaction, but in the silence of the mind, in renunciation of all worldly thoughts for the sake of the most pure dedication of oneself to the Lord. Such silence, as the elder himself described it, bore many fruits. It decisively disarmed the devil in his struggle with the desert-dweller. “When we remain in silence,” Father Seraphim would say, “the enemy, the devil, accomplishes nothing against the hidden person of the heart: and this must be understood as silence in the mind. It gives birth in the soul of the one who practices it to various fruits of the Spirit. From solitude and silence,” he would say, “are born tenderness of heart and meekness: the action of the latter in the human heart may be likened to the still waters of Siloam, which flow without noise or sound, as the prophet Isaiah speaks of them: the waters of Siloah that flow gently (Isa. 8:6). In combination with other spiritual occupations, the practice of silence raises a person to piety. Dwelling in the cell in silence, in exercise, in prayer, and in meditating day and night on the law of God makes a person devout: for, in the words of the holy Fathers, the monk’s cell is the Babylonian furnace, in which the three youths found the Son of God. Silence brings a person near to God and makes him like an earthly angel. Only sit in your cell in attentiveness and silence, and with all your might strive to draw near to the Lord: and the Lord is ready to make you from a man into an Angel: for upon whom, He says, shall I look, but upon the meek and silent one who trembles at My words (Isa. 66:2). Among the fruits of silence, besides other spiritual gains, is peace of soul. Silence teaches stillness and constant prayer, while self-restraint keeps the mind from distraction. Finally, one who has acquired this awaits a state of peace.” Such was the way Elder Seraphim practiced the feat of silence! Such was what he sought to attain by this path, casting all his care upon the Lord (1 Pet. 5:7).

Many of the brothers deeply regretted the elder’s withdrawal from life in community with them. By taking upon himself the practice of silence, he deprived them of his counsel and guidance. Those closest to him even asked: “Why does he withdraw into solitude, when by remaining in close fellowship with the brothers he could edify them by word and example, without any loss to the ordering of his own soul?” The elder replied, using the words of the holy Fathers: “Love the idleness of stillness above satisfying the hungry in the world, said Saint Isaac the Syrian. And Saint Gregory the Theologian said: it is beautiful to do theology for God, but better than this, if a person purifies himself for God.”

The practice of silence was not, however, the feat upon which Elder Seraphim resolved to end his life. Through it, as if by a ladder, having attained greater perfection, he passed on to the higher asceticism known as reclusion. The occasion for this was the following circumstance. At the time being described, the superior was, as already noted, Father Nifont—a God-fearing, virtuous man, fatherly in his love for the brothers, attentive to the needs and circumstances of each brother, a zealot for the rule and order of the Church. Father Seraphim, from the time of the death of Elder Isaiya, having imposed upon himself the labor of silence, lived in his wilderness cell without ever leaving it—exactly as in a reclusion. Previously he had been coming to the hermitage on Sundays and feast days to receive Holy Communion. Now, since the time of his standing on the rocks, his legs had been ailing; he could not walk. It was unknown who was giving him Holy Communion, though we do not doubt for a moment that he did not remain without partaking of the Body and Blood of Christ. Did this circumstance not give some occasion for scandal, to which people are so prone?… And so the prior convened a monastic council of the senior hieromonks, and the question of Father Seraphim’s reception of Holy Communion was put before them for deliberation. The matter was decided thus: to propose to Father Seraphim that he either walk—if his legs were sound and strong—to the hermitage as before on Sundays and feast days to receive Holy Communion, or, if his legs would not serve him, to move permanently to a monastic cell. By common counsel it was decided to inquire through the brother who carried food on Sundays what Father Seraphim would choose. The brother, on his very next visit to the elder, carried out the decision of the Sarov council, but Father Seraphim, having listened in silence to the council’s proposal, dismissed the brother as usual, without saying a word. The brother reported the matter as it stood to the prior, and the prior told him to repeat the council’s proposal the following Sunday. Bringing food the next week, the brother repeated the proposal… Then Elder Seraphim, having blessed the brother, set off with him on foot to the hermitage. By accepting the second proposal of the council, the elder showed that he had been unable, owing to illness, to walk to the hermitage as before on Sundays and feast days. This was in the spring, on the eighth of May 1810. Entering the monastery gates after fifteen years of dwelling in the wilderness, Father Seraphim, without stopping at his cell, went directly to the infirmary. It was daytime, before the evening vigil service began. When the bell was rung, Father Seraphim appeared at the all-night vigil in the Church of the Dormition of the Mother of God. How many years had it been since the elder had been in the hermitage! The brothers were astonished when the news instantly spread that Father Seraphim had resolved to dwell in the hermitage. But their astonishment grew even greater when the following events occurred. The next day, on the ninth of May—the feast of the Hierarch and Wonder-Worker Nicholas—Father Seraphim came, as was customary, to the infirmary church for the early Liturgy and received Holy Communion. Upon leaving the church, he directed his steps to the cell of the prior Nifont, and, having received his blessing, settled into his former monastic cell; he received no one, went nowhere himself, and spoke not a word to anyone—that is, he took upon himself the new and most arduous feat of reclusion. Father Seraphim’s practice of silence was visibly a transition to the reclusion.

And was not his utterly solitary life, lived out in the silence of the wilderness, already the beginning of reclusion—or even reclusion itself? In his monastic cell, Father Seraphim evidently continued what had already been begun some three years earlier in the wilderness, with which, perhaps, he would have combined the reclusion as well, had the circumstances described not intervened.

Of Father Seraphim’s feats in reclusion even less is known than of his life as a hermit. In his cell he wished to have—for the cutting off of his own will—nothing at all, not even the most necessary things. An icon before which an oil lamp burned, and a stump of a log serving in place of a chair, were everything he had. For himself he did not even use fire. During this time, for the mortification of the flesh so that the spirit might be saved, he wore upon his shoulders beneath his shirt, on cords, a large five-vershok iron cross, which in earlier accounts of his life was probably referred to as chains. But he did not in fact wear chains or a hair shirt, and he did not advise others to put them on either. When someone offends us by word or deed, and we bear the offense according to the Gospel—there are our chains, there is our hair shirt! These spiritual chains and hair shirt are higher than the iron ones which people nowadays put on themselves. True, many of the holy Fathers wore both the hair shirt and iron chains, but they were men of wisdom and perfection, and they did all of this out of love for God, for the complete mortification of the flesh and the passions and for the subjection of these to the spirit. Such among our Russian Orthodox saints were: the venerable Theodosius of the Caves, Theodosius of Totma, Basil the Blessed, and others. But we are still infants, and the passions still reign in our bodies and resist the will and law of God. What good is it, then, if we put on chains and a hair shirt, but sleep, drink, and eat as much as our soul desires? We cannot bear even the slightest offense from a brother magnanimously. A word of rebuke from a superior plunges us into utter despondency and despair, so that we begin thinking of moving to another monastery, and pointing with envy to those among our fellow brothers who are in favor and trusted by the superior, we take all his decisions as an insult, as inattentiveness and ill will toward ourselves. It appears, then, that there is little or no foundation at all in us for the monastic life! And all this because we reflect and attend to it too little. Is it possible in such a state of spirit and life to attempt the feat appropriate to the wise and perfect fathers—to wear chains and a hair shirt?

Father Seraphim’s clothing at this time was the same as it had been in the wilderness. His drink was water alone, and for food he ate only oat groats and white chopped cabbage. Water and food were left for him by a neighboring brother, Father Pavel. Coming to the cell, the brother would say the prayer and set the food by the door. The recluse, so that no one might see him, would cover himself with a large sheet of linen and, taking the dish while kneeling, as if receiving food from the hands of God, would carry it into the cell. Having refreshed himself with the food, he would place the dish back in its former spot, again covering his face with the linen. The covering cast over the face is explained by the example of the most ancient hermit-dwellers, who concealed their appearance with a cowl, so as not to behold vanity. It also happened that the elder did not appear to the brother at all, and the one who had brought the food would carry everything back again: the elder would leave himself without any food.

His prayer labors in reclusion were great and varied. As in the wilderness, he now performed hisrule and all the daily services, except for the most divine Liturgy. In addition to this, he gave himself to the labor of the prayer of the mind, reading alternately in his heart the Jesus Prayer and the Prayer to the Mother of God.

Sometimes, while standing in prayer, the elder would sink into prolonged mental contemplation of God: he would stand before the holy icon neither reading any prayer nor making prostrations, but only with his mind contemplating the Lord in his heart… How lofty and deep is this silent, reclusive prayer!

In the course of a week he would read through the entire New Testament in order: on Monday, the Gospel of Matthew; on Tuesday, that of Mark; on Wednesday, that of Luke; on Thursday, that of John; and on the remaining days, the Acts and Epistles of the holy Apostles. In the vestibule, through the door, it was sometimes audible how he, while reading, would comment to himself on the Gospel and the Acts of the holy Apostles. He would comment on the Acts of the holy Apostles aloud for a rather extended period of time. Many would come and listen to his word with delight, consolation, and edification. At other times he would sit over a book without turning its pages, being wholly immersed in contemplation of a pure and exalted thought of the Holy Spirit. Not a single organ of his body would stir: his eyes were fixed motionlessly on one object.

Father Seraphim’s complete immersion in the truths of the Gospel did not, of course, remain without heavenly grace from above. The most important witness to this is that he was found worthy of an incomprehensible rapture into the heavenly dwellings, like the Apostle Paul and the holy Andrew the Fool for Christ’s sake, who were caught up to the third heaven, and like the venerable Varsanufiy.

Concerning this vision—or revelation—incomprehensible to ordinary human understanding, the novice Ioann Tikhonov (later the hieromonk Ioasaf) recounts the following: “Once, already after Father Seraphim’s emergence from reclusion, a God-loving brother came to visit me, with whom we usually shared every joy and every consoling word we had heard from Father Seraphim, for our mutual edification. Among various conversations, he suddenly asked me: had Father Seraphim revealed to me that great secret, how he was found worthy to be caught up into the heavenly dwellings? I answered that I had heard nothing of this great mercy of God, while in my own heart I grieved that the Elder had not revealed to me this great secret. However much I questioned the brother to tell me something of what he had heard from Father Seraphim, despite all his desire, he could convey nothing that was intelligible to my understanding.”

“And so, having seen the brother off and impatiently waiting for evening, I set out as usual, at about the sixth hour, to Father Seraphim, with the intention of beseeching him to gladden my soul himself with an account of the great mercy of God he had received. The elder, upon my arrival, received me as a father who loves his children and, right after me, latched the door shut.”

“When we had sat down facing each other and I was just about to beg him to tell me his great secret, he at that same moment stopped my mouth with his hand, and his first word was: ‘Guard yourself with silence.’”

“And right then he began to unfold before me the history of the Prophets, the Apostles, the holy Fathers, and the Martyrs with characteristic simplicity. He said that all the Saints whom the Church of Christ glorifies left us, after their repose, their lives as an example for imitation, and that all of them were of like passions with us, but by fulfilling exactly, with all their soul, the commandments of Christ, they attained perfection and salvation, found grace, were found worthy of the various gifts of the Holy Spirit, and inherited the Kingdom of Heaven—and that before it all the glory of this world is as nothing; all the pleasures of the world have not even the shadow of what is prepared for those who love God in the heavenly dwellings; there is eternal joy and celebration.”

“In order, then, to give our spirit the freedom to soar there and be nourished by the sweetest converse with the Lord, one must humble oneself through ceaseless vigil, prayer, and remembrance of the Lord.”

“‘Behold, I, unworthy Seraphim, pass through the Gospel daily for this purpose. On Monday I read from Matthew from beginning to end; on Tuesday from Mark; on Wednesday from Luke; on Thursday from John; and on the remaining days I divide the Acts and Apostolic Epistles, and I do not miss a single day without reading the daily Gospel and Apostle and the reading for the saint. Through this, not only my soul, but”

“even my very body is gladdened and quickened, because I converse with the Lord, keep in my memory His life and sufferings, and day and night I glorify, praise, and give thanks to my Redeemer for all His mercies, poured out upon the human race and upon me, the unworthy.’”

“After this the Elder again said to me: ‘my joy! I beg you, acquire a peaceful spirit, and then thousands of souls will be saved around you.’ And he repeated this two more times.”

“Thereupon, in an indescribable joy, with a rising voice, the Elder said: ‘Now, I will tell you of unworthy Seraphim,’ and then, lowering his voice, continued: ‘I was gladdened by the words of my Lord Jesus Christ, where He said: in My Father’s house are many mansions—that is, for those who serve Him and glorify His holy Name. On these words of Christ the Savior, I, the unworthy one, paused and desired to behold those heavenly dwellings, and the Lord did not deprive me, the unworthy one, of His mercy: He fulfilled my desire and prayer—and so I was caught up into those heavenly dwellings; only I do not know whether it was with the body or apart from the body—God knows, it is beyond reach. But of that joy and heavenly sweetness which I tasted there, it is impossible to tell you.’ And with these words Father Seraphim fell silent. At that moment he leaned slightly forward, his head with closed eyes bowed downward, and with the open palm of his right hand he passed very softly and evenly before his heart. His face gradually changed and began to emit a wondrous light, and finally brightened to such a degree that it was impossible to look upon it; and on his lips and in his whole expression there was such joy and heavenly rapture that one could truly call him at that moment an earthly angel and a heavenly man. Throughout the time of his mysterious silence he seemed to be contemplating something with tenderness and listening to something with wonder. But what exactly was ravishing and delighting the soul of the righteous man, God alone knows.”

“God’s righteous one, by the weakness of human language, could not explain in words his wondrous rapture into the heavenly dwellings, but showed it to me by the wondrous light of his face and his mysterious silence. And I, although I was a firsthand witness of this wondrous event, will always say one and the same thing: God knows how all this came to pass.”

“After a rather prolonged silence, of about half an hour in my estimation, Father Seraphim spoke again and in most joyful feeling, with a sigh, said with tender emotion in his voice: ‘Ah, if only you knew, my most beloved Father Ioann, what joy, what sweetness awaits the soul of the righteous in heaven—you would resolve in this temporal life to bear every affliction, persecution, and slander with gratitude. And if this very cell of ours were filled with worms’ (here he pointed to his cell) ‘and if those worms were to eat our flesh throughout all of this temporal life—we ought to consent to this with every willingness, so as only not to be deprived of that heavenly joy which God has prepared for those who love Him. There is no pain there, no sorrow, no sighing; there is sweetness and unspeakable joy; there the righteous will shine like the sun. But if the holy Apostle Paul himself could not describe that heavenly glory and joy (2 Cor. 12:4), then what other human tongue can describe the beauty of the heavenly dwelling, in which the souls of the righteous shall abide?’”

Having been silent for a little while longer, he began to speak of the eternal torments of sinners.

“‘It is terrible to read the words of the Savior where He pronounces His righteous judgment upon unrepentant sinners: these shall go into eternal punishment (Matt. 25:46); where their worm does not die and the fire is not quenched (Mark 9:46–48); there shall be weeping and gnashing of teeth (Matt. 8:12). If even Satan himself fears and trembles before these torments, in what state, in what terror shall unrepentant sinners find themselves? And if the righteous man is scarcely saved, where shall the ungodly and the sinner appear (1 Pet. 4:18)?”

“‘Those who have stifled their conscience and walked in the desires of their hearts—there, in the hell that awaits them, there is no mercy whatsoever. There is no mercy there for those who showed no mercy here. They will then hear the Gospel words: remember, son, that in your lifetime you received your good things (Luke 16:25). In this present, temporal life, a guilty person can still somehow excuse himself from punishment through circumstance or friends; but there it is one of two things: either come or depart! The mouth of God, like a two-edged sword, in that terrible moment will decide all, and there will be no return. The righteous shall inherit the heavenly dwellings, while sinners go into the eternal fire prepared for the devil and his angels.’”

Toward the end of the conversation, the elder seemed to have completely forgotten about that inexpressibly sweet state of his spirit when he had spoken of the rapture into the heavenly dwellings. He now recognized only the weakness of his own nature and called himself the foremost of sinners. Finally, having given me his fatherly blessing, he dismissed me to my cell in peace (Tales of the Feats and Events of the Life of Elder Seraphim, 3rd ed., St. Petersburg, 1877, pp. 47-54).

Throughout all the years of the reclusion, the elder received Holy Communion—the Body and Blood of Christ—on every Sunday and feast day. In order to preserve the reclusion and the practice of silence in full purity, the most heavenly Mysteries were brought to him, by the blessing of the prior Nifont, from the infirmary church to his cell after the early Liturgy.

So that he might never forget the hour of death, and might hold it more vividly and more closely before his eyes, Father Seraphim asked that a coffin be made for him and placed in the vestibule of his recluse’s cell. At his request the coffin was prepared; it was hollowed out—along with its lid—from a solid oak log, and unpainted, it stood always in the vestibule. There the elder prayed often, preparing himself for his departure from this present life. In his conversations with the brothers of the Sarov Hermitage, Father Seraphim frequently spoke of this coffin: “When I die, I implore you, brothers, lay me in my own coffin.”

Among the hidden ascetic labors of this period, one became known by accident—a labor in which the elder combined spiritual work with bodily toil, refreshing his chest with clean air. It was discovered by chance by a brother whose obedience in the monastery was that of bell-ringer. One morning, rising earlier than usual, the novice John Tikhonov (later the hieromonk Joasaph, abbot of the Pavel-Obnorsky Monastery) made his way to the cemetery near the cathedral church, where the blessed and ever-memorable hermits rest. Standing among the gravestones, the brother noticed near Father Seraphim’s cell a figure moving swiftly back and forth. The monk’s imagination was startled. He made the sign of the cross over himself and, with a prayer, began to peer at the nocturnal apparition. It proved to be the ascetic himself, the elder Seraphim. Reciting the Jesus Prayer in a barely audible whisper, he was quietly moving a small stack of firewood from one spot to another close to the cell. Overjoyed at the sight of the recluse, who had not shown himself to anyone for a long time, the bell-ringer threw himself at his feet and, kissing them, asked for his blessing. The elder blessed him and said: “Guard yourself with silence and attend to yourself.”

The elder spent about five years in strict reclusion, then relaxed its outward form somewhat. The door of his cell was left open: anyone could come to him and see him, and the elder did not feel constrained by the presence of others during his spiritual exercises. Some who entered the cell put various questions to him, having need of the elder’s counsel and guidance; but having taken upon himself a vow of silence before God, the elder gave no answers to their questions, continuing his usual occupations.

The bishops of Tambov, who were devoted to the Sarov Hermitage, visited it eagerly, usually every year in August for the feast of the Dormition of the Mother of God. During one such visit, Bishop Jonah (later Exarch of Georgia), wishing to see Father Seraphim, came to his cell; but the elder, faithfully keeping his vows before God and fearing the sin of people-pleasing, did not break his silence or his reclusion. In this instance Father Seraphim could also have been guided by the example of Arsenius the Great, whom he imitated in the labors of reclusion and silence. Theophilus, Archbishop of Alexandria, wishing to visit Arsenius, first sent word to inquire whether he would open his door. Arsenius answered: “If I open it for you, I will have to open it for everyone.” Theophilus said: “Then it is better that I do not go to him.” And so for Father Seraphim as well the time had not yet come—though it was already near—to leave his reclusion. The abbot Niphon had proposed removing the door from its hinges, thinking that perhaps the elder had already departed to the Lord; but Bishop Jonah did not agree, saying: “What if we should sin!” Leaving the elder, he departed from the monastery into the world. A week after this incident, the then-governor of Tambov, Alexander Mikhailovich Bezobrazov, arrived in Sarov with his wife, and both of them desired to receive Father Seraphim’s blessing. It was evident that by this time the period of strict reclusion and silence which Father Seraphim had imposed upon his heart had come to an end. When the governor and his wife approached the cell, the elder himself opened the doors of his reclusion to them first and blessed them. This was in the autumn of 1815. From that time on, many of the brothers began to come to him, and he began to enter into conversation with them.

Among the brothers, monk Gabriel visited Father Seraphim frequently. After entering the monastery, he had gone two years without seeing Father Seraphim and afterward felt great regret over this; but when he did come to Father Seraphim, the elder drew his heart to himself from the very first meeting. For his part, Gabriel also found favor with the elder, for he had a heart that was pure and forthright, and he dealt with everyone as before God, keeping far from all concealment. After this, Gabriel spent five years under the guidance of the wonderful elder, outliving him in the monastery and witnessing his death. Whenever something troubled the young monk or inclined him toward temptation, he would go to the elder Seraphim, troubled by fear, but after conversing with him he would return to his cell in peace and spiritual delight. And in all things the simple-hearted Gabriel acted exactly as the dear Father Seraphim guided him. Much was said to him for his future benefit. The dear Father Seraphim did not conceal from him how much sorrow lay ahead for the young monk on the path of life. After Father Seraphim’s passing into eternity, Gabriel recalled with delight the elder’s life and their conversations together, and with deep grief he spoke of the magnitude of this loss to him. As a consolation for his heart and his life, he took and always kept with him a portrait of the elder Seraphim.

Here we may offer in broad outline the instructions which the elder gave to the monks of the Sarov Hermitage who came to him. Everything was directed toward strengthening them in the observance of the rules of monastic life. He exhorted the brothers to perform the church services without fail according to the church’s typikon, and when present in the church he himself kept watch over this; he advised everyone to attend the church services, and while at prayer in church to stand with eyes closed, in interior attention, opening them only when one grows faint or when sleep begins to weigh upon one—and in such a case to turn one’s eyes toward an icon or a burning candle. Developing this thought in greater detail, Father Seraphim taught as follows: “We must look upon our life as a candle, ordinarily made of wax and a wick, burning with flame. The wax is our faith, the wick is hope, and the flame is love, which binds everything together—both faith and hope—just as wax and wick burn together by the action of fire. A candle of poor quality gives off a foul odor as it burns and goes out—and so too is the life of a sinner foul in a spiritual sense before God. Therefore, looking at a burning candle, especially when we stand in God’s temple, let us remember the beginning, the course, and the end of our life; for just as a candle lit before the face of God melts away, so with every passing moment our life also diminishes, drawing us nearer to its end. This thought will help us to be less distracted in the temple, to pray more earnestly, and to strive that our life before God should be like a candle of pure wax that gives off no foul odor.” Turning further to a general list of subjects, we note that Father Seraphim urged unceasing engagement in mental prayer, that each one should perform his obedience without fail and with diligence, that one should not eat before the time appointed by the rule; that one should go to the common table without fail, even if one has no desire to eat, so as not to scandalize the brothers by one’s absence; that at table one should sit with reverence and the fear of God, receiving what is offered with thanksgiving; that one should not go beyond the monastery gates without a valid reason and a blessing, and still less should one leave the monastic path altogether; that one should restrain self-will, whose ruinous consequences are beyond reckoning; that one should patiently bear all temptations for the salvation of the soul (Matt. 10:22), and preserve mutual peace. God dwells only in the dwelling of peace, as it is said: “His place is in peace” (Ps. 75:3).

The superior of the Sarov Hermitage, Abbot Seraphim, served as sacristan in the infirmary church from 1824 to 1826. His obedience required him each day, after every liturgy, to bring Father Seraphim a portion of the blessed antidoron set aside specially for him. The recluse sometimes received this gift himself, and sometimes did not appear to the brother who brought it. In the latter case, the brother would place the antidoron in a clean little pouch hung for this purpose at the door and, having said the customary prayer, would go on his way. From the infirmary church as well, on Sundays and feast days, the Holy Gifts were brought to his cell for Communion.

Soon after the elder had opened the door of his cell to the brothers, certain visitors earnestly asked him to receive laypeople as well. Thereupon, with his consent, outside visitors began to come to him. Now the life of the elder took a new direction—one that was Christian and social. Until now he had visibly cared only for himself and for the salvation of his own soul. His activity on behalf of his neighbors had consisted exclusively of prayer for the whole world, for the living and the departed among Orthodox Christians. By the very nature of the eremitic and reclusive life, the practical benefit of others and the guidance of neighbors had not yet entered into the scope of his actions. Until now, working spiritually upon himself, he had only been preparing to go forth into the field of public service. Now the time had come when Father Seraphim, having risen in the spiritual life above the great multitude of Christians and feeling the support of God’s grace, devoted himself to the labors of faith, the saving edification of others, and the guidance of his neighbors.

The elder received all who came to him with readiness, gave his blessing, and offered each one brief instructions of various kinds according to his spiritual needs. The doors of his cell were open to all from the early liturgy until eight o’clock in the evening. The elder received those who came dressed in an ordinary white cassock and a half-mantle; around his neck he wore an epitrachelion (a priestly vestment) and on his hands—cuffs. He did not always wear the epitrachelion and cuffs when receiving visitors, but only on those days when he received Holy Communion—that is, on Sundays and feast days. Those in whom he discerned sincere repentance for their sins, and who showed fervent zeal for the Christian life, he received with particular warmth and joy. After conversing with them, he would have them bow their heads, and then he would lay the end of the epitrachelion and his right hand upon the head, inviting them to repeat after him the following prayer of repentance: “I have sinned, O Lord, I have sinned in soul and body, in word and deed, in mind and thought, and in all my senses: in sight, in hearing, in smell, in taste, in touch, willingly or unwillingly, knowingly or unknowingly.” He would then himself pronounce the prayer of absolution from sins: “The Lord our God Jesus Christ, by the grace and mercy of His love for mankind, forgive you, child (name), all your sins; and I, the unworthy hieromonk Seraphim, by the authority given to me from Him, forgive and absolve you from all your sins, in the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit. Amen.” At these last words he would bless the bowed head of the person who had come. The elder did this according to the custom existing to the present day in the East among the ordained—that is, abbots who hold the rank of the priesthood. Those who received absolution felt a relief of conscience and tasted a spiritual pleasure unlike any earthly good. After this act was complete, he would anoint the forehead of the visitor with a cross-shaped anointing of oil from the lamp burning before a holy icon; and if it was before noon—that is, before the taking of food—he would give them to drink from a chalice of the great holy water, meaning the water blessed at Theophany, would bless them with a piece of antidoron or with the blessed bread consecrated at the all-night vigil service. Then, kissing the visitor on the lips, he would say at any season: “Christ is risen!” and would give them to venerate the icon of the Mother of God or the cross which he wore on his chest. Sometimes, especially to distinguished persons, he would advise them to step into the church to pray before the holy icon of the Mother of God—either the icon of her Dormition or of the Life-Giving Spring.

If the person who came had no need of particular instructions, the elder would offer general Christian edification. Above all he advised everyone always to keep the remembrance of God and for this purpose to call unceasingly upon the name of God in the heart, repeating the Jesus Prayer: “Lord Jesus Christ, Son of God, have mercy on me, a sinner.” “Let this”—he would say—“be your whole attention and your whole practice! Walking and sitting, working and standing in church before the beginning of the service, going in and going out, keep this always on your lips and in your heart. By calling upon the name of God in this manner, you will find peace, attain purity of spirit and body, and the Holy Spirit—the source of all good things—will dwell in you and will guide you in holiness, in all piety and purity.”

Another of Father Seraphim’s frequent instructions was this:

“For the sake of the blessedness to come, acquire chastity and preserve virginity. A virgin who preserves her virginity for love of Christ has the honor of angels and is a bride of Christ: Christ is her bridegroom, who leads her into his heavenly bridal chamber. Every human soul is a virgin; but the soul that abides in sin is a careless widow, dead in self-indulgence while yet alive.”

Many who came to Father Seraphim complained that they prayed to God only a little and even neglected the necessary daily prayers. Some said they did so because they could not read; others, because of lack of time. For such people Father Seraphim prescribed the following rule of prayer:

“Upon rising from sleep, every Christian, standing before the holy icons, should read the Lord’s Prayer—‘Our Father’—three times, in honor of the Most Holy Trinity; then the hymn to the Mother of God—‘Rejoice, O Virgin Theotokos’—also three times; and finally the Creed—‘I believe in one God’—once.”

“Having performed this rule, every Christian should go about his own work, to which he has been appointed or called. During work at home or on a journey somewhere, let him read quietly: ‘Lord Jesus Christ, Son of God, have mercy on me, a sinner,’ or ‘a sinner’ for a woman; and if others are around him, then while going about his work let him say only in his mind: ‘Lord, have mercy,’ and continue this until dinnertime.”

“Just before dinner, let him perform the same morning rule described above.”

“After dinner, while going about his work, every Christian should also read quietly: ‘Most Holy Theotokos, save me, a sinner,’ and let him continue this until bedtime.”

“Whenever it happens that he must spend time in solitude, let him read: ‘Lord Jesus Christ, through the prayers of the Mother of God, have mercy on me, a sinner’—or ‘a sinner’ for a woman.”

“When going to sleep, every Christian should once again read the morning rule described above—that is, ‘Our Father’ three times, ‘Rejoice, O Virgin Theotokos’ three times, and the Creed once. After that, let him fall asleep, having made the sign of the cross over himself.”

Regarding the worth of this short rule, Father Seraphim explained that “by holding to it one can attain the measure of Christian perfection; for the three prayers mentioned are the foundation of Christianity: the first—as a prayer given by the Lord himself—is the model of all prayers; the second was brought from heaven by the Archangel as a greeting to the Virgin Mary, the Mother of the Lord. And the Creed contains in brief all the saving dogmas of the Christian faith.”

If for someone it was impossible, owing to legitimate circumstances, to fulfill even this short rule as one ought, the elder advised reading it in any situation: during work, while walking, and even in bed, remembering the words of the Lord: “Everyone who calls on the name of the Lord will be saved” (Joel 2:32; Rom. 10:13).

And whoever has more time than this rule requires, and is moreover a literate person, should add to it other soul-profitable prayers and readings—such as reading several sections from the Holy Gospels and the Apostolic Epistles, reading canons, akathists, psalms, and various other prayers. And while reading, let him thank the Lord with all humility for the fact that he has had time to offer Him yet something more from the sacred fruits. In this way a Christian can gradually rise to the height of Christian virtues.

Among those who visited him were also prominent men of state. Father Seraphim treated them with due honor and Christian love, and conversing with them in that spirit, he would draw their attention to the importance of their rank, exhorting them from this to be faithful to the holy Orthodox Church, to their natural sovereign, and to their fatherland. Pointing to the medals and decorations adorning their chests, he reminded them of Christ Jesus crucified on the cross for our salvation, and said that these distinctions should serve as a living sermon about their duty: to be always ready to sacrifice everything, even if necessary their very lives, for the good of their homeland and the Church. Above all, in light of the needs of that time, he implored them to guard the great, holy, Orthodox, catholic Church, which was being severely shaken by both external afflictions and the vain philosophies of the age. “This”—he would say—“is what the Russian people expect of you; your conscience should compel you to it; the sovereign has chosen and exalted you for this purpose; to this the holy Church and the Lord God himself, her founder and guardian, oblige you.” Grand Duke Michael Pavlovich, visiting (incognito) the Sarov Hermitage while passing through Tambov and Penza, also came to the elder Seraphim and received his blessing.

Even more numerous were the common people who came to him, requiring not merely counsel but at times practical help.

On one occasion a simple peasant came running to the monastery, hat in hand, hair disheveled, asking in despair of the first monk he met: “Good father! Are you Father Seraphim?” He was directed to Father Seraphim. Rushing there, he fell at his feet and said urgently: “Dear father! My horse has been stolen, and now without it I am utterly destitute—I don’t know how I will feed my family. They say you can see things hidden.” Father Seraphim, gently taking him by the head and pressing it to his own, said: “Guard yourself with silence and make haste to such-and-such a village”—naming it. “When you approach it, turn off the road to the right and pass behind the backs of four houses: there you will see a small gate; enter through it, untie your horse from the post, and lead it away in silence.” The peasant immediately ran back with faith and joy, stopping nowhere along the way. Word afterward reached Sarov that he had indeed found his horse in the place indicated.

Another similar incident was recounted by Father Paul, a monk of Sarov.

“On one occasion”—he said—“I brought to Father Seraphim a young peasant who had a bridle in his hands and was weeping over the loss of his horses, and I left the two of them alone. Some time later, meeting that peasant again, I asked him: ‘Well then? Did you find your horses?’”

“Indeed I did, dear father”—answered the peasant.

“Where and how?” I asked him further.

And he answered: “Father Seraphim told me to go to the market, and there I would see them. So I went out, and sure enough I saw them and took my horses back.”

The wife of the estate manager of the village of Elizaryevo, in the Ardatov district of Nizhny Novgorod province, A. I. Molyayeva, recounted the following case of Father Seraphim’s clairvoyance from this same period:

My husband, Nikolai Kirillovich Molyayev, having lost his position as estate manager in the village of Elizaryevo, soon received a similar position in the village of Cherevatovo, also in the Ardatov district, and there he fell gravely ill; this was in 1822. Knowing my devotion to Father Seraphim and his goodwill toward me, my husband sent me to ask for his holy prayers and blessing, and to inquire whether he might hope for recovery or not.

I set out for Sarov, and upon my arrival there I found that Father Seraphim had shut himself away and was receiving no one. Nevertheless, I made my way through the great crowd of people waiting for Father Seraphim to appear, right up to his cell; and suddenly the man of God, as if foreseeing my desperate need to see him, appeared in the doorway of his cell, and paying no attention to the rest of the crowd, he turned to me and said: “Daughter Agripina, come to me quickly, for you must hasten home.” When I approached him, he, anticipating my words, gave me holy water, antidoron, red wine, and several dried bread-crusts, and said: “Now take this quickly to your husband.” Then, taking my hand, he placed it on his shoulder and let me feel the large iron cross he wore, saying: “Here, my daughter, at first it was heavy for me to carry this, but now it is very pleasant. Make haste now, and remember my burden. Farewell.” With these words he blessed me and withdrew again into his cell, where he once more shut himself away and received no one.

“Upon returning home, I found my husband in his final moments of life; his tongue had already failed him. Then I remembered the elder’s cross and understood that he had been foretelling mourning for me. I had barely given the sick man the red wine with the antidoron, and then the holy water, as Father Seraphim had instructed—when the sick man began to speak again and said: ‘Forgive me, holy father—for the last time I receive your blessing from you.’ After these words he blessed our children once more, said farewell to me, and said: ‘Great are the works of Father Seraphim!’ Then he lay back down and peacefully departed to the Lord.”

At this same time Father Seraphim also won the trust of Mikhail Vasilyevich Mantorov, the landowner of the village of Nuch, situated six versts from the town of Ardatov—a man whose name is bound up with the circumstances of the founding of the Seraphim-Diveyevo community. While stationed in Livonia on military duty, he had fallen into an illness whose nature the best physicians were unable to determine and which they consequently abandoned attempting to treat. These distressing circumstances compelled him to leave military service and settle on his estate. The village of Nuch was forty versts from Sarov. By that time Father Seraphim was already manifesting the gift of healing; news of this spread throughout all the surrounding region of Sarov, and people began advising Mikhail Vasilyevich to visit the ascetic of Sarov. Mantorov resolved to ask for the elder’s prayers for his healing and was carried to him in the arms of his servants. Seeing him in such a condition, the elder Seraphim first asked three times: “Do you believe in God without any doubt?” To each question Mikhail Vasilyevich answered affirmatively: “I believe without any doubt.” Then Father Seraphim, taking oil from the lamp that hung before the icon of the Mother of God of Tenderness—which he called the icon of the Mother of God, the Joy of All Joys—anointed the afflicted places; and all the sores that covered the body instantly fell away on the spot. Mikhail Vasilyevich, having received his health, walked out of Father Seraphim’s cell without anyone’s assistance. Always mindful of this benefaction, Mikhail Vasilyevich Mantorov came to Sarov very frequently to visit Father Seraphim, to whom he was attached with his whole soul. We note—this took place in 1823.

Princess A. Kolonchakova recounted the following instance of Father Seraphim’s clairvoyance. In 1824, on the fourteenth of September, I was granted the privilege of being with Father Seraphim and receiving his blessing. I came to him with the intention of asking about my brother, who was in military service and from whom we had received no word for about four years. I had not yet managed to say a single word about my intention when the elder, anticipating my words, said: “Do not grieve too much: in every family there is mourning.” When I began to speak to him about my brother, he replied: “About this I cannot but tell you to pray for him as for one who has reposed.” His clairvoyance was indeed vindicated: three months after our conversation I received word from the regiment where my brother had served that he was no longer in this world.

Another instance of clairvoyance was related by a certain Mrs. N. N.

“In 1825, for the first time I visited the Sarov Hermitage together with my sister, with a fervent desire to see the elder Seraphim and receive his blessing. My sister was the first to be granted the privilege of seeing him after matins and was full of delight at his warm welcome. I, however, could not see him at the same time as she, because I had not been at matins owing to a severe headache. After the liturgy ended, we both went together to the pious elder’s cell. On the way I noticed that my sister’s servant was carrying two bottles behind us, and I was curious enough to ask my sister what he was carrying. She replied that she had wished, following the example of other visitors to Sarov, to bring Father Seraphim a small gift of church wine and oil. I, not having known about this beforehand and having nothing with me at the time that I might also bring as a gift to Father Seraphim, was very distressed. But my sister, seeing my confusion, offered to let me take one of the bottles and present it to the elder as from myself. I was very glad of this offer, and so we arrived at Father Seraphim’s cell. When I looked upon the righteous elder, I no longer wished to look at anything else in his cell. I could not take my eyes from his face, which breathed goodness, humility, and holiness. He received us as a father receives his children, gave us prosphora and red wine, took the cross from his neck and let us kiss it. My sister handed him the bottle of church wine she had brought, and he received it most graciously and blessed her. Then I presented him with the bottle of oil. The elder, receiving it with equal graciousness, suddenly said to me: ‘In future, dear mother, if you think to bring me something, bring what is your own,’ and noticing the confusion and embarrassment into which these words plunged me, he immediately added in the gentlest of tones: ‘What I wanted to say, dear mother, is that if you live in the country, you surely have bees there; so you could have them make candles from the wax—that would be truly your own.’ After that he began to converse with us for the benefit of our souls, speaking at length about the saving Christian path, and every word of his was imprinted upon our hearts.”

While receiving all visitors, Father Seraphim himself, however, went nowhere from his cell, and having removed the seal of silence from his lips, did not abandon his reclusion. In this manner he lived for fifteen years. But at last, with God’s blessing, Father Seraphim resolved to leave his reclusion and, without leaving the monastery, to visit the hermitage and labor there in the Lord for the salvation of himself and his neighbors.

He reposed on October 5, 1878.