6. The Near Hermitage and Father Seraphim’s Dwelling There

About two versts from the monastery there was a spring. No one in the Sarov Hermitage knows who first dug it; it had existed from time immemorial, long before Father Seraphim entered the monastery. In 1825 it had the following appearance: the basin was covered with a timber framework and heaped over with earth; the water flowed from it through a single pipe. Near the spring, on a small post that appeared to have been set there deliberately, stood an icon of the holy Apostle and Evangelist John the Theologian. For this reason the spring was known as the Theologian’s spring. While Father Seraphim was still living at the distant hermitage, he would go to this place and engage in bodily labor near the source. The elder had a great fondness for the spot.

A quarter of a verst from the Theologian’s spring, on a small hill, stood a cell in which a monk of the Sarov Hermitage, Hieromonk Dorofei, was laboring toward his salvation. In the middle of September 1825, this devout solitary passed to another, better, heavenly world, toward which his soul had aspired throughout his life. Meanwhile Elder Seraphim, through long years of ascetic struggle, had been brought to a state of extreme exhaustion: from the time he had stood upon the rocks his feet had not ceased to pain him, and to the pain in his feet was now added a severe pain in his head as well. He was advised, for the sake of his health, to take movement and fresh air. Feeling all the necessity of this counsel, Father Seraphim began to go out from his cell. His very first outing was remarkable: it belongs to the number of those hidden feats and deeds of his that were mentioned briefly before. Spring had come in 1825. Great Lent had already begun—the time of special ascetic effort for the monks of Sarov. One day a brother of the monastery named Filaret, rising very early in the morning and completing his private rule, went out from his cell into the monastery enclosure. Unexpectedly he caught sight in the distance of a man wrapped in darkness and complete stillness, carrying something heavy in his arms.

“Who is there?” cried Filaret, making the sign of the cross with a prayer.

“Humble Seraphim, Seraphim the humble” was the reply. “Say nothing, my joy!”

Filaret then approached the elder and, as was the custom, received his blessing. He saw that Father Seraphim was carrying in his arms a stone of considerable size. He had taken it from outside the monastery, from beneath the hill, near the church of St. John the Forerunner. Filaret followed to see where the elder was taking this stone, and observed that Father Seraphim laid it down beside the altar of the cathedral church. At the same time, word of this was conveyed to the treasurer, Father Isaiah. Subsequent events explained the matter. The blessed remains of Father Seraphim now rest in the very place where that stone was laid. Thus it was that the elder, from within his reclusion, was already pressing toward the grave—from the contemplation of God as in a mirror darkly, toward the open knowledge of His glory. This incident was also the first hint the elder gave regarding the circumstances of his death, which he afterward foretold more plainly.

He then began in prayerful address to God to seek a heavenly permission for the open conclusion of his reclusion, for he never undertook anything without a blessing from on high. On November 25, 1825, on the feast day of St. Clement, Bishop of Rome, and of Peter of Alexandria, the Mother of God appeared to Father Seraphim in a vision during sleep, accompanied by the saints of the day, and gave him leave to come out of reclusion and to visit the hermitage. On that very same day, rising from sleep and completing his usual rule, Father Seraphim asked of Abbot Nifont and received without any hindrance a blessing to go out, on account of the illness in his feet and especially in his head, to spend the day in the desert cell of Hieromonk Dorofei. That same day was the first on which the elder, after his reclusion, openly went out again into the forest. From that time Father Seraphim began to walk each day to the Theologian’s spring and to the desert cell of Father Dorofei.

During his absences from the monastery the elder sometimes visited his former cell in what was called the distant hermitage and prayed there. One of the most important occasions of such a visit was the following. On December 9, 1825, two Diveyevo sisters who were staying at the guesthouse came to him: Paraskeva Stepanovna and Maria Simeonovna. As soon as the bell rang for Matins, Father Seraphim went with them into the forest, and at the great bell for the late Liturgy they arrived at the Theologian’s spring. The sisters noticed that Father Seraphim had brought with him candles, oil, and dried bread. On the way the elder told them that “he had not walked these places for many years, from the time he had entered his reclusion.” Approaching the spring, Father Seraphim remarked that there was some work awaiting him at this spot. At last they came to Father Seraphim’s former hermitage. There the elder, standing before the Crucifix that hung on his wall, placed the sisters on either side: Maria Simeonovna on his right and Paraskeva Stepanovna on his left, placed in their hands lighted candles, and prayed for about an hour. Then he venerated the Crucifix and bade the sisters do the same. The candles were put out, they left the cell, and the whole day was spent in cleaning out the cellar that stood near the hermitage. In the evening they all returned to the hermitage. One may reasonably surmise that during this first visit to the distant hermitage Father Seraphim was praying for the Diveyevo community, and that here he received the first thought of building a mill for them; for after this, as we shall see below, he began actively to prepare materials for the mill.

In the summer of the following year, 1826, the Theologian’s spring was restored at the elder’s wish. The timber frame that had covered the basin was removed; a new log casing was made with a pipe for the outflow of water. Near the basin the elder now began to engage in bodily labor. Gathering pebbles from the Sarovka River, he tossed them onto the bank and with them lined the spring’s basin. He laid out garden beds here for himself, enriched them with moss, and planted onions and potatoes. The elder had chosen this spot because his illness prevented him from walking to his former cell five versts from the monastery. It was even becoming difficult for him, after his morning labors on foot, to visit during the midday rest the cell of Father Dorofei, which stood only a quarter of a verst from the spring. A small new log structure was built for Father Seraphim on the hillside near the spring, three arshins in height, three in length, and two in width, with a roof sloping to one side. It had neither windows nor a door. The entrance to this little shelter was an earthen passage on the hillside side, dug beneath the wall. Crawling under the wall, the elder could rest in this refuge after his labors, sheltering from the midday heat. Then in 1827, on that same hillside near the spring, a new cell was built for him with a door but without windows; inside it was a stove, and outside some boards were nailed together to form a small porch. During 1825 and 1826 the elder did not go to this place every day. But once a cell had been built for him, he began to spend all his days there in the hermitage continuously, returning to the monastery in the evening. Going to the monastery and from the monastery he wore his usual old white linen cassock, a plain kamilavka without a veil, and carried an axe or hoe in his hands; on his back he bore a sack weighty with stones and sand, inside which lay the holy Gospel as well. Some asked why he did this. He answered with the words of St. Ephrem the Syrian: “I afflict the one who afflicts me.” The place has been known ever since by the name of the near hermitage of Father Seraphim, and the Theologian’s spring began to be called Father Seraphim’s well.

From the time the new cell was built, in 1827, the activity and labors of Father Seraphim were continually divided between two places: the monastery and the near hermitage were in turn the field of his endeavors.

In the monastery he remained on Sundays and feast days, receiving communion of the holy Mysteries at the early Liturgy in the hospital church. On weekdays he went almost every day into the forest to the near hermitage. His nights he spent in the monastery. But during the day, from four o’clock—or even from two o’clock in the morning—he would withdraw to the near hermitage, remaining there until seven or eight o’clock in the evening. The number of those who visited him increased greatly. Some waited for him in the monastery, longing to see him, receive his blessing, and hear a word of edification. Others came to him in his desert cell. For the elder, weakened in strength, it was burdensome to extend his activity over the vast multitude of people. To reduce the number of visitors, to avoid too much distraction, and not to be worn out by the labors of conversation, Father Seraphim, in the early days of his settlement at the near hermitage, received communion of the holy Mysteries in his cell, as he had done during his reclusion. Some began to take offense at this. How was it, they said, that the elder walks to the hermitage over two versts from the monastery, and yet receives communion of the holy Mysteries in his cell? But there was nothing to take offense at. The elder continued to receive communion in his cell precisely in order to avoid the numerous visitors whom he was not yet strong enough to receive. Nevertheless, to forestall offense to those of tender conscience—which the Orthodox Faith guards as something sacred—a directive came from the Bishop of Tambov that Elder Seraphim should himself come to the church to receive communion of the holy Mysteries. Hearing of this arrangement, he said that he would not cease to receive communion of the holy Mysteries even if he had to go on his knees to do so, and he accepted the bishop’s directive with humility. But it seems this was an arrangement from a higher than earthly authority, with the purpose of bringing the elder into closer contact with the needs of the faithful. For when Father Seraphim began to go to the hospital church for the early Liturgy, the number of those who sought him out grew to an enormous figure. The elder had almost no rest, neither in the hermitage, nor on the road, nor in the monastery. Abbot Nifont, who loved Elder Seraphim, used to say of the multitude of visitors: “When Father Seraphim lived in the hermitage—the first and distant one—he blocked all the paths to himself with trees, so that people would not come; but now he has begun to receive everyone, so that I have no possibility of closing the monastery gates before midnight.”

It was a touching sight to see how the elder, after receiving communion of the holy Mysteries, made his way from the church to his cell. He walked in his monastic mantle, epitrachelion, and cuffs, as he customarily approached the Sacrament. His procession was slow on account of the great crowd of people pressing around him, each straining, if only briefly, to catch a glimpse of the elder. But at such a time he spoke to no one, blessed no one, and appeared to see no soul about him: his gaze was cast downward, and his mind was immersed within himself. In those moments he was entering with his soul into meditation upon the great mercies of God bestowed upon men through the Sacrament of Holy Communion. And all who revered the wondrous elder dared not even touch him. Upon arriving at his cell he would receive all those who sought him with open welcome, bless them, and for those who wished he would offer a word that was profitable for the soul.

No less touching was the sight of this humble, white-haired, stooping elder, leaning on his hoe or axe, at work in the hermitage—chopping wood, tending his garden beds—in his plain kamilavka, white cassock, and the familiar sack behind his shoulders. At other times he was seen wearing a dressed skin, as though in imitation of those of whom the holy Apostle Paul wrote: they wandered about in sheepskins and goatskins, being destitute, afflicted, tormented—of whom the world was not worthy—wandering in deserts (Heb. 11:37).

But most delightful of all was his conversation. Father Seraphim possessed a luminous mind, a firm memory, a truly Christian outlook, a heart accessible to all, an unbending will, a living and abundant gift of speech, and a love for labor that never failed. His words were so efficacious that whoever heard him received benefit for his soul. His discourses were filled with a spirit of humility, warmed the heart, removed from one’s eyes as it were a certain veil, illumined the minds of his listeners with the light of spiritual understanding, brought them to a sense of repentance, and aroused a decisive change for the better; they carried the wills and hearts of others along irresistibly, and spread in them peace and stillness. Both his own actions and his words Elder Seraphim founded upon the Word of God, confirming them above all by passages from the New Testament, the writings of the holy Fathers, and the examples of the saints who had pleased God. All of this had still greater power because it was applied directly to the needs of those listening. By the purity of his spirit he possessed the gift of clairvoyance: to some he would give instruction, before they had disclosed their circumstances, that bore directly upon their inner feelings and the most secret thoughts of their hearts.

The elder, adorned with high spiritual experience, nonetheless observed certain rules in revealing his gracious gifts to others. These rules he set forth in a teaching on the guarding of known truths.

“One ought not”—he said—“to open one’s heart to another without necessity: among a thousand one can perhaps find only one who would keep your secret. If we ourselves do not keep it within us, how can we hope that it can be kept by another?”

“With a man of the soul one must speak of human things; but with a man who possesses spiritual understanding one must speak of heavenly things.”

“Those filled with spiritual wisdom judge the spirit of any person by Holy Scripture, seeing whether his words are in accord with the will of God, and on that basis form their judgment concerning him.”

“When one finds oneself among people in the world, one ought not to speak of spiritual things, especially when no desire to hear them is observed in those present.”

“In such a case one must follow the teaching of St. Dionysius the Areopagite (On the Heavenly Hierarchy, ch. 2): having yourself become divine by the knowledge of divine things, and having hidden holy things in the secret of the mind from the uninitiated people, keep them as things of one form; for it is not right, as Scripture says, to cast before swine the spiritual pearls—the pure, luminous, and precious adornment. One must keep in memory the word of the Lord: Give not that which is holy unto the dogs, neither cast ye your pearls before swine, lest they trample them under their feet, and turn again and rend you (Matt. 7:6).”

“Therefore one must strive by every means to conceal within oneself the treasure of gifts: otherwise you will lose it and not find it again. For, by the experiential teaching of St. Isaac the Syrian, the help that comes from guarding is greater than the help that comes from deeds (Word 89).”

“But when necessity requires it, or when the occasion has come, one must act openly for the glory of God, according to the word: Those who glorify Me I will glorify (1 Sam. 2:30), because the path has already opened itself.”

By such rules of spiritual discernment Father Seraphim was guided in his dealings with others.

Father Seraphim held especial love and reverence for those holy hierarchs who had been zealots of the Orthodox Christian Faith: such as Clement, Pope of Rome; John Chrysostom; Basil the Great; Gregory the Theologian; Athanasius of Alexandria; Cyril of Jerusalem; Epiphanius of Cyprus; Ambrose of Milan; and those like them—calling them pillars of the Church. He held up their lives and labors as examples of firmness and unshakeable steadfastness in the faith. He urged others to stand firmly for the truth of the dogmas of the Orthodox Church, citing as example the blessed Mark of Ephesus, who showed unshakeable zeal in the defense of the Eastern Catholic Faith at the Council of Florence. He himself offered various teachings on Orthodoxy, explaining wherein it consists, that it alone contains the truth of Christ’s faith in its wholeness and purity, and how it must be defended. He loved to speak of the hierarchs of the Russian Church—Peter, Alexis, Jonah, Philip, Dmitry of Rostov, Stephen of Perm, the Venerable Sergius of Radonezh, and other Russian servants of God—holding up their lives as a rule on the path to salvation. The Lives of the Saints as described in the Menaion of St. Dmitry of Rostov, and the works of many Fathers of the Church, he knew so firmly that from memory he could recount entire sections from them, counseling all to imitate the lives of God’s saints and follow their teaching.

A distinctive quality of his conduct and his discourses was love and humility of mind. Whoever came to him—whether a poor man in rags or a rich man in fine attire, whatever needs anyone brought, whatever sinful state his conscience might be in—he embraced all with love, bowed to the ground before all, and in blessing would himself kiss the hands even of those who were not ordained. He struck no one with harsh reproaches or severe rebukes; he laid upon no one a heavy burden, bearing the cross of Christ himself with all its sorrows. To some he did speak reproofs, but gently, tempering his word with humility and love. He strove to awaken the voice of conscience through counsel, pointed out the paths of salvation, and often did so in such a way that the listener at first did not even understand that the matter concerned his own soul. Afterward, however, the power of the word, seasoned with grace, unfailingly produced its effect. None went away from him without genuine instruction—neither the rich nor the poor, neither the simple nor the learned, neither nobles nor common people: for all there was ample living water flowing from the lips of this former silent one, this humble and lowly elder. The people who flocked to him—especially in the last ten years of his life—numbered whole thousands every day. Daily, amid the great multitude of those who had come to Sarov, there were about two thousand and more gathered in his cell. He was not burdened by this, and with each person he found time to converse for the profit of the soul. In a few words he would explain to each person precisely what was needful for him, often opening the most hidden thoughts of those who had come to him. All felt his welcoming and truly kindhearted love and its power, and streams of tears would sometimes break from people who possessed the hardest and most stony of hearts. We cannot, at this point, pass over in silence one most striking occurrence.

There came to Sarov a retired lieutenant general, L. The purpose of his visit was mere curiosity. And so, having looked over the monastery buildings, he was already preparing to take his leave of the monastery without having received any spiritual gift for his soul. But unexpectedly he encountered there a landowner, Alexei Neofitovich Prokudin, and fell into conversation with him. His companion proposed that the general go in to see the recluse Elder Seraphim, but the general, proud of himself, refused, and only with difficulty yielded to Prokudin’s persuasions. No sooner had they entered the cell than Elder Seraphim, coming forward to meet them, bowed to the ground before the general. Such humility struck the pride of L. Prokudin, perceiving that he ought not to remain in the cell, went out into the porch, and the general, adorned with his decorations, spent about half an hour conversing with the recluse. After a few minutes the sound of weeping was heard from the elder’s cell: the general was weeping just like a little child. After half an hour the door opened and Father Seraphim led the general out by the arms—he continued to weep, covering his face with his hands. His decorations and his cap had been forgotten by him, in his grief, with Father Seraphim. Tradition has it that his decorations fell from him by themselves during the conversation. Father Seraphim brought them all out and placed the decorations on the cap. Afterward this general said that he had traveled all of Europe, knew a multitude of people of every kind, but for the first time in his life had seen such humility as that with which the Sarov recluse had received him, and never before had he known of such clairvoyance as that by which the elder laid bare his entire life down to its most secret details. Among other things, when his decorations had fallen away, Father Seraphim said: “That is because you received them undeservedly.”

With particular zeal Elder Seraphim cared for those in whom he saw a disposition toward good: on the path of goodness he strove to establish them by every spiritual and Christian means within his power. However, despite his love for all, Father Seraphim was for some hard to look upon: for his way of life seemed unlike that of others, and his paths were different from theirs (Wis. Sol. 2:15). Yet even with those who did not love him he was peaceable, conducted himself gently and lovingly. It was never observed that he attributed any deed to himself or praised himself; rather, always blessing the Lord God, he would say: Not unto us, O Lord, not unto us, but unto Thy name give glory (Ps. 113:9). And when he saw that those who came to him heeded his counsel and followed his teachings, he did not exult in this as though it were the fruit of his own doing. “We”—he would say—“must drive away from ourselves every earthly joy, following the teaching of Jesus Christ, who said: In this rejoice not, that the spirits are subject unto you; but rather rejoice, because your names are written in heaven (Luke 10:20).”

Besides the gift of clairvoyance, the Lord God continued to reveal in Elder Seraphim the grace of healing ailments and bodily diseases. Thus on June 11, 1827, there was healed Alexandra, wife of Varvolomei Timofeev Lebedev, a household serf from the village of Elizaryevo, Ardatov district, Nizhny Novgorod province. At the time this woman was twenty-two years of age and had two children. On April 6, 1826, on the day of the village feast, she had returned home after the Liturgy, dined, and then went out through the gate to walk with her husband. Suddenly, God knows from what cause, she was seized with faintness and dizziness; her husband could barely lead her to the porch. There she fell to the floor. Vomiting began, along with terrible convulsions; the sick woman went numb and fell into complete unconsciousness. After half an hour, coming to herself as it were, she began to grind her teeth, to bite at everything that came her way, and finally fell asleep. A month later these painful attacks began to recur with her every day, though not always with equal severity.

At first the sick woman was treated by the local village physician, Afanasy Yakovlev, but the remedies he employed had no success at all. Then Alexandra was taken to the Ilyevsky and Voznesensky iron foundries, where there was a foreign doctor; he undertook to treat her, prescribed various medications, but seeing no improvement, declined to continue treatment and advised that she be taken also to Vyksa, to the cast-iron foundries. “At Vyksa, according to the account of the sick woman’s husband, there was a foreign doctor with a great reputation.” With the kind consent of the manager, who took an interest in the patient’s case, the Vyksa doctor exhausted all his attention, knowledge, and skill, and at last gave this advice: “Now place your trust in the will of the Most High, and seek His help and protection; for among men there is none who can cure you.” This conclusion to the treatment greatly sorrowed everyone, and plunged the sick woman herself into despair.

On the night before June 11, 1827, the sick woman had a dream. There appeared to her an unknown woman, very old, with sunken eyes, who said: “Why do you suffer and do not seek a physician for yourself?” The sick woman was frightened and, making the sign of the cross, began to recite the prayer to the Holy Cross: “Let God arise and let His enemies be scattered.” The apparition answered her: “Do not fear me: I am a human being just like you, only not of this world any longer, but of the kingdom of the dead. Rise from your bed and hasten to the Sarov Hermitage, to Father Seraphim: he is expecting you tomorrow and will heal you.” The sick woman ventured to ask her: “Who are you, and whence do you come?” The apparition answered: “I am from the Diveyevo community, the first superior there, Agafya.” On the following morning the family harnessed a pair of the master’s horses and set out for Sarov. But the sick woman could not be driven quickly: she was continually seized by fainting spells and convulsions. The sick woman reached Sarov only after the late Liturgy, during the brothers’ meal. Father Seraphim had shut himself in and was receiving no one; but the sick woman, drawing near to his cell, had barely finished making the sign of the cross with a prayer when Father Seraphim came out to her, took her by the hands, and led her into his cell. There he covered her with his epitrachelion and quietly recited prayers to the Lord and the Most Holy Mother of God; then he gave the sick woman to drink of holy Theophany water, gave her a particle of holy antidoron, and three pieces of dried bread, and said: “Each day take one piece of bread with holy water, and also go to Diveyevo to the grave of the servant of God Agafya, take some earth from that place, and perform there as many prostrations as you are able: she—Agafya—has compassion on you and desires your healing.” Then he added: “When you feel downcast, pray to God and say: ‘Father Seraphim! Remember me in your prayers and pray for me, a sinner, that I may not fall again into this illness through the adversary, the enemy of God.’ ” Then the affliction visibly departed from the sick woman with a great sound, and she was well from that time forward and remained unharmed. After this illness she bore four more sons and five daughters. The husband of the healed woman’s own handwritten account of this concludes with the following postscript: “The name of Father Seraphim we preserve to this day deep in our hearts, and at every memorial service we commemorate him together with our own relatives.”

Among those who were at Sarov at that time there also came to Father Seraphim certain persons who needed not only spiritual consolation or healing, but also a share in their orphanhood and homelessness. From among such visitors—maidens and widows—he had, from as early as 1820, been sending them to the Diveyevo community, where the superior received them for permanent residence, that they might pursue spiritual labors for the salvation of their souls. In the course of five years, several persons were thus settled there, whose names we will encounter again later. And to Father Seraphim especially at this time they flocked, as bees to their queen,

[…]Two pages of the original are missing. — Note of the electronic edition.