“If you want to be resurrected with Christ, bury your passions”

Stories of an old man. Archimandrite Gregory (Zumis)

I would like to present to the readers several fragments from Geronda’s book “People of the Church I Have Known.” The idea for this essay grew out of such regular conversations. These are edifying stories about the feat of love, self-sacrifice, modesty and, most importantly, the desire to live according to the gospel. Geronda describes her heroes with great warmth - laymen and ascetic monks, who give us precious examples of truly Christian life.

Contentment with little

The Apostle Paul writes about contentment with little simply and succinctly: Having food and clothing, let us be content with these things (1 Tim. 6:8). And the Lord tells us about the madness of the one who planned to destroy his old granaries in order to build larger ones, since his fields bore a rich harvest. Contentment with little things is a characteristic feature of monastic life from its beginning to this day. I hope that the following two Athonite stories will please the reader with the fact that this spiritual work has not yet completely disappeared among the monks.

An old desert man, holding in his hands a glass vessel for oil with a broken spout, came to the kaliva of a monk of one of the monasteries.

- Ava, give me some oil for the vegetables. It's been a month since it ended and the greens without oil have started to bother my stomach.

The hermit was shivering from the cold. His clothes, which had holes in them, could not protect his withered body from the strong winds that so often blew during the winter months. The hermitage monk has just received a woolen sweater in the mail. He brought it to the hermit.

— Here, take it: it’s new, knitted from sheep’s wool. Put it on, otherwise you'll freeze.

He put it on, took a bottle of oil and left happy. But a few minutes later he returns, holding a sweater in his hand.

- Ava, I won’t need it. It's better to give it to someone who needs it more.

About twenty days later, the desert elder moved to a place of eternal rest, where he really no longer needed sweaters.

One Swiss, traveling around Mount Athos, found himself at a kaliva, which was not much different from a “bull kaliva” (that’s what a bull shed is called on the Holy Mountain). He knocked softly on the door, and a weak voice from inside invited him to come in. Entering, he saw an old man sitting on a wooden bed and fingering his rosary. The guest looked around at the poor surroundings of the kaliva and finally began to examine the old man, dressed in clothes made of coarse wool. Poor knowledge of the language prevented us from talking with him, but even without words it was clear that the elder lived in poverty and contempt from people. He did not play with divine things in order to appear important to anyone, and therefore remained unknown to anyone. The guest took fifty dollars out of his wallet to give them to the old man.

- No, I won’t take it. Not long ago, a man gave me twenty dollars, which will last me a long time.

Winter came, and the foreigner remembered the hermit's kaliva. He mailed him one hundred dollars for firewood and food. The elder, having received them, immediately sent them back, since someone had already sent him money. The foreigner sent them out again so that he could distribute them to the poor brethren. The elder returned them again with the request: “Give them out yourself. It won’t be good if I appear merciful at your expense.”

In the summer, the Swiss converted to Orthodoxy and was baptized, having learned from the elder that “it is more blessed to give than to receive” and “do not take even an obol without need.”

This story is like clear water in a mountain spring, the mere sight and murmur of which refreshes a person.

People who taught me to live a holy life

Since childhood, I have heard the words of St. John Climacus: “Monasticism is a constant forcing of oneself.” And my late grandmother Zakharo often repeated to me the saying: “The working day begins at night.” You will make a mistake if you put off today's work until tomorrow.

I began to marvel at the virtue of self-force and fell in love with it before I actually knew it. And to this day I want to acquire it as it suits my character like nothing else.

Once I asked Elder Amphilochius:

—What is the difference between a monk and a layman?

To this he answered me:

— The monk is distinguished by constant forcing of himself.

After that, he spent the whole evening telling me about the monks who labored under self-force.

Sight

With nostalgia, I remember one hill that received the name Matya after one person passing through it stopped and said: “From here you can take in the whole world with one glance!”

I also often remember the great artist and restorer Anthony Glinos, who, having seen an icon of Christ painted in wax in the Sinai Monastery, marveled for a long time at the skill of the icon painter, and then, looking into His eyes, exclaimed in amazement: “You can read everything in this look!” .

More and more I am convinced of the truth of the statement that the eyes speak and express thoughts even when the lips are closed and the voice is not heard. With just one glance you can express to another person both thoughts and what is on the tongue, and even what lies deep in the heart. One humble confession will confirm the truthfulness of my words.

While waiting in the Annunciation Hospital for his turn for a procedure, one grandfather told me about an unforgettable look from his brother. A married couple lived on the small island of Sikinos. Due to poverty, their daughter was forced to marry a troglodyte. He lived alone in the caves of the island, looking after a small herd of goats and sheep. He was rarely seen at home. Each time he came so tired that when the children saw him, they hid. It was in vain that the mother told them: “Children, don’t be afraid, this is your dad.” The third birth was unsuccessful, and mother and child died. The two older boys were left orphans. On the island, one childless English couple had their own house. The children went there to get some food. One day the English said to the older boy, who seemed smarter to them: “We will take you in, but only you will have to drive your brother out of the house.”

“I grabbed him by the arm, pulled him outside, lowered him down the stairs and slammed the door behind him. When I let go of his hand (it was the most terrible moment in my life), he raised his eyes to me, looked into mine and seemed to say: “Who are you leaving me with?” But then I hardened my heart and thought only of my own benefit. Since then, I always see this look in front of me, I think about it constantly, and it does not leave my heart. Whenever I feel happy, he crushes my joy like a tombstone.

— What was the fate of your brother?

- It’s difficult for me to talk about this. Even the house that our mother left us was taken from us by our uncle, and my brother still lives in a cave without light or water. Only large worms keep him company during sleep and meals.

- What are you saying, grandfather, are there still people who live in caves now? Can't anyone shelter him?

“Now, father, I brought him to Athens and take him to doctors in order to at least a little extinguish the memory of that suffering look, but I still don’t find peace.” His gaze constantly burns my heart. Listen, father, always look into a person’s eyes to see and understand everything. If he is sad, then take his sorrow away from him, and if he is happy, then cover him so that he does not lose his joy.

...and one more look

In the years when atheism began to spread in Albania, in this territory of ancient Illyricum, its cunning ruler did not want it to look like his own initiative. He organized the so-called Movement so that it would seem to everyone that godlessness comes from the people, and not from the authorities. After he intoxicated the people with the wine of renunciation of God, they, out of their blindness, themselves began to destroy all reminders of faith.

In one village, as Vasily, a resident of Northern Epirus, told me, the school was located next to the church. The teacher there was a Greek.

“He taught us all day long how much better it would be if we had no religion, no Christ, no Church. He said that church prohibitions turn our lives into torture. His words were so convincing that one day we all broke into the church, started taking down the icons and throwing them into the truck like unnecessary rubbish. We were so brainwashed that we didn't understand what we were doing. I myself removed the icon of Christ from the bishop’s throne and threw it into a state truck. Everything happened so quickly, as if God Himself was leaving our country. The moment I stretched out my hands to remove the icon, my eyes met the eyes of Christ. I felt reproach in His gaze, as if He was telling me: “What have I done to you that you are driving Me away?” But I thought: “Whether you like it or not, you will leave my life. The state has ordered that even the memory of You disappear in Albania.” Years passed, I started a family. When our daughter Evangelia was born, I barely looked into her eyes and said: “This look is familiar to me. Where did I see him? Where did you meet? I do not remember". Later, when it turned out that Evangelia was naturally crippled, I took her to a grandmother who treated her with herbs. And when she told me: “This is the wrath of God, she is incurable,” then I remembered the look of Christ on the icon in my rural church and since then I have not found peace. I’m ashamed to meet my daughter’s reproachful gaze; I feel like she’s telling me: “Dad, you ate sour grapes once, but the set on my teeth remains forever.”

These are the useful finds that a confessor sometimes comes across during confession.

On the scales there is desert and peace. Whose cup will outweigh

There lived a married couple in Athens: Phippas and Iota. They ate and drank from the table of the modern world, always looking at this table and never raising their eyes to the heights of heaven. They followed the motto: “If you enjoy earthly goods, then that is enough.” They believed that thoughts about the future eternal life are a consolation only for those who are deprived of pleasures in this world. They are like the bread that a hungry man, wrapped in a rough woolen blanket, dreams of on long winter nights: the cold makes him dream about what he needs.

The couple's happiness became even greater with the birth of a lovely girl, and they decided to give her everything.

The islands of the Aegean Sea are offered to wealthy Greeks as an exclusive holiday destination during the summer months. For the modern indifferent person, on any of these islands there are only beaches and entertainment centers. He doesn’t notice the way to church, the ringing of bells before Matins and Vespers is a nuisance for him, the priest in a black greasy cassock is a stain on the tourist image of the island; It would be better if this medieval monster did not exist at all.

Summer is a time not only for tourism, but also for harvest. The Reaper gathers wheat from the mountain slopes into the granary and rejoices at the fruits of his labors. But we must not forget that there is another reaper, invisible and unexpected. He invades our lives with his sickle and reaps not only the elderly, but also the young. This sickle also ended the life of the only daughter of our heroes, and under such strange circumstances that even many years later what happened continued to disturb them. Bickering and searching for someone to blame have become common between spouses; they became superstitious and gradually began to move away from each other. They tried to get closer to the Church, but their attempts to join the Church were somehow wrong. Eventually, the wife developed an aversion to her husband. She again wanted to have a child, but not from him. She filed for divorce and kicked him out, sending him to live with his old mother. However, being left alone, she still continued to benefit from the financial support of her abandoned husband. One abbot asked her not to push her good husband into a third marriage (for Phippas it was the second marriage), because the ancients said: “The first marriage is joy, the second is indulgence, and the third is sorrow.”

But she, accustomed to the fulfillment of all her desires, remained adamant. The confessor tried to find at least some way out and advised her:

- Don’t think only about yourself, think also about your husband. Be one family, at least conditionally.

- Will not work. I met one person, a devout man by the way, who I liked. Now I'm pregnant from him.

-Will you marry him?

- No. I wanted a child - I got it, and I’ve had enough of married life.

When Phippas heard about this, he was not angry: he continued to love her, and his concern for her did not decrease, although she had lost her way.

- I feel sorry for her, father. I have to help her, because she has nothing to live on.

Five months have passed since the woman confessed her unlawful pregnancy to her confessor, with whom she has no longer communicated. Finally, she asked him to pray. He refused: “Prayer presupposes obedience.”

Then she took advantage of the mediation of her abandoned husband, but the upset abbot refused this time too.

Finally, one evening the silence was broken. The heartbroken husband announced to his confessor that their marriage had been dissolved by the court, but he was saddened not so much by this as by the condition of his ex-wife: she was admitted to the hospital, and the danger threatens not only her life, but also the life of her unborn child. He cried with grief and feared for the life of the mother and child, but he was a stranger to him. He did not feel insulted at all: honor and manhood were forgotten before the threat of death. He cried and asked for intense prayer, but the elder did not seem to hear him: at that time he judged himself, weighed himself and found him worthless. The scales on which the divorced husband was tipped. And the old man, who had hitherto held these scales, threw them to the ground, ashamed and disgraced. The lips of the desert almost said: “She got what she deserved. This is a good example of God’s righteous judgment,” but they were blocked by sobs and tears of the world of kindness and spiritual superiority. Here it would be appropriate to remember Sister Eugenia, who said: “Brothers, let us first acquire the virtues of the laity, and then we will begin to acquire monastic virtues.”

Contentment with little

The Apostle Paul writes about contentment with little simply and succinctly: Having food and clothing, let us be content with these things (1 Tim. 6:8). And the Lord tells us about the madness of the one who planned to destroy his old granaries in order to build larger ones, since his fields bore a rich harvest. Contentment with little things is a characteristic feature of monastic life from its beginning to this day. I hope that the following two Athonite stories will please the reader with the fact that this spiritual work has not yet completely disappeared among the monks.

An old desert man, holding in his hands a glass vessel for oil with a broken spout, came to the kaliva of a monk of one of the monasteries.

- Ava, give me some oil for the vegetables. It's been a month since it ended and the greens without oil have started to bother my stomach.

The hermit was shivering from the cold. His clothes, which had holes in them, could not protect his withered body from the strong winds that so often blew during the winter months. The hermitage monk has just received a woolen sweater in the mail. He brought it to the hermit.

— Here, take it: it’s new, knitted from sheep’s wool. Put it on, otherwise you'll freeze.

He put it on, took a bottle of oil and left happy. But a few minutes later he returns, holding a sweater in his hand.

- Ava, I won’t need it. It's better to give it to someone who needs it more.

About twenty days later, the desert elder moved to a place of eternal rest, where he really no longer needed sweaters.

One Swiss, traveling around Mount Athos, found himself at a kaliva, which was not much different from a “bull kaliva” (that’s what a bull shed is called on the Holy Mountain). He knocked softly on the door, and a weak voice from inside invited him to come in. Entering, he saw an old man sitting on a wooden bed and fingering his rosary. The guest looked around at the poor surroundings of the kaliva and finally began to examine the old man, dressed in clothes made of coarse wool. Poor knowledge of the language prevented us from talking with him, but even without words it was clear that the elder lived in poverty and contempt from people. He did not play with divine things in order to appear important to anyone, and therefore remained unknown to anyone. The guest took fifty dollars out of his wallet to give them to the old man.

- No, I won’t take it. Not long ago, a man gave me twenty dollars, which will last me a long time.

Winter came, and the foreigner remembered the hermit's kaliva. He mailed him one hundred dollars for firewood and food. The elder, having received them, immediately sent them back, since someone had already sent him money. The foreigner sent them out again so that he could distribute them to the poor brethren. The elder returned them again with the request: “Give them out yourself. It won’t be good if I appear merciful at your expense.”

In the summer, the Swiss converted to Orthodoxy and was baptized, having learned from the elder that “it is more blessed to give than to receive” and “do not take even an obol without need.”

This story is like clear water in a mountain spring, the mere sight and murmur of which refreshes a person.

Sight

With nostalgia, I remember one hill that received the name Matya after one person passing through it stopped and said: “From here you can take in the whole world with one glance!”

I also often remember the great artist and restorer Anthony Glinos, who, having seen an icon of Christ painted in wax in the Sinai Monastery, marveled for a long time at the skill of the icon painter, and then, looking into His eyes, exclaimed in amazement: “You can read everything in this look!” .

More and more I am convinced of the truth of the statement that the eyes speak and express thoughts even when the lips are closed and the voice is not heard. With just one glance you can express to another person both thoughts and what is on the tongue, and even what lies deep in the heart. One humble confession will confirm the truthfulness of my words.

While waiting in the Annunciation Hospital for his turn for a procedure, one grandfather told me about an unforgettable look from his brother. A married couple lived on the small island of Sikinos. Due to poverty, their daughter was forced to marry a troglodyte. He lived alone in the caves of the island, looking after a small herd of goats and sheep. He was rarely seen at home. Each time he came so tired that when the children saw him, they hid. It was in vain that the mother told them: “Children, don’t be afraid, this is your dad.” The third birth was unsuccessful, and mother and child died. The two older boys were left orphans. On the island, one childless English couple had their own house. The children went there to get some food. One day the English said to the older boy, who seemed smarter to them: “We will take you in, but only you will have to drive your brother out of the house.”

“I grabbed him by the arm, pulled him outside, lowered him down the stairs and slammed the door behind him. When I let go of his hand (it was the most terrible moment in my life), he raised his eyes to me, looked into mine and seemed to say: “Who are you leaving me with?” But then I hardened my heart and thought only of my own benefit. Since then, I always see this look in front of me, I think about it constantly, and it does not leave my heart. Whenever I feel happy, he crushes my joy like a tombstone.

— What was the fate of your brother?

- It’s difficult for me to talk about this. Even the house that our mother left us was taken from us by our uncle, and my brother still lives in a cave without light or water. Only large worms keep him company during sleep and meals.

- What are you saying, grandfather, are there still people who live in caves now? Can't anyone shelter him?

“Now, father, I brought him to Athens and take him to doctors in order to at least a little extinguish the memory of that suffering look, but I still don’t find peace.” His gaze constantly burns my heart. Listen, father, always look into a person’s eyes to see and understand everything. If he is sad, then take his sorrow away from him, and if he is happy, then cover him so that he does not lose his joy.

...and one more look

In the years when atheism began to spread in Albania, in this territory of ancient Illyricum, its cunning ruler did not want it to look like his own initiative. He organized the so-called Movement so that it would seem to everyone that godlessness comes from the people, and not from the authorities. After he intoxicated the people with the wine of renunciation of God, they, out of their blindness, themselves began to destroy all reminders of faith.

In one village, as Vasily, a resident of Northern Epirus, told me, the school was located next to the church. The teacher there was a Greek.

“He taught us all day long how much better it would be if we had no religion, no Christ, no Church. He said that church prohibitions turn our lives into torture. His words were so convincing that one day we all broke into the church, started taking down the icons and throwing them into the truck like unnecessary rubbish. We were so brainwashed that we didn't understand what we were doing. I myself removed the icon of Christ from the bishop’s throne and threw it into a state truck. Everything happened so quickly, as if God Himself was leaving our country. The moment I stretched out my hands to remove the icon, my eyes met the eyes of Christ. I felt reproach in His gaze, as if He was telling me: “What have I done to you that you are driving Me away?” But I thought: “Whether you like it or not, you will leave my life. The state has ordered that even the memory of You disappear in Albania.” Years passed, I started a family. When our daughter Evangelia was born, I barely looked into her eyes and said: “This look is familiar to me. Where did I see him? Where did you meet? I do not remember". Later, when it turned out that Evangelia was naturally crippled, I took her to a grandmother who treated her with herbs. And when she told me: “This is the wrath of God, she is incurable,” then I remembered the look of Christ on the icon in my rural church and since then I have not found peace. I’m ashamed to meet my daughter’s reproachful gaze; I feel like she’s telling me: “Dad, you ate sour grapes once, but the set on my teeth remains forever.”

These are the useful finds that a confessor sometimes comes across during confession.

People who taught me to live a holy life

Since childhood, I have heard the words of St. John Climacus: “Monasticism is a constant forcing of oneself.” And my late grandmother Zakharo often repeated to me the saying: “The working day begins at night.” You will make a mistake if you put off today's work until tomorrow.

I began to marvel at the virtue of self-force and fell in love with it before I actually knew it. And to this day I want to acquire it as it suits my character like nothing else.

Once I asked Elder Amphilochius:

—What is the difference between a monk and a layman?

To this he answered me:

— The monk is distinguished by constant forcing of himself.

After that, he spent the whole evening telling me about the monks who labored under self-force.