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Bishop Viktor's Pilgrimage
There were many reasons for
the trip to the grave of schema-hieromonk Feodosii (Kashin) in the town of
Minvody [Mineral Waters]: first of all, like all profound believers of the
Northern Caucasus, the majority of my parishioners are sincere devotees of
this wonderworker and each year, on 26 July/8 August, the day of his repose,
they visit either the place of his burial or his former skete in Gorny,
along the road between the towns of Krymskoi and Novorossiisk. Secondly,
there was the desire to be convinced of the fact that the MP now actually
painstakingly defends its lucrative sites — the holy places seized from us,
ROCA (V) — protecting them from our intrusion. Thirdly, it is necessary to
continue the work of public preaching, otherwise we speak much of Christ's
commandment: «Go, teach all nations»
(Matt. 26, 19) and profess the way of being
confessors of the Faith, while not being willing to lift even a finger to do
so. And here there is an immense and extensive field for preaching: on the
day upon which he is commemorated, zealous Christians from all the ends of
the country gather at the grave of the starets. Moreover, those people who —
whether out of conviction or by intuition — do not desire to enter the
temples of the Soviet church, go specifically to his grave, and not to the
temple into which the relics of the Venerable One (although not yet
officially recognized as such by ROCA (V)) have been removed. Therefore,
despite the warning that we should exercise caution, I felt ashamed of my
fear for my person, the moreso in that I am no personage of any repute.
Finally, yet another occasion manifested itself in favour of my overcoming
my sloth, which I possess in abundance. The icon of the Holy Royal Martyrs,
which had begun to stream myrrh copiously on the day of the murder of the
Royal Family 4/17 July (during the All-night Vigil service of 3/16 July)
manifested this particular feature: during workdays, the secretion of myrrh
would diminish, coming almost to a complete halt, while on feastdays (the
commemorations of Grand Prince Vladimir, the Equal of the Apostles; the
Venerable Seraphim of Sarov; the Holy Prophet Elias) the myrrh would flow in
abundance during the divine services. When we started to prepare for the
trip, I even began to lament, somewhat, that the myrrh had ceased to flow
and that the cotton-balls that had previously been soaked had all been
distributed. And, lo! I awoke on the morn of 25 July/7 August, on the day of
the martyric end of my starets Yakov Fedorovich Arkatov — a wonderworker of
the same calibre as Fr. Feodosii — and discovered an unprecedented flow of
this wondrous substance. The cotton which had been placed around the edges
of the icon and underneath it was soaked to such a degree that the myrrh
simply flowed from it. This especially emboldened me. On the evening of 25
July/7 August, 50 of us set off on our journey in a rented bus and found
ourselves at the cemetery in the morning.
We were greeted by a young priest of the soviet church (MP) with the
question: “Who are you?”
“Orthodox,” I replied. “Why,
what's the matter?” “Well, the schismatics come here and hurl abuse at our
church. I have been set to chase them away.” “And do not 'schismatics' have
a right to visit the cemetery, especially if they are registered with the
Ministry of Justice?” “Well, if you'd like, let's go
to the cathedral. I am going there.” “No,
we'll pray here,” I replied, pointing out a free
space away from the graves near the chapel that the MP had constructed upon
the grave of starets Feodosii. He understood me completely and, moving off,
began to place a telephone call on a mobile phone.
We set up an analoi with our myrrh-streaming icon and began a moleben. Soon,
some “Cossacks” appeared in camouflage uniforms, accompanied by an elderly
priest. Apparently weighing the situation, they formulated a plan to evict
us. Finally, the priest decided to go into action. Approaching us, he asked
the same question: “Who are you?” “We are members of the Church to which the
Venerable Feodosii belongs.” “He is our Venerable One.” “How could he be
your Venerable One if, during the course of his entire life, he never once
entered your temples, and founded a Catacomb parish in Minvody, which is
active to this day. And the fact that you seized his relics and erected a
chapel upon his grave, says nothing to the effect that he is 'your' Saint
and that this gives you the right to chase off his brethren — members of
that Church to which he belonged. It is because he was not yours that he was
a wonderworker. Behold this icon and venerate it, if you want. I hope that
you will not want to fall into the sin of blaspheming the Holy Spirit,
saying, as did the ancient Jews, that this is of Beelzebub.” He did not even
cast a brief look in the direction of the icon. “Do you have a blessing from
Vladyka Feofan to pray here?” “What have I to do with your 'vladyka', when I
myself am an hierarch? I am not entering your chapel, but the cemetery.
According to the Constitution and the normal by-laws of a religious
organization registered with the Ministry of Justice, I have every right to
conduct prayers on holy sites without asking your blessing. “But you have
occupied the spot where we conduct our molebens.” “Oh, so that's how it is.
Well, in that case we will vacate it. Please forgive me.“ And we moved to
another spot, next to it. Knowing that they had absolutely no need for the
spot in question, inasmuch as they have a chapel, the priest rejoined his
own people and we continued to pray. All those coming here would join us and
venerate the icon — many, with tears in their eyes; my people distributed
written articles, books and cotton-balls in cellophane baggies to everyone.
Our opponents found themselves in a difficult position. They started their
moleben, but no one went to join them. One woman, acquainted with this
particular priest, asked him: “Father Sergii, what should be done with this
cotton-ball?” clearly tempting him. “Throw it out or bury it as deeply as
you can. It comes from schismatics.” “But their icon is streaming myrrh.”
“They have smeared it with oil and are claiming that it is streaming myrrh.”
They were forced to set the “Cossacks” to watch over the approaches to us
and to escort all the arrivals past us to their priest, but this, too,
turned out to be ineffective. And then matters got as far as the sermon in
which I had to relate the life of starets Feodosii, the details of which do
not accord entirely with their fictions concerning it.
I naturally touched upon the history of the great sergianist schism, the
period of which starets Feodosii was forced to live through in prison,
amongst the opponents of Metropolitan Sergii. I likewise related briefly the
life of my teacher, Yakov Arkatov, which resembled the life of starets
Feodosii. An endless torrent of questions began. Our people are so oppressed
with all-around lies on the part of the sergianists, and the atheists, and
the inventors of elemental granny-theology. Behold, they seek the path to
God, but encounter ever newer paths of deceit. They instinctively sense
falsehood on all sides, being wary upon encountering any suspicious novelty,
but it is almost entirely impossible for them to find the truth. One is
forced endlessly to explain the essence of these ITNs [Individual Taxpayer
Identification Numbers], electronic cards, new passports, etc.,
which, being instruments of control, can at some future time be employed in
exerting pressure and enabling persecution during that time when the seal of
the antichrist is to be placed [either upon the forehead or upon the right
hand]. But, at present, we need to fight not against passports, but for the
conversion of our people to Orthodox Monarchical aspirations. And when the
Tsar' comes to Rus, using our hands, he will sweep away all the inventors of
the ITNs.
What is astonishing is that our opponents, so far, have had sufficient
patience not to resort to their beloved methods. Finally, a young man
approaches me, accompanied by a “Cossack”, and declares his rights. “You
have to get out of here.” I was forced to respond to the people's questions,
to pacify their outcries against “the authorized representatives”, and to
speak with these.
All of our arguments to the effect that we are fully within our rights to
pray at holy sites, being registered with the Ministry of Justice, receive
one single response: “Otherwise, we will resort to
force.” “Well, then, you'll
only prove to the world, once again, that you are not a church and not
Cossackdom, but merely a large band of brigands. Of course, we have no
intention of fighting with you: we will simply leave. But I nevertheless
suggest that you act in a civilized manner: show us documents stating that
you have the right to demand our papers of us, and we will show you ours
about our right to worship here.” “Well,
all right,” — and he presented a slip of paper, a
certificate issued to him — Watchman Sergey Aleksandrovich Krivonogov, by
the rector, Protopriest Il'ya Ageyev. This was hilarious, of course, that a
hired guard should be the one to decide who gets to pray, and where. But he
is clearly not a simple guard; and there are present here just the same sort
of “Cossacks”. I was forced to agree to our departure, saying, as I left:
“This is sufficient for us, in order to reveal once more the genuine face of
the MP, with which our betrayers are rushing to unite.” However, it was
still not possible, for a very long time, to break free of the poor people
who were pressing us hard with questions that would remain unanswered.
+Viktor, Bishop of Slaviansk and
Southern Russia
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