When the monk Arseny is asked where and how he learned to pray… He prayed, and he prayed all the time. Without being distracted by anything… Hot. With faith. Living only for her. More specifically, a conversation with God. Prayer is a conversation with God.
This is how our ancestors prayed. And – more than that – the ascetics of the first centuries of the Christian era … In short, when he is not long behind. Then he humbly replies:
— What kind of prayer man am I? Some experience, though, I probably did. After one tragic event, I will tell you right away, with a happy ending. And clarifies:
— My niece taught me!
Seeing that he is not quite understood, the monk Arseny smiles and begins to explain in more detail:
I went to visit my brother once. The joy was… I haven’t seen you in ten years! I was a worker in the north at the monastery. It didn’t seem like a vacation. During this time, his wife and son, and daughter had time to give birth.
My nephew is seven years old. And the niece is only four. Didn’t know where to put me. What to buy… Well, fuss is rarely good.
In general, for the sake of such an occasion, and so that my brother and I better refresh the memory of our childhood, we even decided to drink tea from the parent samovar, which, in turn, got from their parents, apparently, also received it by inheritance. Betting, we finally figured out how we, accustomed to electric kettles, need to cope with it. We went out into the yard, pricked wood, found a boot to blow the fire in the pipe. And when he had already finally boiled, they were distracted for a minute, deciding, as if more carefully, so as not to accidentally boil steam and not splashing out a drop of steep boiling water, bring it into the house. And here…
With these words, the monk Arseny usually twitches his shoulders chilly:
— The niece, seeing for the first time not in a book, but in life — a real pussy bronze samovar with royal medals engraved on its side, decided to see what was inside it. And… I turned it over on myself, along with five liters of terribly boiling water on it… Even screaming, as it seemed, did not have time. I just lost consciousness.
Here and listeners unwittingly becomes uncomfortable. And the monk Arseny continues:
Of course, the holiday is over! My brother started the car and went to the hospital.
The doctors in the emergency room, who have already seen the types of men, are simply terrified. They say to the clinic immediately! But I can see it in my eyes, too late. However, in the clinic, the doctor, apparently, to reassure us, said that there is hope, but we will have to do a skin transplant. Big transplant. Very big.
“Tomorrow,” he said, “come.” We will do everything we can ourselves. But from his sigh it was clear that we would not come for a living little man. And she’s lying there, numbing a little bit. She’s probably coming to her senses. Dive into the pain in the whole body… Honestly, I looked at her and sincerely thought: it would be better for me to cook myself than she! What to say about my brother… We went home with him… His wife is hysterical on the bed. Cries silently. He and I don’t even look at each other. This samovar was just ready to tear to shreds. I only have a niece in front of me.
I didn’t even see the icons on the wall. As he saw it, he fell to his knees. Brother’s here. And let us pray! I have never prayed before or since. Whenever I asked.
Gentlemen. As soon as he begged to relieve the suffering of his niece and leave her alive. He asked me to take my life instead of her.
What, in fact, he did later, becoming a monk soon after returning to the monastery, that is, voluntarily dying for this earthly temporary life. My brother went to comfort his wife. I never got off my knees until morning. Only at dawn could I get up and straighten my back with the help of my brother. And we went silently to the clinic. Early arrival. The doctor wasn’t at work yet. The nurse looked at us strangely.
And brought out of the chamber to us who were expecting the worst…my niece! Seeing her father in the hallway, she rushed joyfully to him.
He, not knowing whether to believe or not, was afraid to touch her. And she, a little shy of me — did not have time to get used to it yet! — took his hand and she held it on her shoulder … then — on the chest:
There you go. It doesn’t hurt at all! Why are you crying?
I’m watching my brother, he’s really crying. And I see it as a rainbow fog, which means tears in my eyes. And then the doctor showed up. Says:
«Ah, come here…» What kind of girl is this, the victim’s girlfriend?
Just to say something. Wasting time. I didn’t recognize my hopeless patient. And as I found out, rushed to inspect, check. The glasses were wiped with a handkerchief. Repeat it all over again. He just opened his hands.
— That can’t be… I mean, you’ve had it all too long! You don’t even need the smallest skin transplant. She’s perfectly healthy! Can you explain something to me? I can’t understand anything myself.
We told him we were just praying. But he didn’t seem to believe it. The monk Arsenius sighed. Like pitying the doctor. And he smiled again.
I have since learned how to pray. It is not always possible, of course, at least a little, well, a little closer to the state in which I was then. But the memory remains. And if anyone – in writing or in person – asks for prayer help in such difficult cases, it seems to come to life in the heart with all its strength and then helps me very much, I hope that they, that is, those for whom they ask, too!
And, he concludes with joy, this story had a profound effect on my brother. Spiritually. He was soon converted. His wife, of course, too. And they raised their children, my nephew and niece, in the strong and living faith that our ancestors lived!
The author of the story: monk Barnabas (Sanin)
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